“Yes.  He claimed Spottie.  Well, he wasn’t really mine, so I gave in.  When I threw off the saddle, which was mine, Jack began to roar.  He said he was foreman and he’d have me discharged.  But I said I’d quit already.  We both kept getting sorer and I called him Buster Jack....  He hit me first.  Then we fought.  I reckon I was getting the best of him when he made a dive for Bludsoe’s gun.  And that’s all.”

“Boss, as sure as I’m a born cowman,” put in Bludsoe, “he’d hev plugged Wils if he’d got my gun.  At thet he damn near got it!”

The old man stroked his scant gray beard with his huge, steady hand, apparently not greatly concerned by the disclosure.

“Montana, what do you say?” he queried, as if he held strong store by that quiet cowboy’s opinion.

“Wal, boss,” replied Jim, reluctantly, “Buster Jack’s temper was bad onct, but now it’s plumb wuss.”

Whereupon Belllounds turned to Moore with a gesture and a look of a man who, in justice to something in himself, had to speak.

“Wils, it’s onlucky you clashed with Jack right off,” he said.  “But thet was to be expected.  I reckon Jack was in the wrong.  Thet hoss was yours by all a cowboy holds right an’ square.  Mebbe by law Spottie belonged to White Slides Ranch—­to me.  But he’s yours now, fer I give him to you.”

“Much obliged, Belllounds.  I sure do appreciate that,” replied Moore, warmly.  “It’s what anybody’d gamble Bill Belllounds would do.”

“Ahuh!  An’ I’d take it as a favor if you’d stay on to-day an’ get thet brandin’ done:” 

“All right, I’ll do that for you,” replied Moore.  “Lem, I guess you won’t get your sleep till to-night.  Come on.”

“Awl” sighed Lem, as he picked up his bridle.

* * * * *

Late that afternoon Columbine sat upon the porch, watching the sunset.  It had been a quiet day for her, mostly indoors.  Once only had she seen Jack, and then he was riding by toward the pasture, whirling a lasso round his head.  Jack could ride like one born to the range, but he was not an adept in the use of a rope.  Nor had Columbine seen the old rancher since breakfast.  She had heard his footsteps, however, pacing slowly up and down his room.

She was watching the last rays of the setting sun rimming with gold the ramparts of the mountain eastward, and burning a crown for Old White Slides peak.  A distant bawl and bellow of cattle had died away.  The branding was over for that fall.  How glad she felt!  The wind, beginning to grow cold as the sun declined, cooled her hot face.  In the solitude of her room Columbine had cried enough that day to scald her cheeks.

Presently, down the lane between the pastures, she saw a cowboy ride into view.  Very slowly he came, leading another horse.  Columbine recognized Lem a second before she saw that he was leading Pronto.  That struck her as strange.  Another glance showed Pronto to be limping.  Apparently he could just get along, and that was all.  Columbine ran out in dismay, reaching the corral gate before Lem did.  At first she had eyes only for her beloved mustang.