"Rustlin' your father's cattle."
For a moment Columbine was speechless. Then she burst out, "Oh, there's a terrible mistake!"
"Miss Columbine, I shore hope so," replied Burley, much embarrassed and distressed. Like most men of his kind, he could not bear to hurt a woman. "But it looks bad fer Moore.... See hyar! There! Look at the tracks of his hoss--left front foot-shoe all crooked. Thet's his hoss's. He acknowledges thet. An', see hyar. Look at the little circles an' dots.... I found these 'way over at Gore Peak, with the tracks of the stolen cattle. An' no other tracks, Miss Columbine!"
"Who put you on that trail?" she asked, piercingly.
"Jack, hyar. He found it fust, an' rode to Kremmlin' fer me."
"Jack! Jack Belllounds!" she cried, bursting into wild and furious laughter. Like a tigress she leaped at Jack as if to tear him to pieces. "You put the sheriff on that trail! You accuse Wilson Moore of stealing dad's cattle!"
"Yes, and I proved it," replied Jack, hoarsely.
"You! You proved it? So that's your revenge?... But you're to reckon with me, Jack Belllounds! You villain! You devil! You--" Suddenly she shrank back with a strong shudder. She gasped. Her face grew ghastly white. "Oh, my God! ... horrible--unspeakable!"... She covered her face with her hands, and every muscle of her seemed to contract until she was stiff. Then her hands shot out to Moore.
"Wilson Moore, what have you to say--to this sheriff--to Jack Belllounds--to me?"
Moore bent upon her a gaze that must have pierced her soul, so like it was to a lightning flash of love and meaning and eloquence.