Belllounds spoke in an even, heavy tone, without any apparent feeling.
Always he was mercilessly frank and never spared the truth. But
Columbine, who knew him well, felt how this news flayed him. Resentment
stirred in her toward the wayward son, but she knew better than to
voice it.

"Natural like, I reckon, fer Jack to feel gay on gettin' home. I ain't
holdin' thet ag'in' him. These last three years must have been gallin'
to thet boy."

Columbine stretched her hands to the blaze.

"It's cold, dad," she averred. "I didn't dress warmly, so I nearly
froze. Autumn is here and there's frost in the air. Oh, the hills were
all gold and red--the aspen leaves were falling. I love autumn, but it
means winter is so near."

"Wal, wal, time flies," sighed the old man. "Where'd you ride?"

"Up the west slope to the bluff. It's far. I don't go there often."

"Meet any of the boys? I sent the outfit to drive stock down from the
mountain. I've lost a good many head lately. They're eatin' some weed
thet poisons them. They swell up an' die. Wuss this year than
ever before."

"Why, that is serious, dad! Poor things! That's worse than eating
loco.... Yes, I met Wilson Moore driving down the slope."

"Ahuh! Wal, let's eat."