"That makes an improvement already," she said.

"Ye-es?" he said, with an irritating drawl.

There was a silence; she stood, regarding his back, a faint smile on her face.

"I want to compliment you on your judgment of horses," she persisted, in an attempt to make him talk; "the ones you bought are fine."

Calumet drove a wedge home viciously. But he did not answer.

"I've been checking up your other purchases," she went on; "and I find that you followed the list I gave you faithfully."

He turned and looked up. "Look here," he said; "I got what you wanted, didn't I? There's no use of gettin' mush headed about it. I'd have blowed the money just as quick, if I'd wanted to."

"But you didn't."

"Because you didn't want me to, I reckon?" he sneered.

"No. Because you wanted to be fair."

He had not known what sort of an answer he had expected from her, but the one he got embarra.s.sed him. He felt a reluctant pleasure over the knowledge that she had faith in him, but mingling with this was a rage against himself over his surrender. When she turned from him and walked over to Dade, speaking to him in a low voice, he could not have told which affected him most, his rage against himself or his disappointment over her abrupt leave-taking. She irritated him, but somehow he got a certain pleasure out of that irritation--which was a wholly unsatisfying and mystifying paradox. He covertly watched Dade during her talk with him and discovered that he did not like the way the young man looked at her; he was entirely too familiar even if he was a friend of the family. He saw, too, that Betty seemed to be an entirely different person when talking to Dade. For one thing she seemed natural, which she didn't seem when talking to him. Until he saw her talking with Dade he had been able to see nothing in her manner but restraint and stiff formality, but figuratively, when in Dade's presence she seemed to melt--she was gracious, smiling, cordial.

Betty's att.i.tude toward him during the noon meal puzzled him much.

Some subtle change had come over her. Several times he surprised her looking at him, and at these times he was certain there was approval in her glances, though perhaps the approval was mingled with something else--speculation, he thought.

But whatever it was, he had not seen it before. Had he known that Dade had told her about the incident of the Red Dog Saloon he would have understood, for she was wondering--as Dade had wondered--why he had pretended to make friends with Taggart, why he had asked the Arrow man to visit the Lazy Y that afternoon.

After dinner Calumet went out again to his work, apparently carefree and unconcerned, if we are to omit those thoughts in which Dade and Betty figured, Dade watched him with much curiosity, for the incident of the day before was still vivid in his mind, and if there had been.

mystery in Calumet's action in inviting Taggart to the Lazy Y there had been no mystery in the words he had spoken outside the Red Dog Saloon immediately afterward: "It's my game, do you hear?"

But along toward the middle of the afternoon Dade became so interested that he forgot all about Taggart, and was only reminded of him when looking up momentarily he saw Calumet sitting on a pile of timber near the ranchhouse, leaning lazily forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin on his hands, gazing speculatively into the afternoon haze. Dade noted that he was looking southward, and he turned and followed his gaze to see, far out in the valley, a horseman approaching.

Dade had turned stealthily and thought his movement had been un.o.bserved by Calumet, and he started when the latter slowly remarked:

"Well, he's comin', after all. I was thinkin' he wouldn't."

"That's him, all right, I reckon," returned Dade. He shot a glance at Calumet's face--it was expressionless.

There was a silence until Taggart reached the low hill in the valley where on the day following his coming to the Lazy Y Calumet had seen Lonesome, before the dog had begun the stalk that had ended in its death. Then Calumet turned to Dade, a derisive light in his eyes.

"Do you reckon Betty will be glad to see him?"

"I don't reckon you done just right in askin' him here after what he said in the Red Dog," returned Dade.

Calumet seemed amused. "Shucks, you're a kid yet," he said. He ignored Dade, giving his attention to Taggart, who was now near the bunkhouse.

Taggart's coming was attended with interest by Malcolm, who, hearing hoofbeats in the ranchhouse yard came to the door of the bunkhouse where he had been doing some small task; by Bob, who hobbled out of the stable door, his eyes wide; and by Betty, who, forewarned of the visit by Dade, had come out upon the porch and had been watching his approach.

Dade was interested also, betraying his interest by covertly eyeing Taggart as he drew his pony to a halt. But apparently Calumet's interest was largely negative, for he did not move from his position, merely glancing at Taggart as the latter halted his pony, grinning mildly at him and speaking to him in a slow drawl.

"Get off your cayuse an' visit," he invited.

Taggart's smile was wide as he dismounted. He did not seem to look at the others particularly, not even deigning a glance at Dade, but his gaze fell on Betty with an insolent boldness that brought a flush to that young lady's face. There was a challenge in the look he gave her.

He dismounted and bowed mockingly to her, sweeping his hat from his head with a movement so derisive that it made Dade longingly finger his pistol b.u.t.t.

Calumet still sat on the pile of lumber. His smile was engaging even if, as it seemed to Dade, it was a trifle shallow. But now Calumet slowly got to his feet. He stood erect, yawned, and stretched himself.

Then turning, his back to Taggart, who had come close to him, he looked at Betty, steadily, intently, with a command showing so plainly in his eyes that the girl involuntarily started.

"Betty," he said slowly; "come here."

She went toward him, scarcely knowing why, yet remotely conscious of something in his eyes that warned her that she must not refuse--a cold, sinister gleam that hinted of approaching trouble. She walked to a point near him and stood looking at him wonderingly. And now for the first time since the beginning of their acquaintance she became aware of a quiet indomitability in his character, the existence of which she had suspected all along without having actually sensed it. She saw now why men feared him. In his att.i.tude, outwardly calm, but suggesting in some subtle way the imminence of deadly violence; in his eyes, steady and cold, but with something cruel and bitter and pa.s.sionate slumbering deep in them; in the set of his head and the thrust of his chin, there was a threat--nay, more--a promise of volcanic action; of ruthless, destroying anger.

Taggart, apparently, saw nothing of these things. He looked again at Betty, his heavy face wreathed in an insolent half-smile. She saw the look and instantly flushed and stiffened. But it appeared that Calumet noticed nothing of her agitation or of Taggart's insulting glance. He stood a little to one side of Taggart, and he spoke slowly and distinctly:

"Taggart," he said; "meet my boss, Betty Clayton." He smiled grimly at the consternation in Betty's face, at the black rage in Dade's.

"I have already had the honor of meeting Mr. Taggart," said Betty coldly. "If that is what you--" She caught a glance from Calumet and subsided.

Taggart was deeply amused; he guffawed loudly.

"That's rich," he said. "Why, man, I've knowed her ever since she's been here. Me an' her's pretty well acquainted. In fact--"

"Well, now; that's odd," cut in Calumet dryly.

"What is?" questioned Taggart quickly, noting his tone.

"That I didn't remember," said Calumet.

"Remember what?" inquired Taggart.

"That I heard you ga.s.sin' about Betty to your Red Dog friends. You rattled it off pretty glibly. You ought to remember what you said.

I'm wantin' you to repeat it while she's watchin' you. That's why I wanted you to come over here."

"Why--" began Taggart. Then he hesitated, an embarra.s.sed, incredulous light in his shifting eyes. He looked from one to the other, not seeming to entirely comprehend the significance of the command, and then he saw the gleam in Betty's eyes, the derisive enjoyment in Dade's, the implacable glint in Calumet's, knowledge burst upon him in a sudden, sickening flood and his face paled. He looked at Calumet, the look of a trapped animal.

"Get goin'!" said the latter; "we're all waitin'."

Taggart cursed profanely, stepping back a pace and reaching for his pistol. But as in the Red Dog, Calumet was before him. Again his right hand moved with the barely perceptible motion, and his six-shooter was covering Taggart. The latter quickly withdrew his own hand, it was empty. And in response to an abrupt movement of Calumet's hand it went upward, the other following it instantly. Watchful, alert, Calumet stepped forward, plucked Taggart's pistol from its holster, threw it a dozen feet from him, swiftly pa.s.sed a hand over Taggart's shirt and waistband and then stepped back.

"You've got a minute," he said. "Sixty seconds to decide whether you'd rather die with your boots on or get to talkin'. Take your time, for there won't be any arguin' afterward."

Taggart looked into Calumet's eyes. What he saw there seemed to decide him. "I reckon it's your trick," he said; "I'll talk."

"Get goin'."

"I said I'd made love to her."

A half-sneer wreathed Calumet's face. "I reckon that covers the ground pretty well. You didn't say it that way, but we won't have you repeat the exact words; they ain't fit to hear. The point is, did you tell the truth?"