At Columbine’s entrance he raised his drooping head, and so removed the suggestion of sadness in his posture.

“Wal, lass, hyar you are,” was his greeting.  “Jake has been hollerin’ thet chuck was ready.  Now we can eat.”

“Dad—­did—­did your son come?” asked Columbine.

“No.  I got word jest at sundown.  One of Baker’s cowpunchers from up the valley.  He rode up from Kremmlin’ an’ stopped to say Jack was celebratin’ his arrival by too much red liquor.  Reckon he won’t be home to-night.  Mebbe to-morrow.”

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.”

They took seats at the table which the cook, Jake, was loading with steaming victuals.  Supper appeared to be a rather sumptuous one this evening, in honor of the expected guest, who had not come.  Columbine helped the old man to his favorite dishes, stealing furtive glances at his lined and shadowed face.  She sensed a subtle change in him since the afternoon, but could not see any sign of it in his look or demeanor.  His appetite was as hearty as ever.

“So you met Wils.  Is he still makin’ up to you?” asked Belllounds, presently.

“No, he isn’t.  I don’t see that he ever did—­that—­dad,” she replied.

“You’re a kid in mind an’ a woman in body.  Thet cowpuncher has been lovesick over you since you were a little girl.  It’s what kept him hyar ridin’ fer me.”

“Dad, I don’t believe it,” said Columbine, feeling the blood at her temples.  “You always imagined such things about Wilson, and the other boys as well.”

“Ahuh!  I’m an old fool about wimmen, hey?  Mebbe I was years ago.  But I can see now....  Didn’t Wils always get ory-eyed when any of the other boys shined up to you?”