been sent away to work. He'll have outgrown that wildness. He'll come
home a man."

"Bah!" cried Moore, harshly.

Columbine felt a sinking within her. Where was her strength? She, who
could walk and ride so many miles, to become sick with an inward
quaking! It was childish. She struggled to hide her weakness from him.

"It's not like you to be this way," she said. "You used to be generous.
Am I to blame? Did I choose my life?"

Moore looked quickly away from her, and, standing with a hand on his
horse, he was silent for a moment. The squaring of his shoulders bore
testimony to his thought. Presently he swung up into the saddle. The
mustang snorted and champed the bit and tossed his head, ready to bolt.

"Forget my temper," begged the cowboy, looking down upon Columbine. "I
take it all back. I'm sorry. Don't let a word of mine worry you. I was
only jealous."

"Jealous!" exclaimed Columbine, wonderingly.

"Yes. That makes a fellow see red and green. Bad medicine! You never
felt it."

"What were you jealous of?" asked Columbine.

The cowboy had himself in hand now and he regarded her with a grim
amusement.