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Updated: May 14, 2025
He was apparently about fifty years of age. He grinned at Calumet's belligerent motion. "Hearin' me?" he said to Calumet's cold, inquiring glance. The latter's eyes glowed. "Layin' for me, eh? Thanks." He looked curiously at the other. "Who are you?" he said. "I'm Dave Toban, the sheriff." He threw back one side of his vest and revealed a small silver star.
There was in her eyes, back of the defiance that was in them now, an expression that told of sturdy honesty and virtue. These gave to her features a repose and calm that could not be disturbed, an unconscious dignity of character that excitement could not efface, and her gaze was unwavering as her eyes met his in a sharp, brief struggle. Brief, for Calumet's drooped.
The beast retreated along the fence, stepping high, watching Calumet over its shoulder. Plainly, it divined Calumet's intention which was to crowd it into a corner and when almost there it halted suddenly, made a feint to pass to Calumet's left, wheeled just as suddenly and plunged back to his right. The ruse did not work.
The idol she knew, was buried in a clearing in the timber clump; she did not know just where, for she had looked at the diagram only once, when Calumet's father had shown it to her. She had a superstitious dread of the idol and would not, under any circumstances, have examined the diagram again.
"Been makin' his brags what he's goin' to do to you. Says you wheedled him into comin' over to the Lazy Y an' then beat him up. Got Denver Ed with him." Calumet's eyes narrowed. "I know him," he said. "Gun-fighter, ain't he?" questioned the sheriff. "Yep." Calumet's eyelashes flickered; he smiled with straight lips. "Drinkin'?" he invited. "Wouldn't do," grinned the sheriff.
A little longer he scanned the valley and then the army of memories marched out of his vision and he took up the reins and sent the pony forward. The little animal tossed its head impatiently, perhaps scenting food and companionship, but Calumet's heavy hand on the reins discouraged haste. For Calumet was in no hurry.
"We ought to come to terms," said Taggart, placing his rifle in the saddle holster as Calumet's hands came down. "There hadn't ought to be any bad blood between us. Me an' your dad was a heap friendly until we had a fallin' out over that she-devil which he lived with Ezela." There was an insincere grin on his face.
He struggled to an erect position and gazed about him with blood-shot eyes, feeling his throat where Calumet's iron fingers had gripped it. Twice his lips moved in an effort to speak, but no, sound came from between them.
It was not a deep feeling; it was like the emotion that moves a large animal to permit a smaller one to remain near it a grudging tolerance which may develop into sincere friendship or at a flash turn into a furious hatred. And so Dade's security depended entirely upon how he conducted himself. If he kept out of Calumet's way, all well and good.
There ain't nothin' wrong with him exceptin' his grouch. When he works that off so's it won't come back any more he'll be plumb man, an' don't you forget it!" There was no mistaking Calumet's feeling toward Bob. He pitied the youngster. He allowed him to ride Blackleg. He braided him a half-sized lariat. He carried him long distances on his back and waited upon him at the table.
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