“Don’t!  Some—­some one will see.”

“Columbine, we’re engaged,” he asserted, with a laugh of possession.  “Say, you needn’t look so white and scared.  I won’t eat you.  But I’d like to....  Oh, you’re a sweet girl!  Here I was hating to come home.  And look at my luck!”

Then with a sudden change, that seemed significant of his character, he lost his ardor, dropped the half-bold, half-masterful air, and showed the softer side.

“Collie, I never was any good,” he said.  “But I want to be better.  I’ll prove it.  I’ll make a clean breast of everything.  I won’t marry you with any secret between us.  You might find out afterward and hate me....  Do you have any idea where I’ve been these last three years?”

“No,” answered Columbine.

“I’ll tell you right now.  But you must promise never to mention it to any one—­or throw it up to me—­ever.”

He spoke hoarsely, and had grown quite white.  Suddenly Columbine thought of Wilson Moore!  He had known where Jack had spent those years.  He had resisted a strong temptation to tell her.  That was as noble in him as the implication of Jack’s whereabouts had been base.

“Jack, that is big of you,” she replied, hurriedly.  “I respect you—­like you for it.  But you needn’t tell me.  I’d rather you didn’t.  I’ll take the will for the deed.”

Belllounds evidently experienced a poignant shock of amaze, of relief, of wonder, of gratitude.  In an instant he seemed transformed.

“Collie, if I hadn’t loved you before I’d love you now.  That was going to be the hardest job I ever had—­to tell you my—­my story.  I meant it.  And now I’ll not have to feel your shame for me and I’ll not feel I’m a cheat or a liar....  But I will tell you this—­if you love me you’ll make a man of me!”

CHAPTER III

The rancher thought it best to wait till after the round-up before he turned over the foremanship to his son.  This was wise, but Jack did not see it that way.  He showed that his old, intolerant spirit had, if anything, grown during his absence.  Belllounds patiently argued with him, explaining what certainly should have been clear to a young man brought up in Colorado.  The fall round-up was the most important time of the year, and during the strenuous drive the appointed foreman should have absolute control.  Jack gave in finally with a bad grace.

It was unfortunate that he went directly from his father’s presence out to the corrals.  Some of the cowboys who had ridden all the day before and stood guard all night had just come in.  They were begrimed with dust, weary, and sleepy-eyed.

“This hyar outfit won’t see my tracks no more,” said one, disgustedly.  “I never kicked on doin’ two men’s work.  But when it comes to rustlin’ day and night, all the time, I’m a-goin’ to pass.”

“Turn in, boys, and sleep till we get back with the chuck-wagon,” said Wilson Moore.  “We’ll clean up that bunch to-day.”