tchen stood Malcolm
Clayton. He was facing Calumet, and apparently had recovered from the
encounter of the night before. But when he looked at Calumet he
cringed as though in fear. Betty stood beside the table, facing
Calumet also. But there was no fear in her attitude. She was erect,
her hands resting on her hips, and when Calumet hesitated on the
threshold she looked at him with a scornful half smile. Yielding to
the satanic humor which had received its birth the night before when he
had made his decision to remain at the Lazy Y, he returned Betty's
smile with a derisive grin, walked to the table, pulled out a chair,
and seated himself.

It was a deliberate and premeditated infringement of the proprieties,
and Calumet anticipated a storm of protest from Betty. But when he
looked brazenly at her he saw her regarding him with a direct,
disdainful gaze. He understood. She was surprised and indignant over
the action, possibly shocked over his cool assumption, but she was not
going to lose her composure.

"Well," he said, keenly enjoying the situation and determined to
torment her further, "set down. I reckon we'll grub."

"Thank you," she mocked, with quick sarcasm; "I was wondering whether
you would ask us. Grandpa," she added, turning to Malcolm, "won't you
join us? Mr. Marston has been so polite and thoughtful that we
certainly ought not to refuse his invitation."

She drew out a chair for Malcolm and stood beside it while he shuffled
forward and hesitatingly slipped into it, watching Calumet furtively.
Then she moved quietly and gracefully to another chair, directly
opposite Calumet.

Her sarcasm had no perceptible effect on Calumet. Inwardly he was
intensely satisfied. His action in seating himself at the table
without invitation angered Betty, as he had intended it should.

"Some shocked, eh?" he said, helping himself to some bacon and fried
potatoes, and passing them to her when he had finished with them.

"Shocked?" she returned calmly, unconcernedly supplying herself with
food from the dishes she had taken from him, "Oh, my, no. You see,
from what your father told me about you, I rather expected you to be a
brute."

"Aw, Betty," came Malcolm's voice, raised in mild remonstrance; "you
hadn't ought to--"

"If you please, grandpa," Betty interrupted him, and he subsided and
glanced anxiously at Calumet, into whose face had come a dash of dark
color. He swallowed a mouthful of bacon before