Late that afternoon Columbine sat upon the porch, watching the sunset.
It had been a quiet day for her, mostly indoors. Once only had she seen
Jack, and then he was riding by toward the pasture, whirling a lasso
round his head. Jack could ride like one born to the range, but he was
not an adept in the use of a rope. Nor had Columbine seen the old
rancher since breakfast. She had heard his footsteps, however, pacing
slowly up and down his room.

She was watching the last rays of the setting sun rimming with gold the
ramparts of the mountain eastward, and burning a crown for Old White
Slides peak. A distant bawl and bellow of cattle had died away. The
branding was over for that fall. How glad she felt! The wind, beginning
to grow cold as the sun declined, cooled her hot face. In the solitude
of her room Columbine had cried enough that day to scald her cheeks.

Presently, down the lane between the pastures, she saw a cowboy ride
into view. Very slowly he came, leading another horse. Columbine
recognized Lem a second before she saw that he was leading Pronto. That
struck her as strange. Another glance showed Pronto to be limping.
Apparently he could just get along, and that was all. Columbine ran out
in dismay, reaching the corral gate before Lem did. At first she had
eyes only for her beloved mustang.

"Oh, Lem--Pronto's hurt!" she cried.

"Wal, I should smile he is," replied Lem.

But Lem was not smiling. And when he wore a serious face for Columbine
something had indeed happened. The cowboy was the color of dust and so
tired that he reeled.