The Boss of the Lazy Y Part 2

"For you _think_ you are a man, I suppose?" she added, her voice filled with a las.h.i.+ng scorn. "You wear a gun, you ride a horse, and you _look_ like a man. But there the likeness ends. I suppose I ought to kill you--a beast like you has no business living. Fortunately, you haven't hurt grandpa very much. You may go now--go and tell Tom Taggart that he will have to try again!"

The sound of her voice broke the spell which her eyes had woven about Calumet's senses, and he stood erect, hooking his thumbs in his cartridge belt, unaffected by her tirade, his voice insolent.

"Why, ma'am," he said, mockingly, his voice an irritating drawl, "you cert'nly are some on the talk, for sure! Your folks sorta handed you the tongue for the family when you b.u.t.ted into this here world, didn't they? An' so that's your grandpa? I come pretty near hurtin' him an'

you're some het up over it? But I reckon that if he has to set around an' listen to your palaver he'd be right glad to cash in. Shucks. I beg your pardon, ma'am. If it'll do you any good to know, I thought your poor grandpap was some one else. I was thinkin' it was a family affair, an' that I had a right to guzzle him. You see, I thought the ol' maverick was my father."

The girl started, the color slowly faded from her cheeks and she drew a long, tremulous breath.

"Then you," she said; "you are----" She hesitated and stared at him intensely, her free hand tightly clenched.

He bowed, derisively, discerning the sudden confusion that had overtaken her and making the most of his opportunity to increase it.

"I'm Calumet Marston," he said, grinning.

The girl gasped. "Oh!" she said, weakly; "Oh!"

The huge pistol slipped out of her hand and thudded dully to the floor and she stood, holding tightly to the door jambs, her eyes fixed on Calumet with an expression that he could not a.n.a.lyze.

CHAPTER III

CALUMET'S GUARDIAN

A new silence fell; a silence pregnant with a premonition of renewed strife. Calumet felt it and the evil in him exulted. He left the desk and stepped close to the girl, deftly picking up the fallen pistol and placing it on the desk back of him, out of the girl's reach. She watched him, both hands pressed over her bosom, apparently still stunned over the revelation of his ident.i.ty. There was mystery here, Calumet felt it and was determined to uncover it. He took up the chair that he had previously overturned and seated himself on it, facing the girl.

"Set down," he said, waving a hand toward another chair. In response to his invitation she moved toward the chair, hesitated when she reached it, apparently having nearly recovered her composure, though her face was pale and she watched him covertly, half fearfully. While she seated herself Calumet got out of his chair and took up the candle, placing it on the desk beside the pistol. This done, he busied himself with the rolling of a cigarette, working deliberately, an alert eye on the girl and her grandfather.

The latter had recovered and was sitting rigid in the chair, fear and wonder in his eyes as he watched Calumet. To him Calumet spoke when he had completed the rolling of the cigarette and was holding a flaring match to it. He took a tigerish amus.e.m.e.nt from the old man's plight.

"I reckon I come pretty near doin' for you, eh?" he said, grinning.

"Well, there ain't no tellin' when a man will make a mistake." His gaze left the old man and was directed at the girl. "I reckon we'll clear things up a bit now, ma'am," he said. "What are you an' your grand-pap doin' at the Lazy Y?"

"We live here."

"Where's the old coyote which has been callin' himself my dad?"

A sudden change came over the girl; a vindictive satisfaction seemed to radiate from her. So it appeared to Calumet. In the flas.h.i.+ng look she gave him he thought he could detect a knowledge of advantage, a consciousness of power, over him. Her voice emphasized this impression.

"Your father's dead," she returned, and watched him narrowly.

Calumet's eyelashes flickered once. Shock or emotion, this was all the evidence he gave of it. He puffed long and deeply at his cigarette and not for an instant did he remove his gaze from the girl's face, for he was studying her, watching for a recurrence of the subtle gleam that he had previously caught. But in the look that she now gave him there was nothing but amus.e.m.e.nt. Apparently she was enjoying him. Certainly she had entirely recovered from the shock he had caused her.

"Dead, eh?" he said. "When did he cash in?"

"A week ago today."

Calumet's eyelashes flickered again. Here was the explanation for that mysterious impulse which had moved him to return home. It was just a week ago that he had taken the notion and he had acted upon it immediately. He had heard of mental telepathy, and here was a working ill.u.s.tration of it. However, he gave no thought to its bearing on his presence at the Lazy Y beyond skeptically a.s.suring himself that it was a mere coincidence. In any event, what did it matter? He was here; that was the main thing.

His thoughts had become momentarily introspective, and when his mental faculties returned to a realization of the present he saw that the girl was regarding him with an intense and wondering gaze. She had been studying him and when she saw him looking at her she turned her head.

He experienced an unaccountable elation, though he kept his voice dryly sarcastic.

"I reckon the ol' fool asked for me?"

"Yes."

This time Calumet could not conceal his surprise; it was revealed in the skeptical, sneering, boring glance that he threw at the girl's face, now inscrutable. Her manner angered him.

"I reckon you're a liar," he said, with cold deliberation.

The girl reddened quickly; her hands clenched. But she did not look at him.

"Thank you," she returned, mockingly.

"What did he say?" he demanded gruffly, to conceal a slight embarra.s.sment over her manner of receiving the insult.

Her chin lifted disdainfully. "You wouldn't believe a liar," she said coldly.

Again her spirit battled his. The dark flush spread over his face and he found that he could not meet her eyes; again the sheer, compelling strength of her personality routed the evilness in his heart.

Involuntarily, his lips moved.

"I reckon I didn't mean just that," he said. And then, surprised that such words should come from him he looked up to see the hard calm of her face change to triumph.

The expression was swiftly transient. It baffled him, filling him with an impotent rage. But he watched her narrowly as she folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them.

"Your father expected you to come," she said quietly. "He prayed that you might return before he died. It seems that he felt he had treated you meanly and he wanted to tell you that he had repented."

A cynical wonder filled Calumet, and he laughed--a short, raucous staccato.

"How do you know?" he questioned.

"He told me."

Calumet considered her for a moment in silence and then his attention was directed to her grandfather, who had got to his feet and was walking unsteadily toward the dining-room door. He was a well-preserved man, appearing to be about sixty. That Calumet's attack had been a vicious one was apparent, for as the man reached the door he staggered and leaned weakly against the jambs. He made a grimace at Calumet and smiled weakly at the girl.

"I'm pretty well knocked out, Betty," he said. "My neck hurts, sorta.

I'll send Bob in to keep you company."

The girl cast a sharp, eloquent glance at Calumet and smiled with straight lips.

"Don't bother to send Bob," she replied; "I am not afraid."

The grandfather went out, leaving the door open. While the girl stood listening to his retreating steps, Calumet considered her. She had said that she was not afraid of him--he believed her; her actions showed it. He said nothing until after her grandfather had vanished and his step was no longer heard, and then when she turned to him he said shortly:

"So your name's Betty. Betty what?"

"Clayton."