Part 21 (1/2)

”Do you like him?” inquired Betty.

”Sure. Why, shucks! 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. Bob became his champion; the boy wors.h.i.+ped him.

Betty was not unaware of all this, and yet she continued to hold herself aloof from Calumet. She did not treat him indifferently, she merely kept him at a distance. Several times when he spoke to her about Neal Taggart she left him without answering, and so he knew that she resented the implication that he had expressed on the morning following the night on which he had discovered her talking in the office.

It was nearly three weeks after the killing of Denver and his confederate that the details of the story reached Betty's ears, and Calumet was as indifferent to her expressions of horror--though it was a horror not unmixed with a queer note of satisfaction, over which he wondered--as he was to Dade's words of congratulation: ”You're sure livin' up to your reputation of bein' a slick man with the six!”

Nor did Calumet inquire who had brought the news. But when one day a roaming puncher brought word from the Arrow that ”young Taggart is around ag'in after monkeyin' with the wrong end of a gun,” he showed interest. He was anxious to settle the question which had been in his mind since the morning of the shooting. It was this: had Betty meant to hit Taggart when she had shot at him? He thought not; she had pretended hostility in order to mislead him. But if that had been her plan she had failed to fool him, for he watched unceasingly, and many nights when Betty thought him asleep he was secreted in the wood near the ranchhouse. He increased his vigilance after receiving word that Taggart had not been badly injured. More, he rarely allowed Betty to get out of his sight, for he was determined to defeat the plan to rob him.

However, the days pa.s.sed and Taggart did not put in an appearance.

Time removes the sting from many hurts and even jealousy's pangs are a.s.suaged by the flight of days. And so after a while Calumet's vigilance relaxed, and he began to think that he had scared Taggart away. He noted with satisfaction that Betty seemed to treat him less coldly, and he felt a pulse of delight over the thought that perhaps she had repented and had really tried to hit Taggart that morning.

Once he seized upon this idea he could not dispel it. More, it grew on him, became a foundation upon which he built a structure of defense for Betty. Taggart had been trying to deceive her. She had discovered his intentions and had broken with him. Perhaps she had seen the injustice of her actions. He began to wish he had treated her a little less cruelly, a little more civilly, began to wish that he had yielded to those good impulses which he had felt occasionally of late. His att.i.tude toward Betty became almost gentle, and there were times when she watched him with wondering curiosity, as though not quite understanding the change that had come in him.

But Dade understood. He had ”sized” Calumet ”up” in those first days and his judgment had been unerring, as it was now when Betty asked his opinion.

”He's beginnin' to use his brain box,” he told her. ”He's been a little shy an' backward, not knowin' what to expect, an' makin'

friend's bein' a little new to him. But he's the goods at bottom, an'

he's sighted a goal which he's thinkin' to make one of these days.”

”A goal?” said she, puzzled.

”Aw, you female critters is deep ones,” grinned Dade, ”an' all smeared over with honey an' innocence. You're the goal he's after. An' I'm bettin' he'll get you.”

Her face reddened, and she looked at him plainly indignant.

”He is a brute,” she said.

”Most all men is brutes if you scratch them deep enough,” drawled Dade.

”The trouble with Calumet is that he's never had a chance to spread on the soft stuff. He's the plain, unvarnished, dyed-in-the-wool, original man. There's a word fits him, if I could think of it.” He looked at her inquiringly.

”Primitive, I think you mean,” she said.

”That's it--primitive. That's him. He's the rough material; n.o.body's ever helped him to get into shape. A lot of folks pride themselves on what they call culture, forgettin' that it wasn't in them when they came into the world, that it growed on them after they got here, was put there by trainin' an' example. Not that I'm ag'in culture; it's a mighty fine thing to have hangin' around a man. But if a man ain't got it an' still measures up to man's size, he's goin' to be a humdinger when he gets all the culture that's comin' to him. Mebbe Calumet'll never get it. But he's losin' his grouch, an' if you--”

”When do you think you will finish repairing the corral?” interrupted Betty.

Dade grinned. ”Tomorrow, I reckon,” he said.

CHAPTER XVIII

ANOTHER PEACE OFFERING

Dade's prediction that the corral would be completed the next day was fulfilled. It was a large enclosure, covering several acres, for in the Lazy Y's prosperous days there had been a great many cattle to care for, and a roomy corral is a convenience always arranged for by an experienced cattleman. But it yawned emptily for more than a week following its completion.