CHAPTER XI
When Bent Wade desired opportunities they seemed to gravitate to him.
Upon riding into the yard of White Slides Ranch he espied JackBelllounds sitting in idle, moping posture on the porch. Something inhis dejected appearance roused Wade's pity. No one else was in sight, sothe hunter took advantage of the moment.
"Hey, Belllounds, will you give me a lift with this meat?" called Wade.
"Sure," replied Jack, readily enough, and he got up. Wade led thepack-horse to the door of the store-cabin, which stood back of thekitchen and was joined to it by a roof. There, with Jack's assistance,he unloaded the meat and hung it up on pegs. This done, Wade set to workwith knife in hand.
"I reckon a little trimmin' will improve the looks of this carcass,"observed Wade.
"Wade, we never had any one round except dad who could cut up a steer orelk," said Jack. "But you've got him beat."
"I'm pretty handy at most things."
"Handy!... I wish I could do just one thing as well as you. I can ride,but that's all. No one ever taught me anything."
"You're a young fellow yet, an' you've time, if you only take kindly tolearnin'. I was past your age when I learned most I know."
The hunter's voice and his look, and that fascination which subtly hidin his presence, for the first time seemed to find the response ofinterest in young Belllounds.
"I can't stick, dad says, and he swears at me," replied Belllounds. "ButI'll bet I could learn from you."
"Reckon you could. Why can't you stick to anythin'?"
"I don't know. I've been as enthusiastic over work as over ridingmustangs. To ride came natural, but in work, when I do it wrong, thenI hate it."
"Ahuh! That's too bad. You oughtn't to hate work. Hard work makes forwhat I reckon you like in a man, but don't understand. As I look backover my life--an' let me say, young fellar, it's been a tough one--whatI remember most an' feel best over are the hardest jobs I ever did, an'those that cost the most sweat an' blood."
As Wade warmed to his subject, hoping to sow a good seed in Belllounds'smind, he saw that he was wasting his earnestness. Belllounds did notkeep to the train of thought. His mind wandered, and now he wasexamining Wade's rifle.
"Old Henry forty-four," he said. "Dad has one. Also an old needle-gun.Say, can I go hunting with you?"
"Glad to have you. How do you handle a rifle?"
"I used to shoot pretty well before I went to Denver," he replied."Haven't tried since I've been home.... Suppose you let me take a shotat that post?" And from where he stood in the door he pointed to a bighitching-post near the corral gate.
The corral contained horses, and in the pasture beyond were cattle, anyof which might be endangered by such a shot. Wade saw that the young manwas in earnest, that he wanted to respond to the suggestion in his mind.Consequences of any kind did not awaken after the suggestion.
"Sure. Go ahead. Shoot low, now, a little below where you want to hit,"said Wade.
Belllounds took aim and fired. A thundering report shook the cabin. Dustand splinters flew from the post.
"I hit it!" he exclaimed, in delight. "I was sure I wouldn't, because Iaimed 'way under."
"Reckon you did. It was a good shot."
Then a door slammed and Old Bill Belllounds appeared, his hairupstanding, his look and gait proclaiming him on the rampage.
"Jack! What'n hell are you doin'?" he roared, and he stamped up to thedoor to see his son standing there with the rifle in his hands. "ByHeaven! If it ain't one thing it's another!"
"Boss, don't jump over the traces," said Wade. "I'll allow if I'd knownthe gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack toshoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made theracket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot."
"Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then Iwas mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief.... Did you fetch inthe meat?"
"You bet. An' I'd like a piece for myself," replied Wade.
"Help yourself, man. An' say, come down an' eat with us fer supper."
"Much obliged, boss. I sure will."
Then the old rancher trudged back to the house.
"Wade, it was bully of you!" exclaimed Jack, gratefully. "You see howquick dad's ready to jump me? I'll bet he thought I'd picked ashooting-scrape with one of the cowboys."
"Well, he's gettin' old an' testy," replied Wade. "You ought to humorhim. He'll not be here always."
Belllounds answered to that suggestion with a shadowing of eyes and lookof realization, affection, remorse. Feelings seemed to have a quick riseand play in him, but were not lasting. Wade casually studied him,weighing his impressions, holding them in abeyance for a sumof judgment.
"Belllounds, has anybody told you about Wils Moore bein' bad hurt?"abruptly asked the hunter.
"He is, is he?" replied Jack, and to his voice and face came suddenchange. "How bad?"
"I reckon he'll be a cripple for life," answered Wade, seriously, andnow he stopped in his work to peer at Belllounds. The next moment mightbe critical for that young man.
"Club-footed!... He won't lord it over the cowboys any more--or ridethat white mustang!" The softer, weaker expression of his face, thatwhich gave him some title to good looks, changed to an ugliness hard forWade to define, since it was neither glee, nor joy, nor gratificationover his rival's misfortune. It was rush of blood to eyes and skin, aheated change that somehow to Wade suggested an anxious, selfish hunger.Belllounds lacked something, that seemed certain. But it remained to beproved how deserving he was of Wade's pity.
"Belllounds, it was a dirty trick--your jumpin' Moore," declared Wade,with deliberation.
"The hell you say!" Belllounds flared up, with scarlet in his face, withsneer of amaze, with promise of bursting rage. He slammed down the gun.
"Yes, the hell I say," returned the hunter. "They call me Hell-BentWade!"
"Are you friends with Moore?" asked Belllounds, beginning to shake.
"Yes, I'm that with every one. I'd like to be friends with you."
"I don't want you. And I'm giving you notice--you won't last long atWhite Slides."
"Neither will you!"
Belllounds turned dead white, not apparently from fury or fear, but froma shock that had its birth within the deep, mysterious, emotionalreachings of his mind. He was utterly astounded, as if confronting avague, terrible premonition of the future. Wade's swift words, like thering of bells, had not been menacing, but prophetic.
"Young fellar, you need to be talked to, so if you've got any sense atall it'll get a wedge in your brain," went on Wade. "I'm a strangerhere. But I happen to be a man who sees through things, an' I see howyour dad handles you wrong. You don't know who I am an' you don't care.But if you'll listen you'll learn what might help you.... No boy cananswer to all his wild impulses without ruinin' himself. It's notnatural. There are other people--people who have wills an' desires, sameas you have. You've got to live with people. Here's your dad an' MissColumbine, an' the cowboys, an' me, an' all the ranchers, so down toKremmlin' an' other places. These are the people you've got to livewith. You can't go on as you've begun, without ruinin' yourself an' yourdad an' the--the girl.... It's never too late to begin to be better. Iknow that. But it gets too late, sometimes, to save the happiness ofothers. Now I see where you're headin' as clear as if I had pictures ofthe future. I've got a gift that way.... An', Belllounds, you'll notlast. Unless you begin to control your temper, to forget yourself, tokill your wild impulses, to be kind, to learn what love is--you'll neverlast!... In the very nature of things, one comin' after another likeyour fights with Moore, an' your scarin' of Pronto, an' your drinkin'at Kremmlin', an' just now your r'arin' at me--it's in the very natureof life that goin' on so you'll sooner or later meet with hell! You'vegot to change, Belllounds. No half-way, spoiled-boy changin', but thestraight right-about-face of a man!... It means you must see you're nogood an' have a change of heart. Men have revolutions like that. I wasno g
ood. I did worse than you'll ever do, because you're not big enoughto be really bad, an' yet I've turned out worth livin'.... There, I'mthrough, an' I'm offerin' to be your friend an' to help you."
Belllounds stood with arms spread outside the door, still astounded,still pale; but as the long admonition and appeal ended he explodedstridently. "Who the hell are _you?_... If I hadn't been sosurprised--if I'd had a chance to get a word in--I'd shut your trap! Areyou a preacher masquerading here as hunter? Let me tell you, I won't betalked to like that--not by any man. Keep your advice an' friendship toyourself."
"You don't want me, then?"
"No," Belllounds snapped.
"Reckon you don't need either advice or friend, hey?"
"No, you owl-eyed, soft-voiced fool!" yelled Belllounds.
It was then Wade felt a singular and familiar sensation, a cold,creeping thing, physical and elemental, that had not visited him sincehe had been at White Slides.
"I reckoned so," he said, with low and gloomy voice, and he knew, ifBelllounds did not know, that he was not acquiescing with the other'sharsh epithet, but only greeting the advent of something in himself.
Belllounds shrugged his burly shoulders and slouched away.
Wade finished his dressing of the meat. Then he rode up to spend an hourwith Moore. When he returned to his cabin he proceeded to change hishunter garb for the best he owned. It was a proof of his unusualpreoccupation that he did this before he fed the hounds. It was sunsetwhen he left his cabin. Montana Jim and Lem hailed as he went by. Wadepaused 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 thestorehouse.... '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 locoedBuster Jack."
"Montana, you're the locoed one," rejoined Lem. "Buster Jack knows whathe'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'sitchin' fer cards. So we says shore. Blud's goin' to sit in. Now youcome 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 borngambler. He'd bet with his grandmother an' he'd cheat the coppers off adead nigger's eyes."
"Slick with cards, eh?" inquired Wade.
"Naw, Jack's not slick. But he tries to be. An' we jest go him oneslicker."
"Wouldn't Old Bill object to this card-playin'?"
"He'd be ory-eyed. But, by Golly! we're not leadin' Jack astray. An' weain't hankerin' to play with him. All the same a little game iswelcome enough."
"I'll come over," replied Wade, and thoughtfully turned away.
When he presented himself at the ranch-house it was Columbine who lethim 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 namelesscharm, that seemed to come from the past. Her look was eager andlonging, as if his presence might bring something welcome to her.
Then the rancher stalked in. "Hullo, Wade! Supper's 'most ready. What'sthis 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."
"Humph! Wal, he told me you harangued him till you was black in theface, an'--"
"Jack had it wrong. He got black in the face," interrupted Wade.
"Did you say he was a spoiled boy an' thet he was no good an' washeadin' plumb fer hell?"
"That was a little of what I said," returned Wade, gently.
"Ahuh! How'd thet come about?" queried Belllounds, gruffly. A slightstiffening and darkening overcast his face.
Wade then recalled and recounted the remarks that had passed between himand Jack; and he did not think he missed them very far. He had a greatcuriosity to see how Belllounds would take them, and especially theyoung man's scornful rejection of a sincerely offered friendship. Allthe time Wade was talking he was aware of Columbine watching him, andwhen he finished it was sweet to look at her.
"Wade, wasn't you takin' a lot on yourself?" queried the rancher,plainly displeased.
"Reckon I was. But my conscience is beholden to no man. If Jack had metme half-way that would have been better for him. An' for me, because Iget good out of helpin' any one."
His reply silenced Belllounds. No more was said before supper wasannounced, and then the rancher seemed taciturn. Columbine did theserving, and most all of the talking. Wade felt strangely at ease. Somesubtle difference was at work in him, transforming him, but the momenthad not yet come for him to question himself. He enjoyed the supper. Andwhen he ventured to look up at Columbine, to see her strong, capablehands and her warm, blue glance, glad for his presence, sweetlyexpressive of their common secret and darker with a shadow of meaningbeyond her power to guess, then Wade felt havoc within him, the strifeand pain and joy of the truth he never could reveal. For he could neverreveal his identity to her without betraying his baseness to her mother.Otherwise, to hear her call him father would have been earning thathappiness with a lie. Besides, she loved Belllounds as her father, andwere this trouble of the present removed she would grow still closer tothe old man in his declining days. Wade accepted the inevitable, Shemust never know. If she might love him it must be as the stranger whocame to her gates, it must be through the mysterious affinity betweenthem and through the service he meant to render.
Wade did not linger after the meal was ended despite the fact thatBelllounds recovered his cordiality. It was dark when he went out.Columbine followed him, talking cheerfully. Once outside she squeezedhis hand and whispered, "How's Wilson?"
The hunter nodded his reply, and, pausing at the porch step, he pressedher hand to make his assurance stronger. His reward was instant. In thebright starlight she stood white and eloquent, staring down at him withdark, wide eyes.
Presently she whispered: "Oh, my friend! It wants only three days tillOctober first!"
"Lass, it might be a thousand years for all you need worry," he replied,his voice low and full. Then it seemed, as she flung up her arms, thatshe was about to embrace him. But her gesture was an appeal to thestars, to Heaven above, for something she did not speak.
Wade bade her good night and went his way.
* * * * *
The cowboys and the rancher's son were about to engage in a game ofpoker when Wade entered the dimly lighted, smoke-hazed room. Montana Jimwas sticking tallow candles in the middle of a rude table; Lem wassearching his clothes, manifestly for money; Bludsoe shuffled a greasydeck of cards, and Jack Belllounds was filling his pipe before a fire ofblazing logs on the hearth.
"Dog-gone it! I hed more money 'n thet," complained Lem. "Jim, you rodeto Kremmlin' last. Did you take my money?"
"Wal, come to think of it, I reckon I did," replied Jim, in surprise atthe recollection.
"An' whar's it now?"
"Pard, I 'ain't no idee. I reckon it's still in Kremmlin'. But I'll payyou back."
"I should smile you will. Pony up now."
"Bent Wade, did you come over calkilated to git skinned?" queriedBludsoe.
"Boys, I was playin' poker tolerable well in Missouri when you all wasnursin'," r
eplied Wade, imperturbably.
"I heerd he was a card-sharp," said Jim. "Wal, grab a box or a chair toset on an' let's start. Come along, Jack; you don't look as keen to playas usual."
Belllounds stood with his back to the fire and his manner did notcompare favorably with that of the genial cowboys.
"I prefer to play four-handed," he said.
This declaration caused a little check in the conversation and put anend to the amiability. The cowboys looked at one another, notembarrassed, but just a little taken aback, as if they had forgottensomething that they should have remembered.
"You object to my playin'?" asked Wade, quietly.
"I certainly do," replied Belllounds.
"Why, may I ask?"
"For all I know, what Montana said about you may be true," returnedBelllounds, insolently.
Such a remark flung in the face of a Westerner was an insult. Thecowboys suddenly grew stiff, with steady eyes on Wade. He, however, didnot change in the slightest.
"I might be a card-sharp at that," he replied, coolly. "You fellows playwithout me. I'm not carin' about poker any more. I'll look on."
Thus he carried over the moment that might have been dangerous. Lemgaped at him; Montana kicked a box forward to sit upon, and his actionwas expressive; Bludsoe slammed the cards down on the table and favoredWade with a comprehending look. Belllounds pulled a chair up tothe table.
"What'll we make the limit?" asked Jim.
"Two bits," replied Lem, quickly.
Then began an argument. Belllounds was for a dollar limit. The cowboysobjected.
"Why, Jack, if the ole man got on to us playin' a dollar limit he'd firethe outfit," protested Bludsoe.
This reasonable objection in no wise influenced the old man's son. Heoverruled the good arguments, and then hinted at the cowboys' lack ofnerve. The fun faded out of their faces. Lem, in fact, grew red.
"Wal, if we're agoin' to gamble, thet's different," he said, with a coldring in his voice, as he straddled a box and sat down. "Wade, lemmesome money."
Wade slipped his hand into his pocket and drew forth a goodly handful ofgold, which he handed to the cowboy. Not improbably, if this largeamount had been shown earlier, before the change in the sentiment, Lemwould have looked aghast and begged for mercy. As it was, he accepted itas if he were accustomed to borrowing that much every day. Bellloundshad rendered futile the easy-going, friendly advances of the cowboys, ashe had made it impossible to play a jolly little game for fun.
The game began, with Wade standing up, looking on. These boys did notknow what a vast store of poker knowledge lay back of Wade's inscrutableeyes. As a boy he had learned the intricacies of poker in the countrywhere it originated; and as a man he had played it with piles of yellowcoins and guns on the table. His eagerness to look on here, as far asthe cowboys were concerned, was mere pretense. In Belllounds's case,however, he had a profound interest. Rumors had drifted to him from timeto time, since his advent at White Slides, regarding Belllounds'sweakness for gambling. It might have been cowboy gossip. Wade held thatthere was nothing in the West as well calculated to test a boy, to provehis real character, as a game of poker.
Belllounds was a feverish better, an exultant winner, a poor loser. Hisunderstanding of the game was rudimentary. With him, the strong feelingbeginning to be manifested to Wade was not the fun of matching wits andluck with his antagonists, nor a desire to accumulate money--for hisrecklessness disproved that--but the liberation of the gambling passion.Wade recognized that when he met it. And Jack Belllounds was not in anysense big. He was selfish and grasping in the numberless little wayscommon to the game, and positive about his own rights, while doubtful ofthe claims of others. His cheating was clumsy and crude. He held outcards, hiding them in his palm; he shuffled the deck so he left aces atthe bottom, and these he would slip off to himself, and he was so blindthat he could not detect his fellow-player in tricks as transparent ashis own. Wade was amazed and disgusted. The pity he had felt forBelllounds shifted to the old father, who believed in his son withstubborn and unquenchable faith.
"Haven't you got something to drink?" Jack asked of his companions.
"Nope. Whar'd we git it?" replied Jim.
Belllounds evidently forgot, for presently he repeated the query. Thecowboys shook their heads. Wade knew they were lying, for they did haveliquor in the cabin. It occurred to him, then, to offer to go to his owncabin for some, just to see what this young man would say. But herefrained.
The luck went against Belllounds and so did the gambling. He was not alamb among wolves, by any means, but the fleecing he got suggested that.According to Wade he was getting what he deserved. No cowboys, even suchgood-natured and fine fellows as these, could be expected to be subjectsfor Belllounds's cupidity. And they won all he had.
"I'll borrow," he said, with feverish impatience. His face was pale,clammy, yet heated, especially round the swollen bruises; his eyes stoodout, bold, dark, rolling and glaring, full of sullen fire. But more thananything else his mouth betrayed the weakling, the born gambler, theself-centered, spoiled, intolerant youth. It was here his badblood showed.
"Wal, I ain't lendin' money," replied Lem, as he assorted his winnings."Wade, here's what you staked me, an' much obliged."
"I'm out, an' I can't lend you any," said Jim.
Bludsoe had a good share of the profits of that quick game, but he madeno move to lend any of it. Belllounds glared impatiently at them.
"Hell! you took my money. I'll have satisfaction," he broke out, almostshouting.
"We won it, didn't we?" rejoined Lem, cool and easy. "An' you can haveall the satisfaction you want, right now or any time."
Wade held out a handful of money to Belllounds.
"Here," he said, with his deep eyes gleaming in the dim room. Wade hadmade a gamble with himself, and it was that Belllounds would not evenhesitate to take money.
"Come on, you stingy cowpunchers," he called out, snatching the moneyfrom Wade. His action then, violent and vivid as it was, did not revealany more than his face.
But the cowboys showed amaze, and something more. They fell straightwayto gambling, sharper and fiercer than before, actuated now by theflaming spirit of this son of Belllounds. Luck, misleading and alluring,favored Jack for a while, transforming him until he was radiant,boastful, exultant. Then it changed, as did his expression. His facegrew dark.
"I tell you I want drink," he suddenly demanded. "I know damn well youcowpunchers have some here, for I smelled it when I came in."
"Jack, we drank the last drop," replied Jim, who seemed less stiff thanhis two bunk-mates.
"I've some very old rye," interposed Wade, looking at Jim, butapparently addressing all. "Fine stuff, but awful strong an' hot!...Makes a fellow's blood dance."
"Go get it!" Belllounds's utterance was thick and full, as if he hadsomething in his mouth.
Wade looked down into the heated face, into the burning eyes; andthrough the darkness of passion that brooked no interference with itsfruition he saw this youth's stark and naked soul. Wade had seen intothe depths of many such abysses.
"See hyar, Wade," broke in Jim, with his quiet force, "never mindfetchin' thet red-hot rye to-night. Some other time, mebbe, when Jackwants more satisfaction. Reckon we've got a drop or so left."
"All right, boys," replied Wade, "I'll be sayin' good night."
He left them playing and strode out to return to his cabin. The nightwas still, cold, starlit, and black in the shadows. A lonesome coyotebarked, to be answered by a wakeful hound. Wade halted at his porch,and lingered there a moment, peering up at the gray old peak, bare andstar-crowned.
"I'm sorry for the old man," muttered the hunter, "but I'd see JackBelllounds in hell before I'd let Columbine marry him."
* * * * *
October first was a holiday at White Slides Ranch. It happened to be aglorious autumn day, with the sunlight streaming gold and amber over thegrassy slopes. Far off the purple ranges loomed h
auntingly.
Wade had come down from Wilson Moore's cabin, his ears ringing with thecrippled boy's words of poignant fear.
Fox favored his master with unusually knowing gaze. There was not goingto be any lion-chasing or elk-hunting this day. Something was in thewind. And Fox, as a privileged dog, manifested his interest and wonder.
Before noon a buckboard with team of sweating horses halted in the yardof the ranch-house. Besides the driver it contained two women whomBelllounds greeted as relatives, and a stranger, a pale man whose darkgarb proclaimed him a minister.
"Come right in, folks," welcomed Belllounds, with hearty excitement.
It was Wade who showed the driver where to put the horses. Strangely,not a cowboy was in sight, an omission of duty the rancher had noted.Wade might have informed him where they were.
The door of the big living-room stood open, and from it came the soundof laughter and voices. Wade, who had returned to his seat on the end ofthe porch, listened to them, while his keen gaze seemed fixed down thelane toward the cabins. How intent must he have been not to hearColumbine's step behind him!
"Good morning, Ben," she said.
Wade wheeled as if internal violence had ordered his movement.
"Lass, good mornin'," he replied. "You sure look sweet this Octoberfirst--like the flower for which you're named."
"My friend, it _is_ October first--my marriage day!" murmured Columbine.
Wade felt her intensity, and he thrilled to the brave, sweet resignationof her face. Hope and faith were unquenchable in her, yet she hadfortified herself to the wreck of dreams and love.
"I'd seen you before now, but I had some job with Wils, persuadin' himthat we'd not have to offer you congratulations yet awhile," repliedWade, in his slow, gentle voice.
"_Oh!_" breathed Columbine.
Wade saw her full breast swell and the leaping blood wave over her paleface. She bent to him to see his eyes. And for Wade, when she peeredwith straining heart and soul, all at once to become transfigured, thatinstant was a sweet and all-fulfilling reward for his years of pain.
"You drive me mad!" she whispered.
The heavy tread of the rancher, like the last of successive steps offate in Wade's tragic expectancy, sounded on the porch.
"Wal, lass, hyar you are," he said, with a gladness deep in his voice."Now, whar's the boy?"
"Dad--I've not--seen Jack since breakfast," replied Columbine,tremulously.
"Sort of a laggard in love on his weddin'-day," rejoined the rancher.His gladness and forgetfulness were as big as his heart. "Wade, have youseen Jack?"
"No--I haven't," replied the hunter, with slow, long-drawn utterance."But--I see--him now."
Wade pointed to the figure of Jack Belllounds approaching from thedirection of the cabins. He was not walking straight.
Old man Belllounds shot out his gray head like a striking eagle.
"What the hell?" he muttered, as if bewildered at this strange, unevengait of his son. "Wade, what's the matter with Jack?"
Wade did not reply. That moment had its sorrow for him as well asunderstanding of the wonder expressed by Columbine's cold little handtrembling in his.
The rancher suddenly recoiled.
"So help me Gawd--he's drunk!" he gasped, in a distress that unmannedhim.
Then the parson and the invited relatives came out upon the porch, withgay voices and laughter that suddenly stilled when old Belllounds cried,brokenly: "Lass--go--in--the house."
But Columbine did not move, and Wade felt her shaking as she leanedagainst him.
The bridegroom approached. Drunk indeed he was; not hilariously, as onewho celebrated his good fortune, but sullenly, tragically,hideously drunk.
Old Belllounds leaped off the porch. His gray hair stood up like themane of a lion. Like a giant's were his strides. With a lunge he met hisreeling son, swinging a huge fist into the sodden red face. Limply Jackfell to the ground.
"Lay there, you damned prodigal!" he roared, terrible in his rage. "Youdisgrace me--an' you disgrace the girl who's been a daughter to me!...if you ever have another weddin'-day it'll not be me who sets it!"