and have that or nothing....  Then he works as he never worked before—­on dad’s books, in the shop, out on the range.  He seems obsessed with some thought all the time.  He talks little.  All the old petulance, obstinacy, selfishness, and especially his sudden, queer impulses, and bull-headed tenacity—­all gone!  He has suffered physical distress, because he never was used to hard work.  And more, he’s suffered terribly for the want of liquor.  I’ve heard him say to dad:  ’It’s hell—­this burning thirst.  I never knew I had it.  I’ll stand it, if it kills me....  But wouldn’t it be easier on me to take a drink now and then, at these bad times?’...  And dad said:  ‘No, son.  Break off for keeps!  This taperin’ off is no good way to stop drinkin’.  Stand the burnin’.  An’ when it’s gone you’ll be all the gladder an’ I’ll be all the prouder.’...  I have not forgotten all Jack’s former failings, but I am forgetting them, little by little.  For dad’s sake I’m overjoyed.  For Jack’s I am glad.  I’m convinced now that he’s had his lesson—­that he’s sowed his wild oats—­that he has become a man.”

Moore listened eagerly, and when she had concluded he thoughtfully bent his head and began to cut little chips out of the log with his knife.

“Collie, I’ve heard a good deal of the change in Jack,” he said, earnestly.  “Honest Injun, I’m glad—­glad for his father’s sake, for his own, and for yours.  The boys think Jack’s locoed.  But his reformation is not strange to me.  If I were no good—­just like he was—­well, I could change as greatly for—­for you.”

Columbine hastily averted her face.  Wade’s keen eyes, apparently hidden under his old hat, saw how wet her lashes were, how her lips trembled.

“Wilson, you think then—­you believe Jack will last—­will stick to his new ways?” she queried, hurriedly.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, nodding.

“How good of you!  Oh!  Wilson, it’s like you to be noble—­splendid.  When you might have—­when it’d have been so natural for you to doubt—­to scorn him!”

“Collie, I’m honest about that.  And now you be just as honest.  Do you think Jack will stand to his colors?  Never drink—­never gamble—­never fly off the handle again?”

“Yes, I honestly believe that—­providing he gets—­providing I—­”

Her voice trailed off faintly.

Moore wheeled to address the hunter.

“Pard, what do you think?  Tell me now.  Tell us.  It will help me, and Collie, too.  I’ve asked you before, but you wouldn’t—­Tell us now, do you believe Buster Jack will live up to his new ideals?”

Wade had long parried that question, because the time to answer it had not come till this moment.

“No,” he replied, gently.

Columbine uttered a little cry.

“Why not?” demanded Moore, his face darkening.

“Reckon there are reasons that you young folks wouldn’t think of, an’ couldn’t know.”

“Wade, it’s not like you to be hopeless for any man,” said Moore.