"Lem, that is not all," said Columbine, earnestly, as the cowboy
concluded. Her knowledge of the range told her that Lem had narrated
nothing so far which could have been cause for his cold, grim, evasive
manner; and her woman's intuition divined a catastrophe.

"Nope.... Wils's hoss fell on him."

Lem broke that final news with all a cowboy's bluntness.

"Was he hurt--_Lem_!" cried Columbine.

"Say, Miss Collie," remonstrated Lem, "we're doctorin' up your hoss. You
needn't drop everythin' an' grab me like thet. An' you're white as a
sheet, too. It ain't nuthin' much fer a cowboy to hev a hoss fall
on him."

"Lem Billings, I'll hate you if you don't tell me quick," flashed
Columbine, fiercely.

"Ahuh! So thet's how the land lays," replied Lem, shrewdly. "Wal, I'm
sorry to tell you thet Wils was bad hurt. Now, not _real_ bad!... The
hoss fell on his leg an' broke it. I cut off his boot. His foot was all
smashed. But thar wasn't any other hurt--honest! They're takin' him to
Kremmlin'."

"Ah!" Columbine's low cry sounded strangely in her ears, as if some one
else had uttered it.

"Buster Jack made two bursts this hyar day," concluded Lem,
reflectively. "Miss Collie, I ain't shore how you're regardin' thet