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drawing it forth, he carefully studied the round cap on the end. Next he
inserted this end into both the little circles on the pieces of mud.
They fitted perfectly. The cowboys bent over to get a closer view, and
Billings was wagging his head. Old Belllounds had an earnest eye for
them, also. Burley's next move was to lift the left front foot of
Moore's horse and expose the bottom to view. Evidently the white mustang
did not like these proceedings, but he behaved himself. The iron shoe on
this hoof was somewhat triangular in shape. When Burley held the larger
piece of mud, with its imprint, close to the hoof, it was not possible
to believe that this iron shoe had not made the triangular-shaped track.
Burley let go of the hoof and laid the pieces of mud down. Slowly the
other men straightened up. Some one breathed hard.
"Moore, what do them tracks look like to you?" asked the sheriff.
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"They look like mine," replied the cowboy.
"They are yours."
"I'm not denying that."
"I cut them pieces of mud from beside a water-hole over hyar under Gore
Peak. We'd trailed the cattle Belllounds lost, an' then we kept on
trailin' them, clear to the road that goes over the ridge to
Elgeria.... Now Bridges an' Lindsay hyar bought stock lately from
strange cattlemen who didn't give no clear idee of their range. Jest
buyin' an' sellin', they claimed.... I reckon the extra hoss tracks we
run across at Gore Peak connects up them buyers an' sellers with whoever
drove Belllounds's cattle up thar.... Have you anythin' more to say?"
"No. Not here," replied Moore, quietly.
"Then I'll have to arrest you an' take you to Kremmlin' fer trial."
"All right. I'll go."
The old rancher seemed genuinely shocked. Red tinged his cheek and a
flame flared in his eyes.
"Wils, you done me dirt," he said, wrathfully. "An' I always swore by
you.... Make a clean breast of the whole damn bizness, if you want me to
treat you white. You must have been locoed or drunk, to double-cross me
thet way. Come on, out with it."
"I've nothing to say," replied Moore.
"You act amazin' strange fer a cowboy I've knowed to lean toward
fightin' at the drop of a hat. I tell you, speak out an' I'll do right
by you.... I ain't forgettin' thet White Slides gave you a hard knock.
An' I was young once an' had hot blood."
The old rancher's wrathful pathos stirred the cowboy to a
straining-point of his unnatural, almost haughty composure. He seemed
about to break into violent utterance. Grief and horror and anger seemed
at the back of his trembling lips. The look he gave Belllounds was
assuredly a strange one, to come from a cowboy who was supposed to have
stolen his former employer's cattle. Whatever he might have replied was
cut off by the sudden appearance of Columbine.
"Dad, I heard you!" she cried, as she swept upon them, fearful and
wide-eyed. "What has Wilson Moore done--that you'll do right by him?"
"Collie, go back in the house," he ordered.
"No. There's something wrong here," she said, with mounting dread in the
swift glance she shot from man to man. "Oh! You're--Sheriff Burley!"
she gasped.
"I reckon I am, miss, an' if young Moore's a friend of yours I'm sorry I
came," replied Burley.
Wade himself reacted subtly and thrillingly to the presence of the girl.
She was alive, keen, strung, growing white, with darkening eyes of blue
fire, beginning to grasp intuitively the meaning here.
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"My friend! He _was_ more than that--not long ago.... What has he done?
Why are you here?"
"Miss, I'm arrestin' him."
"Oh!... For what?"
"Rustlin' your father's cattle."
For a moment Columbine was speechless. Then she burst out, "Oh, there's
a terrible mistake!"
"Miss Columbine, I shore hope so," replied Burley, much embarrassed and
distressed. Like most men of his kind, he could not bear to hurt a
woman. "But it looks bad fer Moore.... See hyar! There! Look at the
tracks of his hoss--left front foot-shoe all crooked. Thet's his hoss's.
He acknowledges thet. An', see hyar. Look at the little circles an'
dots.... I found these 'way over at Gore Peak, with the tracks of the
stolen cattle. An' no _other_ tracks, Miss Columbine!"
"Who put you on that trail?" she asked, piercingly.
"Jack, hyar. He found it fust, an' rode to Kremmlin' fer me."
"Jack! Jack Belllounds!" she cried, bursting into wild and furious
laughter. Like a tigress she leaped at Jack as if to tear him to pieces.
"You put the sheriff on that trail! You accuse Wilson Moore of stealing
dad's cattle!"
"Yes, and I proved it," replied Jack, hoarsely.
"You! _You_ proved it? So that's your revenge?... But you're to reckon
with me, Jack Belllounds! You villain! You devil! You--" Suddenly she
shrank back with a strong shudder. She gasped. Her face grew ghastly
white. "_Oh, my God!_ ... horrible--unspeakable!"... She covered her
face with her hands, and every muscle of her seemed to contract until
she was stiff. Then her hands shot out to Moore.
"Wilson Moore, what have _you_ to say--to this sheriff--to Jack
Belllounds--to _me?_"
Moore bent upon her a gaze that must have pierced her soul, so like it
was to a lightning flash of love and meaning and eloquence.
"Collie, they've got the proof. I'll take my medicine.... Your dad is
good. He'll be easy on me!'
"_You lie!_" she whispered. "And I will tell why you lie!"
Moore did not show the shame and guilt that should have been natural
with his confession. But he showed an agony of distress. His hand sought
Wade and dragged at him.
It did not need this mute appeal to tell Wade that in another moment
Columbine would have flung the shameful truth into the face of Jack
Belllounds. She was rising to that. She was terrible and beautiful
to see.
"Collie," said Wade, with that voice he knew had strange power over her,
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with a clasp of her outflung hand, "no more! This is a man's game. It's
not for a woman to judge. Not here! It's Wils's game--an' it's _mine_.
I'm his friend. Whatever his trouble or guilt, I take it on my
shoulders. An' it will be as if it were not!"
Moaning and wringing her hands, Columbine staggered with the burden of
the struggle in her.
"I'm quite--quite mad--or dreaming. Oh, Ben!" she cried.
"Brace up, Collie. It's sure hard. Wils, your friend and playmate so
many years--it's hard to believe! We all understand, Collie. Now you go
in, an' don't listen to any more or look any more."
He led her down the porch to the door of her room, and as he pushed it
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