our son. His good intentions he paraded
for virtues, believin' himself that he'd changed. But a flip of the wind
made him Buster Jack again.... Collie would sacrifice her life for duty
to you--whom she loves as her father. Wils Moore sacrificed his honor
for Collie--rather than let you learn the truth.... But they call me
Hell-Bent Wade, an' I will tell you!"

The straining hulk of Belllounds crouched lower, as if to gather impetus
for a leap. Both huge hands were outspread as if to ward off attack from
an unseen but long-dreaded foe. The great eyes rolled. And underneath
the terror and certainty and tragedy of his appearance seemed to surge
the resistless and rising swell of a dammed-up, terrible rage.

"I'll tell you ..." went on the remorseless voice. "I watched your
Buster Jack. I watched him gamble an' drink. I trailed him. I found the
little circles an' the crooked horse tracks--made to trap Wils Moore....
A damned cunnin' trick!... Burley suspects a nigger in the wood-pile.
Wils Moore knows the truth. He lied for Collie's sake an' yours. He'd
have stood the trial--an' gone to jail to save Collie from what she
dreaded.... Belllounds, your son was in the cabin gamblin' with the
rustlers when I cornered them.... I offered to keep Jack's secret if
he'd swear to give Collie up. He swore on his knees, beggin' in her
name!... An' he comes back to bully her, an' worse.... Buster Jack!...
He's the thorn in your heart, Belllounds. He's the rustler who stole
your cattle!... Your pet son--a sneakin' thief!"

CHAPTER XIX

Jack Belllounds came riding down the valley trail. His horse was in a
lather of sweat. Both hair and blood showed on the long spurs this son
of a great pioneer used in his pleasure rides. He had never loved
a horse.

At a point where the trail met the brook there were thick willow
patches, with open, grassy spots between. As Belllounds reached this
place a man stepped out of the willows and laid hold of the bridle. The
horse shied and tried to plunge, but an iron arm held him.

"Get down, Buster," ordered the man.

It was Wade.

Belllounds had given as sharp a start as his horse. He was sober, though
the heated red tinge of his face gave indication of a recent use of the
bottle. That color quickly receded. Events of the last month had left
traces of the hardening and lowering of Jack Belllounds's nature.

"Wha-at?... Let go of that bridle!" he ejaculated.

Wade held it fast, while he gazed up