“I can’t remember that he did,” replied Columbine.  She felt a desire to laugh, yet the subject was anything but amusing to her.

“Wal, you’ve always been innocent-like.  Thank the Lord you never leaned to tricks of most pretty lasses, makin’ eyes at all the men.  Anyway, a matter of three months ago I told Wils to keep away from you—­thet you were not fer any poor cowpuncher.”

“You never liked him.  Why?  Was it fair, taking him as boys come?”

“Wal, I reckon it wasn’t,” replied Belllounds, and as he looked up his broad face changed to ruddy color.  “Thet boy’s the best rider an’ roper I’ve had in years.  He ain’t the bronco-bustin’ kind.  He never drank.  He was honest an’ willin’.  He saves his money.  He’s good at handlin’ stock.  Thet boy will be a rich rancher some day.”

“Strange, then, you never liked him,” murmured Columbine.  She felt ashamed of the good it did her to hear Wilson praised.

“No, it ain’t strange.  I have my own reasons,” replied Belllounds, gruffly, as he resumed eating.

Columbine believed she could guess the cause of the old rancher’s unreasonable antipathy for this cowboy.  Not improbably it was because Wilson had always been superior in every way to Jack Belllounds.  The boys had been natural rivals in everything pertaining to life on the range.  What Bill Belllounds admired most in men was paramount in Wilson and lacking in his own son.

“Will you put Jack in charge of your ranches, now?” asked Columbine.

“Not much.  I reckon I’ll try him hyar at White Slides as foreman.  An’ if he runs the outfit, then I’ll see.”

“Dad, he’ll never run the White Slides outfit,” asserted Columbine.

“Wal, it is a hard bunch, I’ll agree.  But I reckon the boys will stay, exceptin’, mebbe, Wils.  An’ it’ll be jest as well fer him to leave.”

“It’s not good business to send away your best cowboy.  I’ve heard you complain lately of lack of men.”

“I sure do need men,” replied Belllounds, seriously.  “Stock gettin’ more ‘n we can handle.  I sent word over the range to Meeker, hopin’ to get some men there.  What I need most jest now is a fellar who knows dogs an’ who’ll hunt down the wolves an’ lions an’ bears thet’re livin’ off my cattle.”

“Dad, you need a whole outfit to handle the packs of hounds you’ve got.  Such an assortment of them!  There must be a hundred.  Only yesterday some man brought a lot of mangy, long-eared canines.  It’s funny.  Why, dad, you’re the laughing-stock of the range!’

“Yes, an’ the range’ll be thankin’ me when I rid it of all these varmints,” declared Belllounds.  “Lass, I swore I’d buy every dog fetched to me, until I had enough to kill off the coyotes an’ lofers an’ lions.  I’ll do it, too.  But I need a hunter.”

“Why not put Wilson Moore in charge of the hounds?  He’s a hunter.”

“Wal, lass, thet might be a good idee,” replied the rancher, nodding his grizzled head.  “Say, you’re sort of wantin’ me to keep Wils on.”