CHAPTER XVII
MORE PROGRESS
A strange thing was happening to Calumet. His character was in the process of remaking. Slowly and surely Betty’s good influence was making itself felt. This in spite of his knowledge of her secret meeting with Neal Taggart. To be sure, so far as his actions were concerned, he was the Calumet of old, a man of violent temper and vicious impulses, but there were growing governors that were continually slowing his passions, strange, new thoughts that were thrusting themselves insistently before him. He was strangely uncertain of his attitude toward Betty, disturbed over his feelings toward her. Despite his knowledge of her secret meeting with Taggart, with a full consciousness of all the rage against her which that knowledge aroused in him, he liked her. At the same time, he despised her. She was not honest. He had no respect for any woman who would sneak as she had sneaked. She was two-faced; she was trying to cheat him out of his heritage. She had deceived his father, she was trying to deceive him. She was unworthy of any admiration whatever, but whenever he looked at her, whenever she was near him, he was conscious of a longing that he could not fight down.
And there was Dade. He often watched Dade while they were working together on the bunkhouse in the days following the incident of the ambush by Taggart. The feeling that came over him at these times was indescribable and disquieting, as was his emotion whenever Dade smiled at him. He had never experienced the deep, stirring spirit of comradeship, the unselfish affection which sometimes unites the hearts of men; he had had no “chum” during his youth. But this feeling that came over him whenever he looked at Dade was strangely like that which he had for his horse, Blackleg. It was deeper, perhaps, and disturbed him more, yet it was the same. At the same time, it was different. But he could not tell why. He liked to have Dade around him, and one day when the latter went to Lazette on some errand for Betty he felt queerly depressed and lonesome. That same night when Dade drove into the ranchhouse yard Calumet had smiled at him, and a little later when Dade had told Betty about it he had added:
“When I seen him grin at me that cordial, I come near fallin’ off my horse. I was that flustered! Why, Betty, he’s comin’ around! The durn cuss likes me!”
“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 worshiped 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 passed and Taggart did not put in an appearance. Time removes the sting from many hurts and even jealousy’s pangs are assuaged 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 attitude 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; nobody’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.
During that time there had been little to do. Dade and Malcolm had passed several days tinkering at the stable and the bunkhouse; Bob, at Calumet’s suggestion, was engaged in the humane task of erecting a kennel for the new dog—which had grown large and ungainly, though still retaining the admiration of his owner; and Calumet spent much of his time roaming around the country on Blackleg.
“Killin’ time,” h
e told Dade.
But it was plain to Dade, as it was to Betty, who had spoken but little to him in a week, that Calumet was filled with speculation and impatience over the temporary inaction. The work of repairing the buildings was all done. There was nothing now to do except to await the appearance of some cattle. The repair work had all been done to that end, and it was inevitable that Betty must be considering some arrangement for the procuring of cattle, but for a week she had said nothing and Calumet did not question her.
But on the Monday morning following the period of inaction, Calumet noted at the breakfast table that Betty seemed unusually eager to have the meal over. As he was leaving the table she told him she wanted to speak to him after her housework was done, and he went outside, where he lingered, watching Dade and Malcolm and Bob.
About an hour or so later Betty came out. Calumet was standing at the corral fence near the stable when she stepped down from the porch, and he gave a gasp of astonishment and then stood perfectly still, looking at her.
For the Betty that he saw was not the Betty he had grown accustomed to seeing. Not once during the time he had been at the Lazy Y had he seen her except in a house dress and her appearance now was in the nature of a transformation.
She was arrayed in a riding habit of brown corduroy which consisted of a divided skirt—a “doubled-barreled” one in the sarcastic phraseology of the male cowpuncher, who affects to despise such an article of feminine apparel—a brown woolen blouse with a low collar, above which she had sensibly tied a neckerchief to keep the sun and sand from blistering her neck; and a black felt hat with a wide brim. On her hands were a pair of silver-spangled leather gauntlets; encasing her feet were a pair of high-topped, high-heeled riding boots, ornamented with a pair of long-roweled Mexican spurs, mounted with silver. She was carrying a saddle which was also bedecked and bespangled with silver.
Illumination came instantly to Calumet. These things—the saddle, the riding habit, the spurs—were material possessions that connected her with the past. They were her personal belongings, kept and treasured from the more prosperous days of her earlier life.
At the first look he had felt a mean impulse to ridicule her because of them, but this impulse was succeeded instantly by a queer feeling of pity for her, and he kept silent.
But even had he ridiculed her, his ridicule would have been merely a mask behind which he could have hidden his surprise and admiration, for though her riding habit suggested things effete and eastern, which are always to be condemned on general principles, it certainly did fit her well, was becoming, neat, and in it she made a figure whose attractions were not to be denied.
She knew how to wear her clothes, too, he noted that instantly. She was at home in them; she graced them, gave them a subtle hint of quality that carried far and sank deep. As she came toward him he observed that her cheeks were a trifle flushed, her eyes a little brighter than usual, but for all that she was at ease and natural.
She stopped in front of him and smiled.
“Do you mind going over to the Diamond K with me this morning?” she asked.
“What for?” he said gruffly, reddening as he thought she might see the admiration which was slumbering in his eyes.
“To buy some cattle,” she returned. “Kelton, of the Diamond K, hasn’t been fortunate this season. Little Darby has been dry nearly all of the time and there has been little good grass on his range. In the first place, he had too much stock, even if conditions were right. I have heard that Kelton offered to pay the Taggarts for the use of part of their grass, but they have never been friends and the Taggarts wanted to charge him an outrageous price for the privilege. Therefore, Kelton is anxious to get rid of some of his stock. We need cattle and we can get them from him at a reasonable figure. He has some white Herefords that I would like to get.”
He cleared his throat and hesitated, frowning.
“Why don’t you take Dade—or Malcolm?” he suggested.
She looked straight at him. “Don’t be priggish,” she said. “Dade and Malcolm have nothing to do with the running of this ranch. I want you to go with me, because I am going to buy some cattle and I want you to confirm the deal.”
He laughed. “Do you reckon you need to go at all?” he said. “I figure to know cattle some myself, an’ I wouldn’t let Kelton hornswoggle me.”
She straightened, her chin lifting a little. “Well,” she said slowly, “if that is the way you feel, I presume I shall have to go alone. I had thought, though, that the prospective owner of the Lazy Y might have enough interest in his property to put aside his likes and dislikes long enough to care for his own interests. Also,” she added, “where I came from, no man would be ungentlemanly enough to refuse to accompany a lady anywhere she might ask him to go.”
The flush on his face grew. But he refused to become disconcerted. “I reckon to be as much of a gentleman as any Texas guy,” he said. “But I expect, though,” he added; “to prove that to you I’ll have to trail along after you.”
“Of course,” she said, the corners of her mouth dimpling a little.
He went down to the corral, roped the most gentle and best appearing one of the two horses he had bought in Lazette, caught up his own horse, Blackleg, and brought them to the stable, where he saddled and bridled them. Before putting the bridle on her horse, however, he found an opportunity to work off part of the resentment which had accumulated in him over her reference to his conduct.
After adjusting the saddle, paying particular attention to the cinches, he straightened and looked at her.
“Do you reckon to have a bridle that belongs to that right pretty saddle an’ suit of yourn?” he asked.
She cast a swift glance about her and blushed. “Oh,” she said; “I have forgotten it! It is in my room!”
“I reckon I’d get it if I was thinkin’ of goin’ ridin’,” he said. “Some folks seem to think that when you’re ridin’ a horse a bridle is right handy.”
“Well,” she said, smiling at him as she went out the stable door; “it has been a long time since I have had these things on, and perhaps I was a little nervous.”
At this reference to her past the pulse of pity which he had felt for her before again shot over him. He had seen a quick sadness in her eyes, lurking behind the smile.
“I reckon you’ve been stayin’ in the house too much,” he said gruffly.
She hesitated, going out of the door, to look back at him, astonishment and something more subtle glinting her eyes. He saw it and frowned.
“It’s twelve miles to the Diamond K,” he suggested; “an’ twelve back. If you’re figgerin’ on ridin’ that distance an’ takin’ time between to look at any cattle mebbe you’d better get a move on.”
She was out of the door before he had ceased speaking and in an incredibly short time was back, a little breathless, her face flushed as though she had been running.
He put the bridle on her horse, led it out, and condescended to hold the stirrup for her, a service which she acknowledged with a flashing smile that brought a reluctant grin to his face.
Then, swinging into his own saddle, he urged Blackleg after her, for she had not waited for him, riding down past the ranchhouse and out into the little stretch of plain that reached to the river.
They rode steadily, talking little, for Calumet deliberately kept a considerable distance between them, thus showing her that though courtesy had forced him to accompany her it could not demand that he should also become a mark at which she could direct conversation.
It was noon when they came in sight of the Diamond K ranch buildings. They were on a wide plain near the river and what grass there was was sun-scorched and rustled dryly under the tread of their horses’ hoofs. Then Calumet added a word to the few that he had already spoken during the ride.
“I reckon Kelton must have been loco to try to raise cattle in a God-forsaken hole like this,” he said with a sneer.
“That he was foolish enough to do so will result to
our advantage,” she replied.
“Meanin’ what?”
“That we will be able to buy what cattle we want more cheaply than we would were Kelton’s range what it should be,” she returned, watching his face.
He looked at her vindictively. “You’re one of them kind of humans that like to take advantage of a man’s misfortune,” he said.
“That is all in the viewpoint,” she defended. “I didn’t bring misfortune to Kelton. And I consider that in buying his cattle I am doing him a favor. I am not gloating over the opportunity—it is merely business.”
“Why didn’t you offer Kelton the Lazy Y range?” he said with a twisting grin.
She could not keep the triumph out of her voice. “I did,” she answered. “He wouldn’t take it because he didn’t like you—doesn’t like you. He told me that he knew you when you were a boy and you weren’t exactly his style.”
Thus eliminated as a conversationalist, and defeated in his effort to cast discredit upon her, Calumet maintained a sneering silence.
But when they rode up to the Diamond K ranchhouse, he flung a parting word at her.
“I reckon you can go an’ talk cattle to your man, Kelton,” he said. “I’m afraid that if he goes gassin’ to me I’ll smash his face in.”
He rode back to the horse corral, which they had passed, to look again at a horse inside which had attracted his attention.
The animal was glossy black except for a little patch of white above the right fore-fetlock; he was tall, rangy, clean-limbed, high-spirited, and as Calumet sat in the saddle near the corral gate watching him he trotted impudently up to the bars and looked him over. Then, after a moment, satisfying his curiosity, he wheeled, slashed at the gate with both hoofs, and with a snort, that in the horse language might have meant contempt or derision, cavorted away.
Calumet’s admiring glance followed him. He sat in the saddle for half an hour, eyeing the horse critically, and at the end of that time, noting that Betty had returned to the ranchhouse with Kelton, probably having looked at some of the stock she had come to see—Calumet had observed on his approach that the cattle corral was well filled with white Herefords—he wheeled Blackleg and rode over to them.
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 206
