mbled at the
fastenings, presently swinging the door open and vanishing inside.
Five minutes later, when he came out with the pony saddled and bridled,
he found that Betty and Malcolm had gone. But Bob stood over the dead
body of Lonesome, silently weeping.

For a moment, standing beside his pony, Calumet watched the boy, and as
he stood a queer pallor overspread his face and his lips tightened
oddly. For something in the boy's appearance, in the idea of his
exhibition of grief over his dog, which Malcolm had said he loved,
smote Calumet's heart. As he continued to watch, his set lips moved
strangely, and his eyes glittered with a light that they had not yet
known. Twice he started toward the boy, and twice he changed his mind
and returned to his pony to continue his vigil. The boy was unaware of
his presence.

The third time Calumet reached his side, and the big rough palm of his
right hand was laid gently on the boy's head.

"I reckon I'm sorry, you damned little cuss," he said huskily as the
youngster looked up into his face. "If I'd have knowed that he was
your dog I'd have let him chaw my arm off before I'd have shot him."

The boy's eyes glowed with gratitude. Then they sought the body of
Lonesome. When he looked up again Calumet was on his pony, riding
slowly past the bunkhouse. The boy watched him until he rode far out
into the valley.

CHAPTER VII

A PAGE FROM THE PAST

Darkness had fallen when Calumet returned to the Lazy Y. He had passed
the day riding over the familiar ranges, returning to almost forgotten
spots, reviving the life of his youth and finding the memories irksome.
He was in no pleasant frame of mind when he rode in, and he disdained
the use of the corral or the stable, staking his horse out in the
pasture, remembering the scant supply of grain in the bin in the
stable, and telling himself that "them two skates"--referring to the
horses he had seen in the corral--"need it worse than Blackleg," his
own pony.

After staking Blackleg out, he took the saddle and bridle from the
animal and stalked toward the ranchhouse. A light burned on the
kitchen table. He saw it from a distance and resisted an impulse to
enter the house from the kitchen, walking, instead, around to the
front, where he found the door to the office unbarred. He threw the
saddle into a corner, lighted the candle that still stood on the desk
where he had placed it the night before, and stood for a long ti