And then Columbine was to learn straightway that she would forget herself again, that she had forgotten, and that a sadder, stranger truth was dawning upon her—­she was discovering another Columbine within herself, a wilful, passionate, different creature who would no longer be denied.

Almost before Columbine realized that she had started upon the visit she was within sight of the Andrews ranch.  So swiftly had she walked!  It behooved her to hide such excitement as had dominated her.  And to that end she slowed her pace, trying to put her mind on other matters.

The children saw her first and rushed upon her, so that when she reached the cabin door she could not well have been otherwise than rosy and smiling.  Mrs. Andrews, ruddy and strong, looked the pioneer rancher’s hard-working wife.  Her face brightened at the advent of Columbine, and showed a little surprise and curiosity as well.

“Laws, but it’s good to see you, Columbine,” was her greeting.  “You ’ain’t been here for a long spell.”

“I’ve been coming, but just put it off,” replied Columbine.

And so, after the manner of women neighbors, they began to talk of the fall round-up, and the near approach of winter with its loneliness, and the children, all of which naturally led to more personal and interesting topics.

“An’ is it so, Columbine, that you’re to marry Jack Belllounds?” asked Mrs. Andrews, presently.

“Yes, I guess it is,” replied Columbine, smiling.

“Humph!  I’m no relative of yours or even a particular, close friend, but I’d like to say—­”

“Please don’t,” interposed Columbine.

“All right, my girl.  I guess it’s better I don’t say anythin’.  It’s a pity, though, onless you love this Buster Jack.  An’ you never used to do that, I’ll swan.”

“No, I don’t love Jack—­yet—­as I ought to love a husband.  But I’ll try, and if—­if I—­I never do—­still, it’s my duty to marry him.”

“Some woman ought to talk to Bill Belllounds,” declared Mrs. Andrews with a grimness that boded ill for the old rancher.

“Did you know we had a new man up at the ranch?” asked Columbine, changing the subject.

“You mean the hunter, Hell-Bent Wade?”

“Yes.  But I hate that ridiculous name,” said Columbine.

“It’s queer, like lots of names men get in these parts.  An’ it’ll stick.  Wade’s been here twice; once as he was passin’ with the hounds, an’ the other night.  I like him, Columbine.  He’s true-blue, for all his strange name.  My men-folks took to him like ducks to water.”

“I’m glad.  I took to him almost like that,” rejoined Columbine.  “He has the saddest face I ever saw.”

“Sad?  Wal, yes.  That man has seen a good deal of what they tacked on to his name.  I laughed when I seen him first.  Little lame fellar, crooked-legged an’ ragged, with thet awful homely face!  But I forgot how he looked next time he came.”