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Updated: June 14, 2025
Neither could Taggart see the ranchhouse, for there were intervening hills and the slope itself was a ridge which effectually shut off Taggart's view. But neither hills or ridge were in Calumet's line of vision. Kneeling in the gully he watched the wagon. Presently he saw Betty come out and stand on the porch.
To Calumet's slow nod, he continued: "Betty Clayton's runnin' it now. They say old Marston was the meanest old coyote that ever " Calumet's gaze was level and direct, and the proprietor shrank under its cold malignance. Calumet leaned forward. "You're talkin' to the old coyote's son right now," he said. "An' you can speak right out loud in meetin' an' say that you was gassin' through your hat!"
I suppose I ought to kill you a beast like you has no business living. Fortunately, you haven't hurt grandpa very much. You may go now go and tell Tom Taggart that he will have to try again!" The sound of her voice broke the spell which her eyes had woven about Calumet's senses, and he stood erect, hooking his thumbs in his cartridge belt, unaffected by her tirade, his voice insolent.
While he had been talking to Betty in the office tonight Telza had stolen the diagram. There was more than triumph in Calumet's eyes as he turned his pony there was joy and savage exultation. The idol was his; he would get the money, too. After that he would drive Betty and all of them But would he? A curious indecision mingled with his other emotions at this thought. His face grew serious.
Then, as it bucked again, it came down with its forelegs unjointed, and rolled over on its side, with Calumet's right leg beneath it. The black was tired and lay with its neck outstretched on the ground, breathing heavily, its sides heaving. Calumet also, was not averse to a rest and had straightened and lay, an arm under his head, waiting.
The flickering light from the candle fell on her hair, brown and wavy, and in a tumble of graceful disorder, and threw into bold relief the firm lines of her chin and throat. She was not beautiful, but she certainly merited the term "pretty," which formed on Calumet's lips as he gazed at her, though it remained unspoken.
Dade was asleep when Calumet got into bed, and he was still asleep when Calumet awoke the next morning. Calumet descended to the kitchen. When he opened the kitchen door Bob's dog ran between his legs and received a kick that sent him, whining with pain and surprise, off the porch. Dominating everything in Calumet's mind this morning was the bitter conviction that Betty had deceived him.
It was as though he had ridden out of a desolate, ages-old world where death mocked at life, into a new one in which life reigned supreme. There was no change in Calumet's expression, however, though below him, spreading and dipping away into the interminable distance, slumbering in the glare of the afternoon sun, lay the land of his youth.
Twice during the next hour his rifle cracked when he caught a glimpse of Calumet's head, and each time he knew he had missed, for Calumet's laugh followed the reports. Once, after a long interval of silence, thinking that Calumet was at the other end of the gully, he moved the small rock which he had pushed beyond the edge of the large one, using his rifle barrel as a prod.
At the end of that time Malcolm said he was going to bed. Dade signified that he intended doing likewise. He occupied half of Calumet's bed. Since the day following the clash with Dade, Calumet had insisted on this. "Just to show you that what you said ain't botherin' me a heap," he had told Dade.
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