He'll be all right soon--none the worse for that--that cowboy trick of Mister Jack Belllounds." Columbine finished bitterly.

Moore turned his thoughtful gaze away from her.
"I hope Old Bill is well," he remarked, lamely.
"Have you told your folks of your accident ?" asked Columbine, ignoring his remark.
"No." "Oh, Wilson, you ought to have sent for them, or have written at least." "Me?
To go crying for them when I got in trouble?
I couldn't see it that way." "Wilson, you'll be going--home--soon--to Denver--won't you ?" she faltered.
"No," he replied, shortly.
"But what will you do?
Surely you can't work--not so soon ?" "Columbine, I'll never--be able to ride again--like I used to," he said, tragically.

"I'll ride, yes, but never the old way." "Oh!" Columbine's tone, and the exquisite softness and tenderness with which she placed a hand on the rude crutch would have been enlightening to any one but these two absorbed in themselves.

"I can't bear to believe that." "I'm afraid it's true.

Bad smash, Columbine! I just missed being club-footed." "You should have care.