The Mysterious Rider

y foothills, round and billowy, rolled down from the higher country. They were smooth, sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens that blazed in autumn gold.

ous hours of her life. Here seven years before, when she was twelve, she had made a hard choice to please her guardian--the old rancher whom she loved and called father, who had indeed been a father to her. That choice had been to go to school in Denver. Four years she had lived away from her beloved gray hills

ith white trunks and yellow fluttering leaves, and led across a

like demonstration in return, but as none was forthcoming he bent his nose to the grass and began grazing. The girl's eyes were intent

up to gaze wonderingly at them, as if to see in them some revelation of the mystery that

a baby--lost in the woods--asleep among the columbines." She

d always called father. Vaguely she had always been conscious of some myst

pered, sadly, and now she underst

e of her all her life. He had looked upon her as kindly and fatherly as of old, yet with a difference. She seemed to see him as

"I reckon hyar's news. A letter

he range had always called him, with other terms, less kind, that never got to the ears of his father. Jack had been sent away three years ago, just before Columbine's return f

d Belllounds, with a break in his voice. "

, with strong clasp of the

be a dad to you an' I've loved you as my own. But you'r

he trail. Near that point Indians, probably Arapahoes coming across the mountains to attack the Utes, had captured or killed the occupants of a prairie-schooner. There wa

son. I'm gettin' old. I reckon I'd never split my property between you an' Jack. So I mean you

. "Marry Jack!... Why I--I

dog-gone soon will. Jack's in Kremmlin',

l-love him," fa

ig eyes smoldered. Her appealing objection had wounded him. She was reminded o

ll change. I reckon no girl could help a boy much, onle

he slope of old White Slides and on the grassy uplands above. She had forgotten that the cattle were being driven down into the lowlands for the fall round-up. A great red-and-white-spotted herd was milling in the park just beneath her. Calves and yearlings were making the dust fly alo

long the slope, where the aspen groves clustered, a horse would flash across an open space; the dust would fly, and a cowboy would peal out

the riders on the slopes below, but Wilson Moore was not among them. He must be above her, then, and she turned to gaze across the grassy bluff, up the long, yellow slope, to where the gleaming aspens half hid a red bluff of mountain, towering aloft.

tched and pealing c

ors. She would have recognized him from the way he rode, if she had not known the slim, erect figure. The cowboy saw her instantly. He pulled the mustang, about to plunge down the slope, and lifted him, rearing and wheeling. Then Colu

playmate, a friend, almost like a brother. He had ridden for Belllounds for years, and was a cowboy because he loved cattle well and horses better, and above all a life in the open. Unlike mo

news of this forced change about to come in her life? That thought leaped up. It gave her a strange pang. But she and he were only good friends. As to that, she reflected, of late they ha

small hips of a rider, and square, though not broad shoulders. He stood straight like an Indian. His eyes were hazel, his features regular, his face bro

. "What are you doing up he

d, slowly. "Oh, I guess I

er here Pronto will leave you to walk home. That must

plied, and looked away from him. There was

me for?" he as

She held out the nodding flowers towar

king one of them. His keen hazel eyes,

!... It is

have a better? It

d, and she look

proud. Your skin is white. Your eyes are blue. Not bluebell blu

this is new kind of ta

differen

un, and the slight flush faded from her cheeks. "I have no right

e any differenc

the woods--a baby--lost among the flowers. Columbine Belllounds I've alwa

long before this. But he loves you. So does--everybody. You must not let this knowledge sadden you.... I'm sorry

appy. I've not longed for any--any

n't I un

t told y

go on," he

ctive marriage to Jack Belllounds. Still she could not guess why that should make her feel strangely uncertain of the ground she stood on or how it could cau

t no reply appeared to be forthcoming from Moore. His silence compelled her to turn to him. The cowboy's face had subtly altered; it was darker with a tinge of red under the bronze; and

t shorthorn back for mo

bine, slowly. That was not what she wan

smile I

nd he fought--lon

re made the coi

t forget that," interrupted Wilson.

olumbine. "I remember that. An

been no l

talked this way--spoke out so

hind a fellow's back. But I'm not

ided in him. Here was a most complex situation--she burned to tell him, yet somehow feared to--she felt an incomprehensible satisfaction in his bitter refe

nds--pards," said Columbine

e stared

you--a

there was still disapproval i

make me think I've missed

he would not commit himself. Columbine sensed a p

een different lately?"

o tell you now?" h

d all that he seemed to. She felt like a child, then, growing old swiftly. The strange past longing for a mother surged up in her like a strong tide

, answering as some one older than she had been an hour ago--to something fe

ped the lasso against his saddle, and tied it with clumsy hand

she said, with a sudden retu

l that months ag

that--why?"

e answered,

o be--be--to stay away from me,"

ghed s

me any more after dad s

about to--to get married--ought not

ool," she re

fool qu

me afterward or you'd n

ou--you say what's untrue,

to her--a commingling of fear, heat, and pang, it seemed, all in one throb. Wilson

I lie?" sh

I do

slapped his face. It grew pale

end that. Forgive

great, so far as the blow was concerned.

e before--once, years ago--for kissing you. I--I apologize

e cowboy appeared to be hesitating between s

lf-laugh. She was not far from tears and fury w

himself against something in her. She felt that. But h

been for these three years?" he asked, deliberat

. I never asked dad, because I knew Jack had been sent aw

e--what you suppose comes true," retu

ome strange feeling prompted that. There was a myst

ough closing teeth, as if locking them a

nough to realize that there might well be fac

--sent me to school. He has been so good to me. I've loved him always. It w

his employer. "Everybody in Middle Park and all over owes Bill something. He's sure good. There n

a hand over

t marry," she

you will?"

could I do? I never

cing that Columbine sustained a shock that held her trembling and mute. "How can you lov

replied

could you

. It's his hope that

white-faced flower! You with your innocence and sweetness steady t

mplored C

the cowboy, with a scorn that

s to champion the son of the man she loved as her father. "He has been se

ied Moore

o could walk and ride so many miles, to become sick with an inward q

she said. "You used to be generous.

a moment. The squaring of his shoulders bore testimony to his thought. Presently he swung up

upon Columbine. "I take it all back. I'm sorry. Don'

laimed Columbi

see red and green. Bad med

jealous of?"

hand now and he regarded

y--a wanderer of the wilds--no good--and no prospects.... Now our friend Jack, he's han

the saddle. "I've got to drive in this bunch of cattle. It's late. You hurry home.

eft her: dubious, yet with the

d in repetition to herself. "What ever coul

, maybe, but he did not love her! The next throb of thought was like a knock at a door of her heart--a door never yet opened, inside which seemed a mystery of feeling, of hope, despair, unknown longing,

r hands were numb with cold. The wind had ceased fluttering the aspens, but the yellow

e tips; the foothills rolled clear and mellow and rich in the light; the gulf of distance on to the great black range was veiled in mountain purple; and the dim peaks beyond the range stood up, sunset-fl

nd beauty was hers. Over there, under a peak of the black range, was the place where she had been found, a baby, lost i

his ears and ch

Shadows were creeping up the slope as she rode down to meet the

low, on the level floor of the valley, lay the rambling old ranch-house, with the cabins nestling around, and the cor

awls of the last straggling cattle of the round-up. But surely Pronto had not shot up his ears for them. A

only a wolf,"

staccato, yelping chorus, the more piercing notes biting on the cold night air. These mountain mourns and yelps were music to Columbine. She