“I gave Taggart the treasure he’d left behind the night he tried to knife me, but he wasn’t satisfied; he wanted more, wanted me to sell the Toltec image and split with him. Of course I wouldn’t do that because of the way he’d acted, and he swore to get it some day.
“He took up some land about fifteen miles down the river, and he’s stayed there ever since. I’ve been afraid to go anywhere with the idol for fear he’d waylay me and get it. One day while I was away somewhere he came here and told Ezela about me having the idol. From that time on I led a life of hell. Ezela turned on me. She said I’d desecrated the altars of her tribe, and she kept harping to me about it until I got so I couldn’t bear the sight of her.
“I discovered soon after we came here that I had been mistaken in thinking I had loved her—what I had thought was love was merely gratitude. My gratitude didn’t last, of course, with her hounding me continually about the idol. Finally I discovered that she and Taggart were plotting against me. Of course, Taggart was after the image himself. He didn’t care anything about her religious scruples, but he made her believe he sympathized with her, and made a fool of her. I tried to kill Taggart the day I found that out, but he got away, and after that he never traveled alone and I didn’t get another chance. I ordered Ezela away, but she said she wouldn’t go until she got the image. Many times I debated the idea of putting her out of the way, but there was always the knowledge in my mind that she had saved my life, and I hadn’t the heart to do it.
“You know how we lived. My life was constantly in danger, and I became hardened, suspicious, brutal. You got the whole accumulation. Taggart and Ezela bribed my men to watch me. I had to discharge them. After Ezela died I thought Taggart would leave me alone. But he didn’t—he wanted the image. One day he and his boy Neal came over and ambushed me. They shot me in the shoulder. I was in the house, defending myself as best I could, when Malcolm Clayton came. By this time Betty has told you the rest and you know just what you can expect from the Taggarts.
“That is the whole history of the Toltec idol. I am not proud of my part in the affair, but Tom Taggart must never have the idol. Remember that! I don’t want him to have it! Neither do I want you to have it, or the money I leave, unless you can show that you forgive me. As I have said, I don’t take your word for it—you must prove it.
“I know you are coming home, and I wish I could live to see you. But I know I won’t. Don’t be too hard on me. Your father,
“JAMES MARSTON.”
CHAPTER IX
RESPONSIBILITY
For a long time after he had completed the reading of the letter, Calumet was silent, staring straight ahead of him. The information contained in the account of his father’s adventures was soothing—the termagant who had presided over his boyhood destinies had not been his real mother, and his father had left him a score to settle. He already hated the Taggarts, not particularly because they were his father’s enemies, but rather because Tom Taggart had been a traitor. He felt a contempt for him. He himself was mean and vicious—he knew that. But he had never betrayed a friend. It was better to have no friend than to have one and betray him. He looked around to see that Betty was still apparently absorbed in her book.
“Do you know what is in this letter?” he said.
She laid the book in her lap and nodded affirmatively.
“You opened it, I suppose?” he sneered.
“No,” she returned, unmoved. “Your father read it to me.”
“Kind of him, wasn’t it? What do you think of it?”
“What I think isn’t important. What do you think of it?”
“Nosey, eh?” he jeered. “If it won’t inconvenience you any, I’ll keep what I think of it to myself. But it’s plain to me now that when you caught me tryin’ to guzzle your granddad you thought I belonged to the Taggart bunch. You told me I’d have to try again—or somethin’ like that. I reckon you thought I was after the idol?”
“Yes.”
“Then the Taggarts have tried to get it since you’ve been here?”
“Many times.”
“But you left the front door open the night I came,” insinuated Calumet, his eyes glowing subtly. “That looks like you was invitin’ someone to come in an’ get the idol.”
“We never bother much about barring the doors. Besides, I don’t remember to have told you that the idol is in the house,” she smiled.
He looked at her with a baffled sneer. “Foxy, ain’t you?” He folded the letter and placed it into a pocket, she watching him silently. Her gaze fell on the injured arm; she saw the angry red streaks spreading from beneath the crude bandage and she got up, laying her book down and regarding him with determined eyes.
“Please come out into the kitchen with me,” she said; “I am going to take care of your arm.”
He looked up at her with a glance of cold mockery. “When did you get my permission to take care of it? It don’t need any carin’ for. An’ if it did, I reckon to be able to do my own doctorin’.”
She looked at him steadily and something in her gaze made him feel uncomfortable.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. She turned and went out into the kitchen. He could hear her working over the stove. He saw her cross the room with a tea kettle, fill it with water from a pail, return and place the kettle on the stove. He was determined that he would not allow her to dress the wound, but when ten minutes later she appeared in the kitchen door and told him she was ready, he got up and went reluctantly out.
She washed the arm, bathing the wound with a solution of water and some medicine which she poured from a bottle, and then bandaged it with some white cloth. Neither said anything until after she had delicately tied a string around the bandage to keep it in place, and then she stepped back and regarded her work with satisfaction.
“There,” she said; “doesn’t that feel better?”
“Some,” he returned, grudgingly. He stood up and watched her while she spread a cloth partly over the table and placed some dishes and food upon it. He was hungry, and the sight of the food made him feel suddenly ravenous. He watched her covertly, noting her matter-of-fact movements. It was as though she had not the slightest idea that he would refuse to eat, and he felt certain that he could not refuse. She was making him feel uncomfortable again; that epithet, “silly,” rankled in him and he did not want to hear her apply it to him again. But he would have risked it had she looked at him. She did not look at him. When she had finally arranged everything to suit her taste she turned her back and walked to the door of the dining-room.
“There is your supper,” she said quietly. “I have fixed up your room for you—the room you occupied before you left home. I am going to leave the light burning in the dining-room—you might want to read your letter again. Blow the light out when you go to bed. Good night.”
He grumbled an incoherent reply, turning his back to her. Her calm, unruffled acceptance of his incivility filled him with a cold resentment.
“What did you say?” she demanded of him from the door.
He turned sullenly. The light mockery in her voice stung him, shamed him—her eyes, dancing with mischief, held his.
“Good night,” he said shortly.
“Good night,” she said again. She laughed and vanished.
For an instant Calumet stood, scowling at the vacant doorway. Then he turned and went over to the table in the kitchen, looking down at the food and the dishes. She had compelled him to be civil. He gripped one end of the table cloth, and for an instant it seemed as though he meditated dumping dishes and food upon the floor. Then he grinned, grimly amused, and sat in the chair before the table, taking up knife and fork.
Early as he arose the next morning, he found that Betty had been before him. He saw her standing on the rear porch when he went out to care for his horse, and she smiled and called a greeting to him, which he answered soberly.
For some reason which he could not explain he felt a little reluctance toward going into the
kitchen for breakfast this morning. Yet he did go, though he waited outside until Betty came to the door and called him. He was pretending to be busy at his saddle, though he knew this was a pretext to cover his submission to her. He did not move toward the house until she vanished within it.
He was quiet during the meal, wondering at the change that had come over him, for he felt a strange resignation. He told himself that it was gratitude for her action in caring for his injured arm, and yet he watched her narrowly for any sign that would tell him that she was aware of his thoughts and was enjoying him. But he was able to determine nothing from her face, for though she smiled often there was nothing in her face at which he could take offense. She devoted much of her time and attention to Bob. And Bob talked to Calumet. There was something about the boy that attracted Calumet, and before the meal ended they were conversing companionably. But toward the conclusion of the meal, when in answer to something Bob said to him he smiled at the boy, he saw Betty looking at him with a glance of mingled astonishment and pleasure, he sobered and ceased talking. He didn’t want to do anything to please Betty.
He was saddling Blackleg after breakfast, intending to go down the river a short distance, when he became aware that Betty was standing near him. Without a word she handed him a bulky envelope with his name written on it. He took it, tore open an end, and a piece of paper, enclosing several bills, slipped out. He shot a quick glance at Betty; she was looking at him unconcernedly. He counted the bills; there were ten one hundred dollar gold certificates.
“What’s this for?” he demanded.
“Read the letter,” she directed.
He unfolded the paper. It read:
“MY DEAR SON:
“The money in this envelope is to be used by you in buying material to be used to repair the ranchhouse. I have prepared an itemized list of the necessary materials, which Betty will give you. Your acceptance of the task imposed on you will indicate that you intend to fulfill my wishes. It will also mean that you seriously contemplate an attempt at reform. The fact that you receive this money shows that you are already making progress, for you would never get it if Betty thought you didn’t deserve it, or were not worthy of a trial. I congratulate you.
“YOUR FATHER.”
“Got it all framed up on me, eh?” said Calumet. “So you think I’ve made progress, an’ that I’m goin’ to do what you want me to do?”
“Your progress hasn’t been startling,” she said dryly. “But you have progressed. At least, you have shown some inclination to listen to reason. Here is the itemized list which your father speaks of.” She passed over another paper, which Calumet scanned slowly and carefully. His gaze became fixed on the total at the bottom of the column of figures.
“It amounts to nine hundred and sixty dollars,” he said, looking at her, a disgusted expression on his face. “Looks like the old fool was mighty careless with his money. Couldn’t he have put down another item to cover that forty dollars?”
“I believe that margin was left purposely to take care of a possible advance in prices over those with which your father was familiar at the time he made out the list,” she answered, smiling in appreciation of his perturbation.
“That’s keepin’ cases pretty close, ain’t it?” he said. “Suppose I’d blow the whole business?”
“That would show that you could not be trusted. Your father left instructions which provide for that contingency.”
“What are they?”
“I am not to tell.”
“Clever, ain’t it?” he said, looking at her with displeased, hostile eyes. She met his gaze with a calm half-smile which had in it that irritating quality of advantage that he had noticed before.
“I am glad you think it clever,” she returned.
“It was your idea, I reckon?”
“I believe I did suggest it to your father. He was somewhat at a loss to know how to deal with you. He told me that he had some doubts about the scheme working; he said you would take it and ‘blow’ it in, as you said you might, but I disagreed with him. I was convinced that you would do the right thing.”
“You had a lot of faith in me, didn’t you?” he said, incredulously. “You believed in a man you’d never seen.”
“Your father had a picture of you,” she said, looking straight at him. “It was taken when you were fifteen, just before you left the ranch. It showed a boy with a cynical face and brooding, challenging eyes. But in spite of all that I thought I detected signs of promise in the face. I was certain that if you were managed right you could be reformed.”
“You were certain,” he said significantly. “What do you think now?”
“I haven’t altered my opinion.” Her gaze was steady and challenging. “Of course,” she added, blushing faintly; “I believe I was a little surprised when you came and I saw that you had grown to be a man. You see, I had looked at your picture so often that I rather expected to see a boy when you came. I had forgotten those thirteen years. But it has been said that a man is merely a grown-up boy and there is much truth in that. Despite your gruff ways, your big voice, and your contemptible way of treating people, you are very much a boy. But I am still convinced that you are all right at heart. I think everybody is, and the good could be brought forward if someone would take enough interest in the subject.”
“Then you take an interest in me?” said Calumet, grinning scornfully.
“Yes,” she said frankly; “to the extent of wondering whether or not time will vindicate my judgment.”
“Then you think I won’t blow this coin?” he said, tapping the bills.
“I think you will spend it for the articles on the list I have given you.”
He looked at her and she was certain there was indecision in the glance.
“Well,” he said abruptly, turning from her; “mebbe I will an’ mebbe I won’t. But whatever I do with it will be done to suit myself. It won’t be done to please you.”
He mounted his pony and rode to the far end of the ranchhouse yard. When he turned in the saddle it was with the conviction that Betty would be standing there watching him. Somehow, he wished she would. But she was walking toward the ranchhouse, her back to him, and he made a grimace of disappointment as he urged his pony out into the valley.
CHAPTER X
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
Calumet had been in no hurry, though maintaining its steady chop-trot for most of the distance, Blackleg had set him down in Lazette in a little over two hours.
Something had happened to Calumet. He had carefully considered the phenomenon all the way over from the Lazy Y; he considered it now as he sat sideways in the saddle before the rough board front of the Red Dog Saloon. Betty had faith in him. That was the phenomenon—the unheard of miracle. No one else had ever had faith in him, and so it was a new experience and one that must be thoroughly pondered if he was to enjoy it. And that he was enjoying it was apparent. Though he faced the Red Dog Saloon he did not see it. He kept seeing Betty as she looked after she had given him the money. “I know you will do the right thing,” she had said, or something very like that. It made no difference what her words had been. What she meant was that she had faith in him. And her eyes had said that she expected him to justify that faith.
But would he? He didn’t know. For the first time in his life he was afflicted with indecision over the possession of money. In the old days—the Durango days—which now seemed to be far behind him, the thousand dollars in his pocket would have served to finance a brief holiday of license and drinking and reckless play with gambling devices. But now it was different—something within him had called—or was calling—a halt. He told himself that it was because he had a curiosity to follow this strange, freakish plan of Betty’s to the end.
Some other emotion was calling just as strongly for him to do with the money as he had always done with money. And so indecision afflicted him. Humor likewise. He rarely felt in this mood. Not for years had he felt like laughing. Was he the Calumet Mars
ton who, a week before, had set out on his homeward journey filled with bitterness—looking for trouble? Had he been at the Lazy Y a day or a year? It was a day—two days—but it seemed more like the longer time. At least the time had wrought a change in him. It was ludicrous, farcical. In spite of his treatment of Betty she had faith in him! Wasn’t that just like a woman? There was nothing logical in her. She had taken him on trust. The whole business was in the nature of a comedy and suddenly yielding to his feelings he straightened in the saddle and laughed uproariously.
He did not laugh long, and when he sobered down and with an effort brought his mind back to the present, he became aware of the Red Dog, saw a young cowpuncher seated on the board sidewalk in front of the building, his back resting against it, laughing in sympathy with him.
Calumet was disconcerted for a moment. His eyes narrowed truculently. But then, as the oddness of the situation struck him he laughed again. But this time as he laughed he took stock of the young cowpuncher, who was again laughing with him.
The puncher was young—very young; not more than twenty-one or two. There was a week’s growth of beard on his face. A saddle reposed by his side. In spite of his laughter something about him spoke eloquently of trouble. Calumet felt a sudden interest in him. Any man who could laugh when the world was not doing well with him must be made of good stuff. But Calumet’s interest was cynical and it brought a sneer to his lips as he ceased laughing and sat loosely in the saddle regarding the puncher.
“I reckon you ain’t got no objections to tellin’ me what you’re laughin’ at?” he said coldly.
“Mebbe you’d put me wise to the same thing,” said the other. “I’m settin’ here, puttin’ in a heap of my time tryin’ to figger out who got the most of the six months’ wages which I had with me when I struck town yesterday—an’ not makin’ a hell of a lot of progress—when you mosey up here an’ begin to laugh your fool head off. At nothin’, so far’s I can see. Well, that’s what I was laughin’ at. Ketch my drift?”
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 199
