unless I
knew that. Talk to me as you'd talk about some other man's son."

"It ain't possible," rejoined the rancher, stridently.

"Then listen to me first.... Your son Jack, to say the least, will ruin
Collie. Do you see that?"

"By Gawd! I'm afraid so," groaned Belllounds, big in his humiliation.
"But it's my one last bet, an' I'm goin' to play it."

"Do you know marryin' him will _kill_ her?"

"What!... You're overdoin' your fears, Wade. Women don't die so easy."

"Some of them die, an' Collie's one that will, _if_ she ever marries
Jack."

"_If_!... Wal, she's goin' to."

"We don't agree," said Wade, curtly.

"Are you runnin' my family?"

"No. But I'm runnin' a large-sized _if_ in this game. You'll admit that
presently.... Belllounds, you make me mad. You don't meet me man to
man. You're not the Bill Belllounds of old. Why, all over this state of
Colorado you're known as the whitest of the white. Your name's a byword
for all that's square an' big an' splendid. But you're so blinded by
your worship of that wild boy that you're another man in all pertainin'
to him. I don't want to harp on his short-comm's. I'm for the girl. She
doesn't love him. She can't. She will only drag herself down an' die of
a broken heart.... Now, I'm askin' you, before it's too late--give up
this marriage."

"Wade! I've shot men for less than you've said!" thundered the rancher,
beside himself with rage and shame.

"Ahuh! I reckon you have. But not men like me.... I tell you, straight
to your face, it's a fool deal you're workin'--a damn selfish one--a
dirty job, to put on an innocent, sweet girl--an' as sure as you stand
there, if you do it, you'll ruin four lives!"

"Four!" exclaimed Belllounds. But any word would have expressed his
humiliation.

"I should have said three, leavin' Jack out. I meant Collie's an' yours
an' Wils Moore's."

"Moore's is about ruined already, I've a hunch."

"You can get hunches you never dreamed of, Belllounds, old as you are.
An' I'll give you one presently.... But we drift off. Can't you
keep cool?"

"Cool! With you rantin' hell-bent for election? Haw! Raw!... Wade,
you're locoed. You always struck me queer.... An' if you'll excuse me,
I'm gettin' tired of this talk. We're as far apart as the poles. An' to
save what good feelin's we both have, let's quit."

"You don't love Collie, then?" queried Wade, imperturbably.

"Yes, I do. That's a fool idee of yours. It puts me out of patience."