"Columbine!" Wilson's cry was so poignant, his gesture so violent, his dark eyes so piercing that Columbine sustained a shock that held her trembling and mute. "How can you love Jack Belllounds? You were twelve years old when you saw him last. How can you love him?" "I don't" replied Columbine. "Then how could you marry him?" "I owe dad obedience. It's his hope that I can steady Jack." "_Steady Jack!_" exclaimed Moore, passionately. "Why, you girl--you white-faced flower! _You_ with your innocence and sweetness steady that damned pup! My Heavens! He was a gambler and a drunkard. He--" "Hush!" implored Columbine. "He cheated at cards," declared the cowboy, with a scorn that placed that vice as utterly base. "But Jack was only a wild boy," replied Columbine, trying with brave words to champion the son of the man she loved as her father. "He has been sent away to work. He'll have outgrown that wildness. He'll come home a man." "Bah!" cried Moore, harshly. Columbine felt a sinking within her. Where was her strength? She, who could walk and ride so many miles, to become sick with an inward quaking! It was childish. She struggled to hide her weakness from him. "It's not like you to be this way," she said. "You used to be generous. Am I to blame? Did I choose my life?" Moore looked quickly away from her, and, standing with a hand on his horse, he was silent for a moment. The squaring of his shoulders bore testimony to his thought. Presently he swung up into the saddle. The mustang snorted and champed the bit and tossed his head, ready to bolt. "Forget my temper," begged the cowboy, looking down upon Columbine. "I take it all back. I'm sorry. Don't let a word of mine worry you. I was only jealous." "Jealous!" exclaimed Columbine, wonderingly. "Yes. That makes a fellow see red and green. Bad medicine! You never felt it." "What were you jealous of?" asked Columbine. The cowboy had himself in hand now and he regarded her with a grim amusement. "Well, Columbine, it's like a story," he replied. "I'm the fellow disowned by his family--a wanderer of the wilds--no good--and no prospects.... Now our friend Jack, he's handsome and rich. He has a doting old dad. Cattle, horses--ranches! He wins the girl. See!" Spurring his mustang, the cowboy rode away. At the edge of the slope he turned in the saddle. "I've got to drive in this bunch of cattle. It's late. You hurry home." Then he was gone. The stones cracked and rolled down under the side of the bluff. Columbine stood where he had left her: dubious, yet with the blood still hot in her cheeks. "Jealous?... He wins the girl?" she murmured in repetition to herself. "What ever could he have meant? He didn't mean--he didn't--"