Wade’s last few whispered words to Moore had been interpreted that the hunter desired to be buried among the columbines in the aspen grove on the slope above Sage Valley.  Here, then, had been made his grave.

* * * * *

One day Belllounds sent Columbine to fetch Moore down to White Slides.  It was a warm, Indian-summer afternoon, and the old rancher sat out on the porch in his shirt-sleeves.  His hair was white now, but no other change was visible in him.  No restraint attended his greeting to the cowboy.

“Wils, I reckon I’d be glad if you’d take your old job as foreman of White Slides,” he said.

“Are you asking me?” queried Moore, eagerly.

“Wal, I reckon so.”

“Yes, I’ll come,” replied the cowboy.

“What’ll your dad say?”

“I don’t know.  That worries me.  He’s coming to visit me.  I heard from him again lately, and he means to take stage for Kremmling soon.”

“Wal, that’s fine.  I’ll be glad to see him....  Wils, you’re goin’ to be a big cattleman before you know it.  Hey, Collie?”

“If you say so, dad, it’ll come true,” replied Columbine, with her hand on his shoulder.

“Wils, you’ll be runnin’ White Slides Ranch before long, unless Collie runs you.  Haw!  Haw!”

Collie could not reply to this startling announcement from the old rancher, and Moore appeared distressed with embarrassment.

“Wal, I reckon you young folks had better ride down to Kremmlin’ an’ get married.”

This kindly, matter-of-fact suggestion completely stunned the cowboy, and all Columbine could do was to gaze at the rancher.

“Say, I hope I ain’t intrudin’ my wishes on a young couple that’s got over dyin’ fer each other,” dryly continued Belllounds, with his huge smile.

“Dad!” cried Columbine, and then she threw her arms around him and buried her head on his shoulder.

“Wal, wal, I reckon that answers that,” he said, holding her close.  “Moore, she’s yours, with my blessin’ an’ all I have....  An’ you must understand I’m glad things have worked out to your good an’ to Collie’s happiness....  Life’s not over fer me yet.  But I reckon the storms are past, thank God!...  We learn as we live.  I’d hold it onworthy not to look forward an’ to hope.  I’m wantin’ peace an’ quiet now, with grandchildren around me in my old age....  So ride along to Kremmlin’ an’ hurry home.”

* * * * *

The evening of the day Columbine came home to White Slides the bride of Wilson Moore she slipped away from the simple festivities in her honor and climbed to the aspen grove on the hill to spend a little while beside the grave of her father.

The afterglow of sunset burned dull gold and rose in the western sky, rendering glorious the veil of purple over the ranges.  Down in the lowlands twilight had come, softly gray.  The owls were hooting; a coyote barked; from far away floated the mourn of a wolf.