I had a rovin’ disposition an’ didn’t stick long at any kind of work.  But I was lookin’ for a ranch.  My wife had some money an’ I had high hopes.  We spent our first year of married life travelin’ through Kansas.  At Dodge I got tied up for a while.  You know, in them days Dodge was about the wildest camp on the plains.  My wife’s brother run a place there.  He wasn’t much good.  But she thought he was perfect.  Strange how blood-relations can’t see the truth about their own people!  Anyway, her brother Spencer had no use for me, because I could tell how slick he was with the cards an’ beat him at his own game.  Spencer had a gamblin’ pard, a cowboy run out of Texas, one Cap Fol—­But no matter about his name.  One night they were fleecin’ a stranger an’ I broke into the game, winnin’ all they had.  The game ended in a fight, with bloodshed, but nobody killed.  That set Spencer an’ his pard Cap against me.  The stranger was a planter from Louisiana.  He’d been an officer in the rebel army.  A high-strung, handsome Southerner, fond of wine an’ cards an’ women.  Well, he got to payin’ my wife a good deal of attention when I was away, which happened to be often.  She never told me.  I was jealous those days.

“My little girl you call Columbine was born there durin’ a long absence of mine.  When I got home Lucy an’ the baby were gone.  Also the Southerner!...  Spencer an’ his pard Cap, an’ others they had in the deal, proved to me, so it seemed, that the little girl was not really mine!...  An’ so I set out on a hunt for my wife an’ her lover.  I found them.  An’ I killed him before her eyes.  But she was innocent, an’ so was he, as came out too late.  He’d been, indeed, her friend.  She scorned me.  She told me how her brother Spencer an’ his friends had established guilt of mine that had driven her from me.

“I went back to Dodge to have a little quiet smoke with these men who had ruined me.  They were gone.  The trail led to Colorado.  Nearly a year later I rounded them all up in a big wagon-train post north of Denver.  Another brother of my wife’s, an’ her father, had come West, an’ by accident or fate we all met there.  We had a family quarrel.  My wife would not forgive me—­would not speak to me, an’ her people backed her up.  I made the great mistake to take her father an’ other brothers to belong to the same brand as Spencer.  In this I wronged them an’ her.

“What I did to them, Belllounds, is one story I’ll never tell to any man who might live to repeat it.  But it drove my wife near crazy.  An’ it made me Hell-Bent Wade!...  She ran off from me there, an’ I trailed her all over Colorado.  An’ the end of that trail was not a hundred miles from where we stand now.  The last trace I had was of the burnin’ of a prairie-schooner by Arapahoes as they were goin’ home from a foray on the Utes....  The little girl might have toddled off the trail.  But I reckon she was hidden or dropped by her mother, or some one fleein’ for life.  Your men found her in the columbines.”