Wilson Moore stood gazing out of the door, his eyes far away on the gray slopes.
"Queer how things turn out," he said, dreamily. "August thirteenth!... That's about the time the columbines blow on the hills.... And I always meant columbine-time--"
Here he sharply interrupted himself, and the dreamy musing gave way to passion. "But I mean it yet! I'll--I'll die before I give up hope of you!"
CHAPTER XVI
Wade, watching Columbine ride down the slope on her homeward way, did some of the hardest thinking he had yet been called upon to do. It was not necessary to acquaint Wilson Moore with the deeper and more subtle motives that had begun to actuate him. It would not utterly break the cowboy's spirit to live in suspense. Columbine was safe for the present. He had insured her against fatality. Time was all he needed. Possibility of an actual consummation of her marriage to Jack Belllounds did not lodge for an instant in Wade's consciousness. In Moore's case, however, the present moment seemed critical. What should he tell Moore--what should he conceal from him?
"Son, come in here," he called to the cowboy.
"Pard, it looks--bad!" said Moore, brokenly.
Wade looked at the tragic face and cursed under his breath.
"Buck up! It's never as bad as it looks. Anyway, we know now what to expect, an' that's well."