"No," said Taggart. He did not look at Betty and his face was scarlet.

"So you lied, eh? Lied about a woman! There's only one place for that kind of a man. Crawl an' tell her you're a snake!"

Taggart had partly recovered his composure.

"Guess again," he sneered. "You're b.u.t.tin' in where--"

Calumet dropped his pistol and took a quick step. With a swish his right hand went forward to Taggart's face, one hundred and eighty pounds of vengeful, malignant muscle behind it. There was the dull, strange sound of impacting bone and flesh. Taggart's head shot backward, he crumpled oddly, his legs wabbled and doubled under him and he sank in his tracks, sprawling on his hands and knees in the sand.

For an instant he remained in this position, then he threw himself forward, groping for the pistol Calumet had dropped. Calumet's booted foot struck his wrist, and with a bellow of rage and pain he got to his feet and rushed headlong at his a.s.sailant. Calumet advanced a step to meet him. His right fist shot out again; it caught Taggart fairly in the mouth and he sank down once more. He landed as before, on his hands and knees, and for an instant he stayed in that position, his head hanging between his arms and swaying limply from side to side.

Then with an inarticulate grunt he plunged forward and lay face downward in the sand.

Calumet stood watching him. He felt Betty's hand on his arm, laid there restrainingly, but he shook her viciously off, telling her to "mind her own business." Malcolm had come forward; he stood behind Betty. Dade had not moved, though a savage satisfaction had come into his eyes. Bob stood in front of the stable door, trembling from excitement. But besides Betty, none of them attempted to interfere, and there was a queer silence when Taggart finally got to his feet.

He stood for an instant, glaring around at them all, and then his gaze at last centered on Calumet. Calumet silently motioned toward Betty.

In response to the movement, Taggart's lips moved. "I'm apologizin',"

he said. He turned to his horse. After he had climbed into the saddle he looked around at Calumet. He sneered through his swollen lips.

"You'll be gettin' what I owe you," he threatened.

"I'm your friend," jeered Calumet. "I've been your friend since the day you tried to bore me with a rifle bullet out there in the valley--the day I come here--after runnin' like a coyote from the daylight. I've got an idea what you was hangin' around for that day--I've got the same idea now. You're tryin' to locate that heathen idol. You're wastin' your time. You're doin' more--you're runnin' a heap of risk. For what you've just got is only a sample of what you'll get if you stray over onto my range again. That goes for the sneakin'

thief you call your father, or any of your d.a.m.ned crowd."

He stood, slouching a little, watching Taggart until the latter rode well out into the valley. Then without a word he walked over to the sill upon which he had been working before the arrival of Taggart, seized a hammer, and began to drive wedges wherever they were necessary.

Presently he heard a voice behind him, and he turned to confront Betty.

"I heard what you said to Taggart, of course, about him trying to shoot you. I didn't know that. He deserved punishment for it. But I am sure that part of the punishment you dealt him was administered because of the way he talked about me. If that is so, I wish to thank you."

"You might as well save your breath," he said gruffly; "I didn't do it for you."

She laughed. "Then why didn't you choose another place to call him to account?"

He did not answer, driving another wedge home with an extra vicious blow.

She watched him in silence for an instant, and then, with a laugh which might have meant amus.e.m.e.nt or something akin to it, she turned and walked to the house.

CHAPTER XII

A PEACE OFFERING

If there was one trait in Betty's character that bothered Calumet more than another, it was her frankness. More than once during the days that followed Neal Taggart's visit Calumet was made to feel the absence of guile in her treatment of him. The glances she gave him were as straightforward and direct as her words, and it became plain to him that with her there were no mental reservations. Her att.i.tude toward him had not changed; she still dealt with him as the school teacher deals with the unruly scholar--with a personal aloofness that promised an ever-widening gulf if he persisted in defying her authority.

Calumet got this impression and it grew on him; it was disconcerting, irritating, and he tried hard to shake it off, to no avail.

He had considered carefully the impulse which had moved him to entice Taggart to the Lazy Y, and was convinced that it had been aroused through a desire to take some step to avenge his father. He told himself that if in the action there had been any desire to champion Betty he had not been conscious of it. It angered him to think that she should presume to imagine such a thing. And yet he had felt a throb of emotion when she had thanked him--a reluctant, savage, resentful satisfaction which later changed to amus.e.m.e.nt. If she believed he had thrashed Taggart in defense of her, let her continue to believe that. It made no difference one way or another. But he would take good care to see that she should have no occasion to thank him again. She did not interfere with the work, which went steadily on.

The ranchhouse began to take on a prosperous appearance. Within a week after the beginning of the work the sills were all in, the rotted bottoms of the studding had been replaced, and the outside walls patched up. During the next week the old porches were torn down and new ones built in their places. At the end of the third week the roof had been repaired, and then there were some odds and ends that had to be looked to, so that the fourth week was nearly gone when Dade and Calumet cleared up the debris. It was Dade who, in spite of Calumet's remonstrances, went inside to announce the news to Betty, and she came out with him and looked the work over with a critical, though approving, eye. Calumet was watching her, and when she had concluded her inspection she turned to him with a smile.

"Tomorrow you can go to Lazette and get some paint," she said.

"Want it done up in style, eh?"

"Of course," she returned; "why not?"

"That's it," he growled; "why not? You don't have to do the work."

She laughed. "I should dislike to think you are lazy."

He flushed. "I reckon I ain't none lazy." He could think of nothing else to say. Her voice had a taunt in it; her attack was direct and merciless. She looked at Dade, whose face was red with some emotion, but she spoke to Calumet.

"I don't think you ought to complain about the work," she said. "You were to do it alone, but on my own responsibility I gave you Dade."

"Pitied me, I reckon," he sneered.

"Yes." Her gaze was steady. "I pity you in more ways than one."

"When did you think I needed any pity?" he demanded truculently, angered.

"Oh," she said, in pretended surprise, "you are in one of your moods again! Well, I am not going to quarrel with you." She turned abruptly and entered the house, and Calumet fell to kicking savagely into a hummock with the toe of his boot. As in every clash he had had with her yet, he emerged feeling like a reproved school boy. What made it worse was that he was beginning to feel that there was no justification for his rage against her. As in the present case, he had been the aggressor and deserved all the scorn she had heaped upon him. But the rage was with him, nevertheless, perhaps the more poignant because he felt its impotency. He looked around at Dade. That young man was trying to appear unconscious of the embarra.s.sing predicament of his fellow workman. He endeavored to lighten the load for him.

"She certainly does talk straight to the point," he said. "But I reckon she don't mean more'n half of it."

Calumet shot a malignant look at him. "Who in h.e.l.l is askin' for _your_ opinion?" he demanded.

The paint, however, was secured, Calumet making the trip to Lazette for it. He returned after dark, and Bob, who was sitting in the kitchen where Betty was washing the dishes, hobbled out to greet him. Bob had been outside only a few minutes when Betty heard his voice, raised joyously. She went to a rear window, but the darkness outside was impenetrable and she could see nothing. Presently, though, she heard Bob's step on the porch, and almost instantly he appeared, holding in his arm a three-month-old puppy of doubtful breed. He radiated delight.

"Calumet brought it!" he said, in answer to Betty's quick interrogation. "He said it was to take the place of Lonesome. I reckon he ain't so bad, after all--is he Betty?"

Betty patted the puppy's head, leaning over so that Bob did not see the strange light in her eyes.

"He's nice," she said.

"Who?" said Bob, quickly--"Calumet?"

Betty rose, her face flushing. "No," she said sharply; "the puppy."

Bob looked at her twice before he said, in a slightly disappointed voice, "Uh-huh."

When Calumet came into the kitchen half an hour later, having stabled his horses and washed his face and hands from the basin he found on the porch, he found his supper set out on the table; but Betty was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Betty?" he demanded of Bob, who was romping delightedly with the new dog, which showed its appreciation of its new friend by yelping joyously.

"I reckon she's gone to bed," returned the young man.

For a few minutes Calumet stood near the door, watching the dog and the boy. Several times he looked toward the other doors, disappointment revealed in his eyes. Was he to take Betty's departure before his arrival as an indication that she had fled from him? He had seen her when she had pressed her face to the window some time before, and it now appeared to him that she had deliberately left the room to avoid meeting him. He frowned and walked to the table, looking down at the food. She had thought of him, at any rate.