THE FIRST LESSON
Shortly after daybreak the following morning Calumet turned over on his
back, stretched lazily and opened his eyes. When a recollection of the
events of the previous night forced themselves into his consciousness
he scowled and sat erect, listening. From beyond the closed
dining-room door came sundry sounds which told him that the Claytons
were already astir. He heard the rattle of dishes, and the appetizing
aroma of fried bacon filtered through the crevices in the battered door
and assailed his nostrils.
He scowled again as he rose and stood looking down at his saddle. When
beginning his homeward journey he had supplied himself with soda
biscuit and jerked beef, but he had consumed the last of his food at
noon the day before and the scent of the frying bacon aroused him to
the realization that he was ravenously hungry. As he meditated upon
the situation the scowl on his face changed to an appreciative grin.
Now that he had decided to stay here he did not purpose to go hungry
when there was food around.
Shouldering his saddle he left the office and proceeded to the stable,
in which he had placed his pony the night before. He fed the animal
from a pitiful supply of grain in a bin, and after slamming the door of
the stable viciously, sneering at it as it resisted, he stalked to the
ranchhouse.
There was a tin basin on a bench just outside the kitchen door. He
poured it half full of water from a pail that sat on the porch floor,
and washed his hands and face, noting, while engaged in his task, a
clean towel hanging from a roller on the wall of the ranchhouse. While
drying his face he heard voices from within, subdued, anxious.
Completing his ablutions he stepped to the screen door, threw it open
and stood on the threshold.
In the center of the kitchen stood a table covered with a white cloth
on which were dishes filled with food from which arose promising odors.
Beside a window in the opposite wall of the kitchen 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 he answered Betty.
"Then you ain't disappointed," he sneered.
She rested her hands on the table beside her plate, the knife and fork
poised, and regarded him with a frank gaze.
"No, I am not disappointed. You quite meet my expectations. In fact,"
she went on, "I thought you would be much worse than you are. So far,
if we except your attack on grandfather, you haven't exhibited any
vicious traits. You are vain, though, and conceited, and like to bully
people. But those are faults that can be corrected."
Calumet had to look twice at her before he could be certain that she
was not mocking him.
"I reckon you're goin' to correct them?" he said, then.
She took a sip of coffee and placed the cup delicately down before she
answered.
"Of course--if you are to stay here."
"How?" His lips were in an incredulous sneer.
"By showing you that you can't be conceited around me, and that you
can't bully me. I suppose," she went on, leaning her elbows on the
table and supporting her chin with her hands while she looked straight
at him, "that when you came in here and took a seat without being
invited, you imagined you were impressing some one with your
importance. But you were not; you were merely acting the part of a
vulgar boor. Or perhaps you had a vague idea that you were going to do
as you please."
He placed his knife and fork down and looked at her. Her manner was
irritating; her quiet, direct glances disconcerted him. He could not
fail to see that he had signally failed in his effort to disturb her.
In fact, it became very plain to him as he watched her that she was
serenely conscious of her power over him, as a teacher is conscious of
her authority over an unruly pupil, and that, like a teacher, she was
quietly determined to be the victor.
The thought angered Calumet. There was in his mind a desire to humble
her, to crush her, to break her spirit, to drag her down to his own
level where he could fight her with his own weapons. He wanted to
humiliate her, wanted to gloat over her, wanted above all to have her
acknowledge his superiority, his authority, over her. Had he been able
to do this at their first meeting he would have been satisfied; if he
were able to do it now he would be pleased.
"It's none of your business what I thought," he said, leaning over the
table and leering at her. "I'm goin' to run things to suit myself, an'
if you an' your grandpap an' your brother don't like my style you can
pull your freight, pronto. I'm goin' to boss this ranch. Do you get
me?"
She seemed amused. "The Lazy Y," she said slowly, her eyes gleaming,
"has need of something besides a boss. You have observed, I suppose,
that it is slightly run down. Your father purposely neglected it.
Considerable money and work will be required to place it in condition
where it can be bossed at all. I haven't any doubt," she added,
surveying him critically, "that you will be able to supply the
necessary labor. But what about the money? Are you well supplied with
that?"
"Meaning to hint about the money the old man left, I reckon?"
"Of course. Understand that I have control of that, and you won't get
a cent unless in my opinion you deserve it."
He glared savagely at her.
"Of course," she went on calmly, though there was triumph in her voice,
"you can force us to leave the ranch. But I suspect that you won't try
to do that, because if you did you would never get the money. I should
go directly over to Las Vegas and petition to have your claim annulled.
Then at the end of the year the money would be mine."
He stiffened with impotent rage as he took up his knife and fork again
and resumed eating. He was disagreeably conscious that she held the
advantage, for assuredly he had no intention of driving her from the
ranch or of leaving it himself until he got his hands on the money.
Besides, he thought he saw back of her unconcern over his probable
course of action a secret desire for him to leave or to drive her away,
and in the perversity of his heart he decided that both must stay.
Something might occur to reveal the whereabouts of the money, or he
could watch her, reasonably certain that one day her woman's curiosity
would lead her to its hiding place. Plainly, in any event, he must
bide his time. Though his decision to defer action was taken, his
resentment did not abate; he could not conquer the deep rage in his
heart against her because of her interference in his affairs, and when
he suddenly looked up to see her watching him with a calm smile he made
a grimace of hatred at her.
"I'll make you show your hand, you sufferin' fool!" he said. "If you
was a man I'd make you tell me right now where that corn is, or I'd
guzzle you till your tongue stuck out a yard. As it is, I reckon I've
got to wait until you get damn good an' ready; got to wait until a
measly, sneakin' woman--"
Her laugh interrupted him--low, disdainful, mocking.
"I think I know what you are going to say. You are going to tell me
how I wormed my way into the good graces of your father and coaxed him
to make me his beneficiary. It is your intention to be mean, to insult
me, to try to bully me." Her eyes flashed as she leaned a little
toward him. "Understand," she said; "your bluster won't have the
slightest effect on me. I am not afraid of you. So swear and curse to
your heart's content. As for bossing the ranch," she went on, her
voice suddenly one of cold mockery, "what is there to boss? Some
dilapidated buildings! Of course you may boss those, because they
can't object. But you can't boss me, nor grandfather, nor Bob--because
we won't let you!"
She walked away from the table and went to a door that led to another
room, standing in the opening and looking back at Calumet, who still
sat at the table, speechless with surprise.
"Go out and begin your bossing!" she jeered. "Very likely the
buildings will begin to dance around at your bidding. With your
admirable persuasive powers you ought to be able to do wonders with
them in the matter of repairs. Try it, at least. But if they refuse
to be repaired at your mere word, and you think something more
substantial is needed, then come to me--perhaps I may help you."
She bowed mockingly and vanished into the other room, closing the door
behind her, leaving Calumet glaring into his plate.
For a moment there was a painful silence, which Malcolm broke by
clearing his throat, his gaze on the tablecloth.
"Sometimes I think Betty's a little fresh," he said, apologetically.
"She's sorta sudden-like. She hadn't ought to--"
He looked up to see a malevolent scowl on Calumet's face, and he ducked
by the narrowest of margins the heavy plate that flew from Calumet's
hand. The plate struck the wall and was shattered to atoms. Malcolm
crouched, in deadly fear of other missiles, but Calumet did not deign
to notice him further, stalking out of the room and slamming the door
behind him.