Bent Wade removed his pipe and let out a strange laugh, significant with its little note of grim confirmation.

“What’s funny about thet?” demanded Lewis, rather surprised.

“I was only laughin’,” replied Wade.  “What you said about the cowboy bein’ sweet on the girl popped into my head before you told it.  Well, boys will be boys.  I was young once an’ had my day.”

Lewis grunted as he bent over to lift a red coal to light his pipe, and as he raised his head he gave Wade a glance of sympathetic curiosity.

“Wal, I hope I’ll see more of you,” he said, as his guest rose, evidently to go.

“Reckon you will, as I’ll be chasin’ hounds all over.  An’ I want a look at them neighbors you spoke of that might be rustlers....  I’ll turn in now.  Good night.”

CHAPTER V

Bent Wade rode out of the forest to look down upon the White Slides country at the hour when it was most beautiful.

“Never seen the beat of that!” he exclaimed, as he halted.

The hour was sunset, with the golden rays and shadows streaking ahead of him down the rolling sage hills, all rosy and gray with rich, strange softness.  Groves of aspens stood isolated from one another—­here crowning a hill with blazing yellow, and there fringing the brow of another with gleaming gold, and lower down reflecting the sunlight with brilliant red and purple.  The valley seemed filled with a delicate haze, almost like smoke.  White Slides Ranch was hidden from sight, as it lay in the bottomland.  The gray old peak towered proud and aloof, clear-cut and sunset-flushed against the blue.  The eastern slope of the valley was a vast sweep of sage and hill and grassy bench and aspen bench, on fire with the colors of autumn made molten by the last flashing of the sun.  Great black slopes of forest gave sharp contrast, and led up to the red-walled ramparts of the mountain range.

Wade watched the scene until the fire faded, the golden shafts paled and died, the rosy glow on sage changed to cold steel gray.  Then he rode out upon the foothills.  The trail led up and down slopes of sage.  Grass grew thicker as he descended.  Once he startled a great flock of prairie-chickens, or sage-hens, large gray birds, lumbering, swift fliers, that whirred up, and soon plumped down again into the sage.  Twilight found him on a last long slope of the foothills, facing the pasture-land of the valley, with the ranch still five miles distant, now showing misty and dim in the gathering shadows.

Wade made camp where a brook ran near an aspen thicket.  He had no desire to hurry to meet events at White Slides Ranch, although he longed to see this girl that belonged to Belllounds.  Night settled down over the quiet foothills.  A pack of roving coyotes visited Wade, and sat in a half-circle in the shadows back of the camp-fire.  They howled and barked.  Nevertheless sleep visited Wade’s tired eyelids the moment he lay down and closed them.