Columbine encountered Jim Montana at the corrals, and it was not too dark for her to see his foam-lashed horse. Jim appeared non-committal, almost surly. But Columbine guessed that he had ridden to Kremmling and back in one day, on some order of Jack's. "Miss Collie, I'll tend to Pronto," he offered. "An' yore supper'll be waitin'." A bright fire blazed on the living-room hearth. The rancher was reading by its light. "Hello, rosy-cheeks!" greeted the rancher, with unusual amiability. "Been ridin' ag'in' the wind, hey? Wal, if you ain't pretty, then my eyes are pore!" "It's cold, dad," she replied, "and the wind stings. But I didn't ride fast nor far.... I've been up to see Wilson Moore." "Ahuh! Wal, how's the boy?" asked Belllounds, gruffly. "He said he was all right, but--but I guess that's not so," responded Columbine. "Any friends lookin' after him?" "Oh yes--he must have friends--the Andrewses and others. I'm glad to say his cabin is comfortable. He'll be looked after." "Wal, I'm glad to hear thet. I'll send Lem or Wade up thar an' see if we can do anythin' fer the boy." "Dad--that's just like you," replied Columbine, with her hand seeking his broad shoulder. "Ahuh! Say, Collie, hyar's letters from 'most everybody in Kremmlin' wantin' to be invited up fer October first. How about askin' 'em?" "The more the merrier," replied Columbine. "Wal, I reckon I'll not ask anybody." "Why not, dad?" "No one can gamble on thet son of mine, even on his weddin'-day," replied Belllounds, gloomily. "Dad, What'd Jack do to-day?" "I'm not sayin' he did anythin'," answered the rancher. "Dad, you can gamble on me." "Wal, I should smile," he said, putting his big arm around her. "I wish you was Jack an' Jack was you." At that moment the young man spoken of slouched into the room, with his head bandaged, and took a seat at the supper-table. "Wal, Collie, let's go an' get it," said the rancher, cheerily. "I can always eat, anyhow." "I'm hungry as a bear," rejoined Columbine, as she took her seat, which was opposite Jack. "Where 'ye you been?" he asked, curiously. "Why, good evening, Jack! Did you finally notice me?... I've been riding Pronto, the first time since he was hurt. Had a lovely ride--up through Sage Valley." Jack glowered at her with the one unbandaged eye, and growled something under his breath, and then began to stab meat and potatoes with his fork. "What's the matter, Jack? Aren't you well?" asked Columbine, with a solicitude just a little too sweet to be genuine. "Yes, I'm well," snapped Jack. "But you look sick. That is, what I can see of your face looks sick. Your mouth droops at the corners. You're very pale--and red in spots. And your one eye glows with unearthly woe, as if you were not long for this world!" The amazing nature of this speech, coming from the girl who had always been so sweet and quiet and backward, was attested to by the consternation of Jack and the mirth of his father.