were
born in the West," she went on, "and ought to be able to tell the
difference between a dog and a wolf. Did you take Lonesome for a wolf?"

"I reckon," sneered Calumet, determined not to be lectured by her,
"that I've got to give a reason for everything I do around here. Even
to killin' a damn dog!"

"Then," she said with cold contempt, "you killed him in pure
wantonness?"

It was plain to Calumet that she was badly hurt over the dog's death.
Certainly, despite her cold composure, she must be filled with rage
against him for killing the animal. He might now have exhibited his
arm, to confound her with the evidence of his innocence of wantonness,
and very probably she would have been instantly remorseful. But he had
no such intention; he was keenly alive to his opportunity to show her
that he was answerable to no one for his conduct. He enjoyed her
chagrin; he was moved to internal mirth over her impotent wrath; he
took a savage delight in seeing her cringe from the evidence of his
apparent brutality. He grinned at her.

"He's dead, ain't he?" he said. "An' I ain't makin' no excuses to you!"

She gave him a scornful glance and went over to Malcolm, who had
clambered to his feet and was crouching, his face working with passion.
At the instant Betty reached him he was clawing at his six-shooter,
trying to drag it from the holster. But Betty's hand closed over his
and he desisted.

"Not that, grandpa," she said quietly. "Shooting won't bring Lonesome
back. Besides"--she turned toward Calumet and saw the cold grin on his
face as his right hand dropped to his hip in silent preparation for
Malcolm's menacing movement--"don't you see that he would shoot you as
he shot Lonesome? He just can't help being a brute!"

She turned her back to Calumet and spoke in a low voice to her
grandfather, smoothing his hair, patting his shoulders--calming him
with all a woman's gentle artifices. And Calumet stood watching her,
marveling at her self-control, feeling again that queer, thrilling
sensation of reluctant admiration.

He had forgotten Bob. Betty had left the boy standing alone when she
had gone over to Malcolm, and Bob had hobbled forward when Calumet had
turned to follow the girl's movements, so that now he stood just behind
Calumet. The latter became aware of the boy's presence when the latter
seized his left hand from behind, and he turned with a snarl, his
six-shooter half drawn, to confront the boy, who