"Why not, I'd like to know?"
"That little cubby-hole! It's only a tiny one-room cabin, roof all gone, chinks open, chimney crumbling.... Wilson, you don't mean to tell me you want to live there alone?"
"Sure. What 'd you think?" he replied, with sarcasm.
"Expect me to marry some girl? Well, I wouldn't, even if any one would have a cripple."
"Who--who will take care of you?" she asked, blushing furiously.
"I'll take care of myself," he declared. "Good Lord! Columbine, I'm not an invalid yet. I've got a few friends who'll help me fix up the cabin. And that reminds me. There's a lot of my stuff up in the bunk-house at White Slides. I'm going to drive up soon to haul it away."
"Wilson Moore, do you mean it?" she asked, with grave wonder. "Are you going to homestead near White Slides Ranch--and live there--when--"
She could not finish. An overwhelming disaster, for which she had no name, seemed to be impending.
"Yes, I am," he replied. "Funny how things turn out, isn't it?"
"It's very--very funny," she said, dazedly, and she turned slowly away without another word.