. The forest above was open. No doubt Belllounds would drive
the cattle somewhere and turn them over to his accomplices.

"Buster Jack's outbusted himself this time, sure," soliloquized Wade.
"He's double-crossin' his rustler friends, same as he is Moore. For he's
goin' to blame this cattle-stealin' onto Wils. An' to do that he's
layin' his tracks so he can follow them, or so any good trailer can. It
doesn't concern me so much now who're his pards in this deal. Reckon
it's Smith an' some of his gang."

Suddenly it dawned upon Wade that Jack Belllounds was stealing cattle
from his father. "Whew!" he whistled softly. "Awful hard on the old man!
Who's to tell him when all this comes out? Aw, I'd hate to do it. I
wouldn't. There's some things even I'd not tell."

Straightway this strange aspect of the case confronted Wade and gripped
his soul. He seemed to feel himself changing inwardly, as if a gray,
gloomy, sodden hand, as intangible as a ghostly dream, had taken him
bodily from himself and was now leading him into shadows, into drear,
lonely, dark solitude, where all was cold and bleak; and on and on over
naked shingles that marked the world of tragedy. Here he must tell his
tale, and as he plodded on his relentless leader forced him to tell his
tale anew.

Wade recognized this as his black mood. It was a morbid dominance of the
mind. He fought it as he would have fought a devil. And mastery still
was his. But his brow was clammy and his heart was leaden when he had
wrested that somber, mystic control from his will.

"Reckon I'd do well to take up this trail to-morrow an' see where it
leads," he said, and as a gloomy man, burdened with thought, he retraced
his way down the long slope, and over the benches, to the grassy slopes
and aspen groves, and thus to the sage hills.

It was dark when he reached the cabin, and Moore had supper almost
ready.

"Well, old-timer, you look fagged out," called out the cowboy, cheerily.
"Throw off your boots, wash up, and come and get it!"

"Pard Wils, I'm not reboundin' as natural as I'd like. I reckon I've
lived some years before I got here, an' a lifetime since."

"Wade, you have a queer look, lately," observed Moore, shaking his head
solemnly. "Why, I've seen a dying man look just like you--now--round the
mouth--but most in the eyes!"

"Maybe the end of the long trail is White Slides Ranch," replied Wade,
sadly and dreamily, as if to himself.

"If Collie heard you say that