"Why, I've seen a dying man look just like you--now--round the mouth--but most in the eyes!" "Maybe the end of the long trail is White Slides Ranch," replied Wade, sadly and dreamily, as if to himself.
"If Collie heard you say that!" exclaimed Moore, in anxious concern.
"Collie an' you will hear me say a lot before long," returned Wade.
"But, as it's calculated to make you happy--why, all's well.

I'm tired an' hungry." Wade did not choose to sit round the fire that night, fearing to invite interrogation from his anxious friend, and for that matter from his other inquisitively morbid self.
Next morning, though Wade felt rested, and the sky was blue and full of fleecy clouds, and the melody of birds charmed his ear, and over all the June air seemed thick and beating with the invisible spirit he loved, he sensed the oppression, the nameless something that presaged catastrophe.
Therefore, when he looked out of the door to see Columbine swiftly riding up the trail, her fair hair flying and shining in the sunlight, he merely ejaculated, "Ahuh!" "What's that ?" queried Moore, sharp to catch the inflection.
"Look out," replied Wade, as he began to fill his pipe.
"Heavens! It's Collie! Look at her riding! Uphill, too!" Wade followed him outdoors.

Columbine was not long in arriving at the cabin, and she threw the bridle and swung off in the same motion, landing with a light thud.

Then she faced them, pale, resolute, stern, all the sweetness gone to bitter strength--another and a strange Columbine.
"I've not slept a wink!" she said.

"And I came as soon as I could get away." Moore had no word for her, not even a greeting.