September's glory of gold and red and purple began to fade with the autumnal equinox.

It rained enough to soak the frost-bitten leaves, and then the mountain winds sent them flying and fluttering and scurrying to carpet the dells and spot the pools in the brooks and color the trails.
When the weather cleared and the sun rose bright again many of the aspen thickets were leafless and bare, and the willows showed stark against the gray sage hills, and the vines had lost their fire.

Hills and valleys had sobered with subtle change that left them none the less beautiful.
A mile or more down the road from White Slides, in a protected nook, nestled two cabins belonging to a cattleman named Andrews, who had formerly worked for Belllounds and had recently gone into the stock business for himself.

He had a rather young wife, and several children, and a brother who rode for him.

These people were the only neighbors of Belllounds for some ten miles on the road toward Kremmling.
Columbine liked Mrs.Andrews and often rode or walked down there for a little visit and a chat with her friend and a romp with the children.
Toward the end of September Columbine found herself combating a strong desire to go down to the Andrews ranch and try to learn some news about Wilson Moore.