Some one was pounding iron in the blacksmith shop; horses were cavorting in the corrals; cattle were bawling round the hay-ricks in the barn-yard.
The hunter knocked on Columbine's door.
"Come in," she called.
Wade entered, to find her alone.

She was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows, and she wore a warm, woolly jacket or dressing-gown.

Her paleness was now marked, and the shadows under her eyes made them appear large and mournful.
"Ben Wade, you don't care for me any more!" she exclaimed, reproachfully.
"Why not, lass ?" he asked.
"You were so long in coming," she replied, now with petulance.

"I guess now I don't want you at all." "Ahuh! That's the reward of people who worry an' work for others.

Well, then, I reckon I'll go back an' not give you what I brought." He made a pretense of leaving, and he put a hand to his pocket as if to insure the safety of some article.