e out of Columbine's cheeks.

"Oh, Wilson! I'm so happy to see you on your horse again!" she
exclaimed. "It's too good to be true. I've prayed for that more than
anything else. Can you get up into your saddle like you used to? Can you
ride well again?... Let me see your foot."

Moore held out a bulky foot. He wore a shoe, and it was slashed.

"I can't wear a boot," he explained.

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Columbine, slowly, with her glad smile fading.
"You can't put that--that foot in a stirrup, can you?"

"No."

"But--it--it will--you'll be able to wear a boot soon," she implored.

"Never again, Collie," he said, sadly.

And then Wade perceived that, like a flash, the old spirit leaped up in
Columbine. It was all he wanted to see.

"Now, folks," he said, "I reckon two's company an' three's a crowd. I'll
go off a little ways an' keep watch."

"Ben, you stay here," replied Columbine, hurriedly.

"Why, Collie? Are you afraid--or ashamed to be with me alone?" asked
Moore, bitterly.

Columbine's eyes flashed. It was seldom they lost their sweet
tranquillity. But now they had depth and fire.

"No, Wilson, I'm neither afraid nor ashamed to be with you alone," she
declared. "But I can be as natural--as much myself with Ben here as I
could be alone. Why can't you be? If dad and Jack heard of our meeting
the fact of Ben's presence might make it look different to them. And why
should I heap trouble upon my shoulders?"

"I beg pardon, Collie," said the cowboy. "I've just been afraid of--of
things."

"My horse is restless," returned Columbine. "Let's get off and talk."

So they dismounted. It warmed Wade's gloomy heart to see the woman-look
in Columbine's eyes as she watched the cowboy get off and walk. For a
crippled man he did very well. But that moment was fraught with meaning
for Wade. These unfortunate lovers, brave and fine in their suffering,
did not realize the peril they invited by proximity. But Wade knew. He
pitied them, he thrilled for them, he lived their torture with them.

"Tell me--everything," said Columbine, impulsively.

Moore, with dragging step, approached an aspen log that lay off the
ground, propped by the stump, and here he leaned for support. Columbine
laid her gloves on the log.

"There's nothing to tell that you don't know," replied Moore. "I wrote
you all there was to write, except"--here he dropped his head--"except
that the last three weeks have been hell."

"They've not been exac