Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter the living-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes.  Manifestly the rancher was berating his son.  The former gaped at sight of her and the latter shrank.

“Jack Belllounds,” she cried, “you’re not half a man....  You’re a coward and a brute!”

One tense moment she stood there, lightning scorn and passion in her gaze, and then she rushed out, impetuously, as she had come.

CHAPTER VIII

Columbine did not leave her room any more that day.  What she suffered there she did not want any one to know.  What it cost her to conquer herself again she had only a faint conception of.  She did conquer, however, and that night made up the sleep she had lost the night before.

Strangely enough, she did not feel afraid to face the rancher and his son.  Recent happenings had not only changed her, but had seemed to give her strength.  When she presented herself at the breakfast-table Jack was absent.  The old rancher greeted her with more thar usual solicitude.

“Jack’s sick,” he remarked, presently.

“Indeed,” replied Columbine.

“Yes.  He said it was the drinkin’ he’s not accustomed to.  Wal, I reckon it was what you called him.  He didn’t take much store on what I called him, which was wuss....  I tell you, lass, Jack’s set his heart so hard on you thet it’s turrible.”

“Queer way he has of showing the—­the affections of his heart,” replied Columbine, shortly.

“Thet was the drink,” remonstrated the old man, pathetic and earnest in his motive to smooth over the quarrel.

“But he promised me he would not drink any more.”

Belllounds shook his gray old head sadly.

“Ahuh!  Jack fires up an’ promises anythin’.  He means it at the time.  But the next hankerin’ thet comes over him wipes out the promise.  I know....  But he’s had good excuse fer this break.  The boys in town began celebratin’ fer October first.  Great wonder Jack didn’t come home clean drunk.”

“Dad, you’re as good as gold,” said Columbine, softening.  How could she feel hard toward him?

“Collie, then you’re not agoin’ back on the ole man?”

“No.”

“I was afeared you’d change your mind about marryin’ Jack.”

“When I promised I meant it.  I didn’t make it on conditions.”

“But, lass, promises can be broke,” he said, with the sonorous roll in his voice.

“I never yet broke one of mine.”

“Wal, I hev.  Not often, mebbe, but I hev....  An’, lass, it’s reasonable.  Thar’s times when a man jest can’t live up to what he swore by.  An’ fer a girl—­why, I can see how easy she’d change an’ grow overnight.  It’s only fair fer me to say that no matter what you think you owe me you couldn’t be blamed now fer dislikin’ Jack.”

“Dad, if by marrying Jack I can help him to be a better son to you, and more of a man, I’ll be glad,” she replied.