ore, and the fact had not
displeased her.

"Kane! Kane! come here!" she called. He came readily, but halted a rod
or so away, and made an attempt at wagging his tail, a function
evidently somewhat difficult for him. When she resumed trotting he
followed her.

Old White Slides had lost all but the drabs and dull yellows and greens,
and of course those pale, light slopes that had given the mountain its
name. Sage Valley was only one of the valleys at its base. It opened out
half a mile wide, dominated by the looming peak, and bordered on the far
side by an aspen-thicketed slope. The brook babbled along under the edge
of this thicket. Cattle and horses grazed here and there on the rich,
grassy levels, Columbine was surprised to see so many cattle and
wondered to whom they belonged. All of Belllounds's stock had been
driven lower down for the winter. There among the several horses that
whistled at her approach she espied the white mustang Belllounds had
given to Moore. It thrilled her to see him. And next, she suffered a
pang to think that perhaps his owner might never ride him again. But
Columbine held her emotions in abeyance.

The cabin stood high upon a level terrace, with clusters of aspens
behind it, and was sheltered from winter blasts by a gray cliff,
picturesque and crumbling, with its face overgrown by creeping vines and
colorful shrubs, Wilson Moore could not have chosen a more secluded and
beautiful valley for his homesteading adventure. The little gray cabin,
with smoke curling from the stone chimney, had lost its look of
dilapidation and disuse, yet there was nothing new that Columbine could
see. The last quarter of the ascent of the slope, and the few rods
across the level terrace, seemed extraordinarily long to Columbine. As
she dismounted and tied Pronto her heart was beating and her breath was
coming fast.

The door of the cabin was open. Kane trotted past the hesitating
Columbine and went in.

"You son-of-a-hound-dog!" came to Columbine's listening ears in Wade's
well-known voice. "I'll have to beat you--sure as you're born."

"I heard a horse," came in a lower voice, that was Wilson's.

"Darn me if I'm not gettin' deafer every day," was the reply.

Then Wade appeared in the doorway.

"It's nobody but Miss Collie," he announced, as he made way for her to
enter.

"Good morning!" said Columbine, in a voice that had more than
cheerfulness in it.

"_Collie!_... Did you come to see me?"

She h