e 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 misl