added, his voice suddenly cold
and hard, "an' you ain't buttin' in, whatever happens. Buy yourself
another drink," he suggested; "you look flustered. I'm havin' a talk
with Taggart."

He left Dade standing at the bar looking at him wonderingly, and made
his way slowly to the table where Taggart sat. Taggart was drinking
when Calumet reached his side, and Dade stood tense, awaiting the
expected clash.

But none came. Calumet's grin as he nodded to Taggart was almost
friendly, and his voice was soft, even--almost gentle.

"I heard one of these man call you Taggart," he said. "I reckon you're
from the Arrow?"

Taggart leaned back in his chair and insolently surveyed his
questioner. What he saw in Calumet's face made his own pale a little.

"I'm Taggart," he said shortly--"Neal Taggart. What you wantin' of me?"

Calumet smiled. "Nothin' much," he said. "I thought mebbe you'd like
to know me. We're neighbors, you know. I'm Marston--Calumet Marston,
of the Lazy Y."

The color receded entirely from Taggart's face, leaving it with a queer
pallor. He abruptly shoved back his chair and stood, his eyes alert
and fearful as his right hand stole slowly toward the butt of the
pistol at his hip. Calumet's right hand did not seem to move, but
before Taggart could get his weapon free of its holster he saw the
sombre muzzle of a forty-five frowning at him from Calumet's hip and he
quickly drew his own hand away--empty.

"Shucks," Calumet's voice came slowly into the silence that had
fallen--slowly and softly and with apparently genuine deprecation. "If
I'd known that you was goin' to get that excited I'd have broke the
news different. I don't know what you're gettin' at, trying to drag
your gun out that way. I was hopin' we'd be friends. We ought to, you
know, bein' neighbors."

"Friends?" Taggart stepped back a pace and looked at Calumet
incredulously, his eyes searching for signs of insincerity. He saw no
such signs, for if Calumet had emotion at this minute it was too deep
to be uncovered with a glance. But he knew from Taggart's perturbation
that the latter knew him to be the man he had shot at that day in the
valley.

Obviously, he had not then had any suspicion as to his identity--his
surprise showed that he had not. And his half-fearful, puzzled looks
at Calumet indicated to the latter that he was wondering whether
Calumet recognized him as the man who had done the shooting.

Calumet's smile wa