CHAPTER III
CALUMET'S GUARDIAN
A new silence fell; a silence pregnant with a premonition of renewedstrife. Calumet felt it and the evil in him exulted. He left the deskand stepped close to the girl, deftly picking up the fallen pistol andplacing it on the desk back of him, out of the girl's reach. Shewatched him, both hands pressed over her bosom, apparently stillstunned over the revelation of his identity. There was mystery here,Calumet felt it and was determined to uncover it. He took up the chairthat he had previously overturned and seated himself on it, facing thegirl.
"Set down," he said, waving a hand toward another chair. In responseto his invitation she moved toward the chair, hesitated when shereached it, apparently having nearly recovered her composure, thoughher face was pale and she watched him covertly, half fearfully. Whileshe seated herself Calumet got out of his chair and took up the candle,placing it on the desk beside the pistol. This done, he busied himselfwith the rolling of a cigarette, working deliberately, an alert eye onthe girl and her grandfather.
The latter had recovered and was sitting rigid in the chair, fear andwonder in his eyes as he watched Calumet. To him Calumet spoke when hehad completed the rolling of the cigarette and was holding a flaringmatch to it. He took a tigerish amusement from the old man's plight.
"I reckon I come pretty near doin' for you, eh?" he said, grinning."Well, there ain't no tellin' when a man will make a mistake." Hisgaze left the old man and was directed at the girl. "I reckon we'llclear things up a bit now, ma'am," he said. "What are you an' yourgrand-pap doin' at the Lazy Y?"
"We live here."
"Where's the old coyote which has been callin' himself my dad?"
A sudden change came over the girl; a vindictive satisfaction seemed toradiate from her. So it appeared to Calumet. In the flashing look shegave him he thought he could detect a knowledge of advantage, aconsciousness of power, over him. Her voice emphasized this impression.
"Your father's dead," she returned, and watched him narrowly.
Calumet's eyelashes flickered once. Shock or emotion, this was all theevidence he gave of it. He puffed long and deeply at his cigarette andnot for an instant did he remove his gaze from the girl's face, for hewas studying her, watching for a recurrence of the subtle gleam that hehad previously caught. But in the look that she now gave him there wasnothing but amusement. Apparently she was enjoying him. Certainly shehad entirely recovered from the shock he had caused her.
"Dead, eh?" he said. "When did he cash in?"
"A week ago today."
Calumet's eyelashes flickered again. Here was the explanation for thatmysterious impulse which had moved him to return home. It was just aweek ago that he had taken the notion and he had acted upon itimmediately. He had heard of mental telepathy, and here was a workingillustration of it. However, he gave no thought to its bearing on hispresence at the Lazy Y beyond skeptically assuring himself that it wasa mere coincidence. In any event, what did it matter? He was here;that was the main thing.
His thoughts had become momentarily introspective, and when his mentalfaculties returned to a realization of the present he saw that the girlwas regarding him with an intense and wondering gaze. She had beenstudying him and when she saw him looking at her she turned her head.He experienced an unaccountable elation, though he kept his voice drylysarcastic.
"I reckon the ol' fool asked for me?"
"Yes."
This time Calumet could not conceal his surprise; it was revealed inthe skeptical, sneering, boring glance that he threw at the girl'sface, now inscrutable. Her manner angered him.
"I reckon you're a liar," he said, with cold deliberation.
The girl reddened quickly; her hands clenched. But she did not look athim.
"Thank you," she returned, mockingly.
"What did he say?" he demanded gruffly, to conceal a slightembarrassment over her manner of receiving the insult.
Her chin lifted disdainfully. "You wouldn't believe a liar," she saidcoldly.
Again her spirit battled his. The dark flush spread over his face andhe found that he could not meet her eyes; again the sheer, compellingstrength of her personality routed the evilness in his heart.Involuntarily, his lips moved.
"I reckon I didn't mean just that," he said. And then, surprised thatsuch words should come from him he looked up to see the hard calm ofher face change to triumph.
The expression was swiftly transient. It baffled him, filling him withan impotent rage. But he watched her narrowly as she folded her handsin her lap and looked down at them.
"Your father expected you to come," she said quietly. "He prayed thatyou might return before he died. It seems that he felt he had treatedyou meanly and he wanted to tell you that he had repented."
A cynical wonder filled Calumet, and he laughed--a short, raucousstaccato.
"How do you know?" he questioned.
"He told me."
Calumet considered her for a moment in silence and then his attentionwas directed to her grandfather, who had got to his feet and waswalking unsteadily toward the dining-room door. He was awell-preserved man, appearing to be about sixty. That Calumet's attackhad been a vicious one was apparent, for as the man reached the door hestaggered and leaned weakly against the jambs. He made a grimace atCalumet and smiled weakly at the girl.
"I'm pretty well knocked out, Betty," he said. "My neck hurts, sorta.I'll send Bob in to keep you company."
The girl cast a sharp, eloquent glance at Calumet and smiled withstraight lips.
"Don't bother to send Bob," she replied; "I am not afraid."
The grandfather went out, leaving the door open. While the girl stoodlistening to his retreating steps, Calumet considered her. She hadsaid that she was not afraid of him--he believed her; her actionsshowed it. He said nothing until after her grandfather had vanishedand his step was no longer heard, and then when she turned to him hesaid shortly:
"So your name's Betty. Betty what?"
"Clayton."
"An' your grandpap?"
"Malcolm Clayton."
"Who's Bob?"
"My brother."
"Any more Claytons around here?" he sneered.
"No."
"Well," he said with truculent insolence; "what in Sam Hill are you-alldoin' at the Lazy Y, anyway?"
"I am coming to that presently," she returned, unruffled.
"Goin' to work your jaw again, I reckon?" he taunted.
The hard calm came again into her face as she looked at him, thoughbehind it was that subtle quality that hinted of her possession ofadvantage. Her manner made plain to him that she held some mysteriouspower over him, a power which she valued, even enjoyed, and he wasnettled, baffled, and afflicted with a deep rage against her because ofit. Dealing with a man he would have known what to do, but he feltstrangely impotent in the presence of this girl, for she was notdisturbed over his insults, and her quiet, direct glances affected himwith a queer sensation of guilt, even embarrassed him.
"Well?" he prompted, after a silence.
"I am going to tell you about your father," she said.
"Make it short," he said gruffly.
"Five years ago," said the girl, ignoring the insolent suggestion; "myfather and mother died. My father had been a big cattle owner," sheadded with a flash of pride. "He was very wealthy; he was educated,refined--a gentleman. We lived in Texas--lived well. I attended auniversity in the South. In my second year there I was called homesuddenly. My father was ill from shock and disappointment. He hadinvested heavily in some northern enterprise--it will not interest youto know the nature of it--and had lost his entire fortune. His ranchproperty was involved and had to be sold. There was barely enough tosatisfy the creditors. Father died and mother soon followed him.Grandfather, Bob, and I were left destitute. We left the ranch andtook up a quarter section of land on the Nueces. We became nesters andwere continually harassed by a big cattle owner nearby who wanted ourrange
. We had to get out. Grandfather thought there might be anopportunity to take up some land in this territory. Bob was--well, Bobtook mother's death so hard that we didn't want to stay in Texas anylonger. The outlook wasn't bright. Bob was too young to work--"
"Lazy, I reckon," jeered Calumet.
The girl's eyes flashed with a swift, contemptuous resentment and hervoice chilled. "Bob's leg was hurt," she said. She waited for aninstant, watching the sneer on Calumet's face, and then went on firmly,as though she had decided not to let anything he said disturb her. "Sowhen Grandfather proposed coming here I agreed. We took what fewpersonal effects that were left us. We traveled for two months--"
"I ain't carin' to hear your family history," interrupted Calumet."You started to tell me about my dad."
"We were following the river trail near here," the girl went on firmly,scorning to pay any attention to this insult; "when we heard shooting.I stayed with the wagon while grandfather went to investigate. Wefound two men--Tom Taggart and his son Neal--concealed in thecottonwood, trying to shoot your father, who was in the house. Yourfather had been wounded in the shoulder and it would not have been longbefore--"
"Who are the Taggarts?" questioned Calumet, his lips setting strangely.
"They own a ranch near here--the Arrow. The motive behind their desireto kill your father makes another story which you shall hear some timeif you have the patience," she said with jeering emphasis.
"I ain't particular."
The girl's lips straightened. "Grandfather helped your father drivethe Taggarts away," she went on. "Your father was living here alonebecause several of his men had sought to betray him and he haddischarged them all. Your father was wounded very badly andgrandfather and I took care of him until he recovered. He liked us,wanted us to stay here, and we did."
"Pretty soft for a pair of poverty-stricken adventurers," commentedCalumet.
The girl's voice was cold and distinct despite the insult.
"Your father liked me particularly well. A year ago he drew up a willgiving me all his property and cutting you off without a cent. He gaveme the will to keep for him."
"Fine!" was Calumet's dryly sarcastic comment.
"But I destroyed the will," went on the girl.
Calumet's expression changed to surprised wonder, then to mockery.
"You're locoed!" he declared. "Why didn't you take the property?"
"I didn't want it; it was yours."
Calumet forgot to sneer; his wonder and astonishment over the girl'sability to resist such a temptation were so great as to shock him tosilence. She and her grandfather were dependants, abroad without meansof support, and yet the girl had refused a legacy which she and herrelative had undoubtedly earned. Such sturdy honesty surprised him,mystified him, and he was convinced that there must have been someother motive behind her refusal to become his father's beneficiary. Hewatched her closely for a moment and then, thinking he had discoveredthe motive, he said in a voice of dry mockery:
"I reckon you didn't take it because there was nothin' to take."
"Besides the land and the buildings, he left about twenty thousanddollars in cash," she informed him quietly.
"Where is it?" demanded Calumet quickly.
Betty smiled. "That," she said dryly, "is what I want to talk to youabout." Again the consciousness of advantage shone in her eyes.Calumet felt that it would be useless to question her and so he leanedback in his chair and regarded her saturninely.
"Soon after your father became afflicted with his last sickness,"continued Betty; "he called me to him and took me into his confidence.He talked to me about you--about the way he had treated you. Both heand your mother had been, he said, victims of uncontrollable tempers,and were beset with elemental passions which he was certain haddescended to you. In fact, because of the hatred your mother boreyou--" She hesitated.
"Well, that too, belongs to the story which you will hear about Taggartwhen you have the patience," she continued. "But your father repented;he saw the injustice he had done you and wanted to repair it. He wascertain, though, that this curse of temper was deep-seated in you andhe wanted to drive it out. He felt that when you finally came home youwould need reforming, and he did not want you to profit by his moneyuntil you forgave him. He had strange notions regarding yourreformation; he declared he would not take your word for it, but wouldinsist on a practical demonstration. When he had fully explained hisideas on the subject he made me swear that I would carry them out."She paused and looked at Calumet and he saw that the expression ofadvantage that had been in her eyes all along was no longer a subtleexpression, but plain and unmistakable.
Calumet watched her intently, silently, his face a battleground for theemotions that rioted within him. The girl watched him with covertvigilance and he felt that she was enjoying him. And when finally shesaw the rage die out of his eyes, saw the color come slowly back intohis cheeks and his face become a hard, inscrutable mask, she knew thatthe coming struggle between them was to be a bitter one.
"So," he said, after a while; "I don't get the coin until I become aSunday school scholar?"
"It is specified that you give a practical demonstration of reform incharacter. You must show that you forgive your father."
"You're goin' to be my guardian?"
"Your judge," corrected the girl.
"He's got all this in the will?"
"Yes, the last one he made."
"You don't reckon I could break that will?" he sneered.
"Try it," she mocked. "It has been probated in Las Vegas. The judgehappens to be a friend of your father's and, I understand, sympathizedwith him."
"Clever, eh?" said Calumet, grinning crookedly.
"I am glad you think so," she taunted.