"Columbine is my daughter!" replied the hunter.
"Ah!" breathed Belllounds.
"She loves Wils Moore, who's as white a man as you are black."
Across the pallid, convulsed face of Belllounds spread a slow, dull crimson.
"Aha, Buster Jack! I struck home there," flashed Wade, his voice rising. "That gives your eyes the ugly look.... I hate them lyin', bulgin' eyes of yours. An' when my time comes to shoot I'm goin' to put them both out."
"By Heaven! Wade, you'll have to kill me if you ever expect that club-foot Moore to get Collie!"
"He'll get her," replied Wade, triumphantly. "Collie's with him now. I sent her. I told her to tell Wils how you tried to force her--"
Belllounds began to shake all over. A torture of jealous hate and deadly terror convulsed him.
"Buster, did you ever think you'd get her kisses--as Wils's gettin' right now?" queried the hunter. "Good Lord! the conceit of some men!... Why, you poor, weak-minded, cowardly pet of a blinded old man--you conceited ass--you selfish an' spoiled boy!... Collie never had any use for you. An' now she hates you."
"It was you who made her!" yelled Belllounds, foaming at the mouth.