Belllounds then directed his glance and steps toward the girl. The
cowboys dropped their heads and shuffled on their way.

"There's only one girl on the ranch," said Belllounds, "so you must be
Columbine."

"Yes. And you're Jack," she replied, and slipped off the fence. "I'm
glad to welcome you home."

She offered her hand, and he held it until she extricated it. There was
genuine surprise and pleasure in his expression.

"Well, I'd never have known you," he said, surveying her from head to
foot. "It's funny. I had the clearest picture of you in mind. But you're
not at all like I imagined. The Columbine I remember was thin,
white-faced, and all eyes."

"It's been a long time. Seven years," she replied. "But I knew you.
You're older, taller, bigger, but the same Buster Jack."

"I hope not," he said, frankly condemning that former self. "Dad needs
me. He wants me to take charge here--to be a man. I'm back now. It's
good to be home. I never was worth much. Lord! I hope I don't disappoint
him again."

"I hope so, too," she murmured. To hear him talk frankly, seriously,
like this counteracted the unfavorable impression she had received. He
seemed earnest. He looked down at the ground, where he was pushing
little pebbles with the toe of his boot. She had a good opportunity to