Wade finished his dressing of the meat.  Then he rode up to spend an hour with Moore.  When he returned to his cabin he proceeded to change his hunter garb for the best he owned.  It was a proof of his unusual preoccupation that he did this before he fed the hounds.  It was sunset when he left his cabin.  Montana Jim and Lem hailed as he went by.  Wade paused to listen to their good-natured raillery.

“See hyar, Bent, this ain’t Sunday,” said Lem.

“You’re spruced up powerful fine.  What’s it fer?” added Montana.

“Boss asked me down to supper.’

“Wal, you lucky son-of-a-gun!  An’ hyar we’ve no invite,” returned Lem.  “Say, Wade, I heerd Buster Jack roarin’ at you.  I was ridin’ in by the storehouse....  ‘Who the hell are you?’ was what collared my attention, an’ I had to laugh.  An’ I listened to all he said.  So you was offerin’ him advice an’ friendship?”

“I reckon.”

“Wal, all I say is thet you was wastin’ yore breath,” declared Lem.  “You’re a queer fellar, Wade.”

“Queer?  Aw, Lem, he ain’t queer,” said Montana.  “He’s jest white.  Wade, I feel the same as you.  I’d like to do somethin’ fer thet locoed Buster Jack.”

“Montana, you’re the locoed one,” rejoined Lem.  “Buster Jack knows what he’s doin’.  He can play a slicker hand of poker than you.”

“Wal, mebbe.  Wade, do you play poker?”

“I’d hate to take your money,” replied Wade.

“You needn’t be so all-fired kind about thet.  Come over to-night an’ take some of it.  Buster Jack invited himself up to our bunk.  He’s itchin’ fer cards.  So we says shore.  Blud’s goin’ to sit in.  Now you come an’ make it five-handed.”

“Wouldn’t young Belllounds object to me?”

“What?  Buster Jack shy at gamblin’ with you?  Not much.  He’s a born gambler.  He’d bet with his grandmother an’ he’d cheat the coppers off a dead nigger’s eyes.”

“Slick with cards, eh?” inquired Wade.

“Naw, Jack’s not slick.  But he tries to be.  An’ we jest go him one slicker.”

“Wouldn’t Old Bill object to this card-playin’?”

“He’d be ory-eyed.  But, by Golly! we’re not leadin’ Jack astray.  An’ we ain’t hankerin’ to play with him.  All the same a little game is welcome enough.”

“I’ll come over,” replied Wade, and thoughtfully turned away.

When he presented himself at the ranch-house it was Columbine who let him in.  She was prettily dressed, in a way he had never seen her before, and his heart throbbed.  Her smile, her voice added to her nameless charm, that seemed to come from the past.  Her look was eager and longing, as if his presence might bring something welcome to her.

Then the rancher stalked in.  “Hullo, Wade!  Supper’s ’most ready.  What’s this trouble you had with Jack?  He says he won’t eat with you.”

“I was offerin’ him advice,” replied Wade.

“What on?”

“Reckon on general principles.”