ANOTHER PEACE OFFERING
Dade's prediction that the corral would be completed the next day was
fulfilled. It was a large enclosure, covering several acres, for in
the Lazy Y's prosperous days there had been a great many cattle to care
for, and a roomy corral is a convenience always arranged for by an
experienced cattleman. But it yawned emptily for more than a week
following its completion.
During that time there had been little to do. Dade and Malcolm had
passed several days tinkering at the stable and the bunkhouse; Bob, at
Calumet's suggestion, was engaged in the humane task of erecting a
kennel for the new dog--which had grown large and ungainly, though
still retaining the admiration of his owner; and Calumet spent much of
his time roaming around the country on Blackleg.
"Killin' time," he told Dade.
But it was plain to Dade, as it was to Betty, who had spoken but little
to him in a week, that Calumet was filled with speculation and
impatience over the temporary inaction. The work of repairing the
buildings was all done. There was nothing now to do except to await
the appearance of some cattle. The repair work had all been done to
that end, and it was inevitable that Betty must be considering some
arrangement for the procuring of cattle, but for a week she had said
nothing and Calumet did not question her.
But on the Monday morning following the period of inaction, Calumet
noted at the breakfast table that Betty seemed unusually eager to have
the meal over. As he was leaving the table she told him she wanted to
speak to him after her housework was done, and he went outside, where
he lingered, watching Dade and Malcolm and Bob.
About an hour or so later Betty came out. Calumet was standing at the
corral fence near the stable when she stepped down from the porch, and
he gave a gasp of astonishment and then stood perfectly still, looking
at her.
For the Betty that he saw was not the Betty he had grown accustomed to
seeing. Not once during the time he had been at the Lazy Y had he seen
her except in a house dress and her appearance now was in the nature of
a transformation.
[Illustration: Her appearance now was in the nature of a
transformation.]
She was arrayed in a riding habit of brown corduroy which consisted of
a divided skirt--a "doubled-barreled" one in the sarcastic phraseology
of the male cowpuncher, who affects to despise such an article of
feminine apparel--a brown woolen blouse with a low collar, above which
she had sensibly tied a neckerchief to keep the sun and sand from
blistering her neck; and a black felt hat with a wide brim. On her
hands were a pair of silver-spangled leather gauntlets; encasing her
feet were a pair of high-topped, high-heeled riding boots, ornamented
with a pair of long-roweled Mexican spurs, mounted with silver. She
was carrying a saddle which was also bedecked and bespangled with
silver.
Illumination came instantly to Calumet. These things--the saddle, the
riding habit, the spurs--were material possessions that connected her
with the past. They were her personal belongings, kept and treasured
from the more prosperous days of her earlier life.
At the first look he had felt a mean impulse to ridicule her because of
them, but this impulse was succeeded instantly by a queer feeling of
pity for her, and he kept silent.
But even had he ridiculed her, his ridicule would have been merely a
mask behind which he could have hidden his surprise and admiration, for
though her riding habit suggested things effete and eastern, which are
always to be condemned on general principles, it certainly did fit her
well, was becoming, neat, and in it she made a figure whose attractions
were not to be denied.
She knew how to wear her clothes, too, he noted that instantly. She
was at home in them; she graced them, gave them a subtle hint of
quality that carried far and sank deep. As she came toward him he
observed that her cheeks were a trifle flushed, her eyes a little
brighter than usual, but for all that she was at ease and natural.
She stopped in front of him and smiled.
"Do you mind going over to the Diamond K with me this morning?" she
asked.
"What for?" he said gruffly, reddening as he thought she might see the
admiration which was slumbering in his eyes.
"To buy some cattle," she returned. "Kelton, of the Diamond K, hasn't
been fortunate this season. Little Darby has been dry nearly all of
the time and there has been little good grass on his range. In the
first place, he had too much stock, even if conditions were right. I
have heard that Kelton offered to pay the Taggarts for the use of part
of their grass, but they have never been friends and the Taggarts
wanted to charge him an outrageous price for the privilege. Therefore,
Kelton is anxious to get rid of some of his stock. We need cattle and
we can get them from him at a reasonable figure. He has some white
Herefords that I would like to get."
He cleared his throat and hesitated, frowning.
"Why don't you take Dade--or Malcolm?" he suggested.
She looked straight at him. "Don't be priggish," she said. "Dade and
Malcolm have nothing to do with the running of this ranch. I want you
to go with me, because I am going to buy some cattle and I want you to
confirm the deal."
He laughed. "Do you reckon you need to go at all?" he said. "I figure
to know cattle some myself, an' I wouldn't let Kelton hornswoggle me."
She straightened, her chin lifting a little. "Well," she said slowly,
"if that is the way you feel, I presume I shall have to go alone. I
had thought, though, that the prospective owner of the Lazy Y might
have enough interest in his property to put aside his likes and
dislikes long enough to care for his own interests. Also," she added,
"where I came from, no man would be ungentlemanly enough to refuse to
accompany a lady anywhere she might ask him to go."
The flush on his face grew. But he refused to become disconcerted. "I
reckon to be as much of a gentleman as any Texas guy," he said. "But I
expect, though," he added; "to prove that to you I'll have to trail
along after you."
"Of course," she said, the corners of her mouth dimpling a little.
He went down to the corral, roped the most gentle and best appearing
one of the two horses he had bought in Lazette, caught up his own
horse, Blackleg, and brought them to the stable, where he saddled and
bridled them. Before putting the bridle on her horse, however, he
found an opportunity to work off part of the resentment which had
accumulated in him over her reference to his conduct.
After adjusting the saddle, paying particular attention to the cinches,
he straightened and looked at her.
"Do you reckon to have a bridle that belongs to that right pretty
saddle an' suit of yourn?" he asked.
She cast a swift glance about her and blushed. "Oh," she said; "I have
forgotten it! It is in my room!"
"I reckon I'd get it if I was thinkin' of goin' ridin'," he said.
"Some folks seem to think that when you're ridin' a horse a bridle is
right handy."
"Well," she said, smiling at him as she went out the stable door; "it
has been a long time since I have had these things on, and perhaps I
was a little nervous."
At this reference to her past the pulse of pity which he had felt for
her before again shot over him. He had seen a quick sadness in her
eyes, lurking behind the smile.
"I reckon you've been stayin' in the house too much," he said gruffly.
She hesitated, going out of the door, to look back at him, astonishment
and something more subtle glinting her eyes. He saw it and frowned.
"It's twelve miles to the Diamond K," he suggested; "an' twelve back.
If you're figgerin' on ridin' that distance an' takin' time between to
look at any cattle mebbe you'd better get a move on."
She was out of the door before he had ceased speaking and in an
incredibly short time was back, a little breathless, her face flushed
as though she had been running.
He put the bridle on her horse, led it out, and condescended to hold
the stirrup for her, a service which she acknowledged with a flashing
smile that brought a reluctant grin to his face.
Then, swinging into his own saddle, he urged Blackleg after her, for
she had not waited for him, riding down past the ranchhouse and out
into the little stretch of plain that reached to the river.
They rode steadily, talking little, for Calumet deliberately kept a
considerable distance between them, thus showing her that though
courtesy had forced him to accompany her it could not demand that he
should also become a mark at which she could direct conversation.
It was noon when they came in sight of the Diamond K ranch buildings.
They were on a wide plain near the river and what grass there was was
sun-scorched and rustled dryly under the tread of their horses' hoofs.
Then Calumet added a word to the few that he had already spoken during
the ride.
"I reckon Kelton must have been loco to try to raise cattle in a
God-forsaken hole like this," he said with a sneer.
"That he was foolish enough to do so will result to our advantage," she
replied.
"Meanin' what?"
"That we will be able to buy what cattle we want more cheaply than we
would were Kelton's range what it should be," she returned, watching
his face.
He looked at her vindictively. "You're one of them kind of humans that
like to take advantage of a man's misfortune," he said.
"That is all in the viewpoint," she defended. "I didn't bring
misfortune to Kelton. And I consider that in buying his cattle I am
doing him a favor. I am not gloating over the opportunity--it is
merely business."
"Why didn't you offer Kelton the Lazy Y range?" he said with a twisting
grin.
She could not keep the triumph out of her voice. "I did," she
answered. "He wouldn't take it because he didn't like you--doesn't
like you. He told me that he knew you when you were a boy and you
weren't exactly his style."
Thus eliminated as a conversationalist, and defeated in his effort to
cast discredit upon her, Calumet maintained a sneering silence.
But when they rode up to the Diamond K ranchhouse, he flung a parting
word at her.
"I reckon you can go an' talk cattle to your man, Kelton," he said.
"I'm afraid that if he goes gassin' to me I'll smash his face in."
He rode back to the horse corral, which they had passed, to look again
at a horse inside which had attracted his attention.
The animal was glossy black except for a little patch of white above
the right fore-fetlock; he was tall, rangy, clean-limbed,
high-spirited, and as Calumet sat in the saddle near the corral gate
watching him he trotted impudently up to the bars and looked him over.
Then, after a moment, satisfying his curiosity, he wheeled, slashed at
the gate with both hoofs, and with a snort, that in the horse language
might have meant contempt or derision, cavorted away.
Calumet's admiring glance followed him. He sat in the saddle for half
an hour, eyeing the horse critically, and at the end of that time,
noting that Betty had returned to the ranchhouse with Kelton, probably
having looked at some of the stock she had come to see--Calumet had
observed on his approach that the cattle corral was well filled with
white Herefords--he wheeled Blackleg and rode over to them.
"Mr. Kelton has offered me four hundred head of cattle at a reasonable
figure," Betty told him on his approach. "All that remains is for you
to confirm it."
"I reckon you're the boss," said Calumet. He looked at Kelton, and
evidently his fear that he would "smash" the tatter's face had
vanished--perhaps in a desire to possess the black horse, which had
seized him.
"I reckon you ain't sellin' that black horse?" he said.
"Cheap," said Kelton quickly.
"How cheap?"
"Fifty dollars."
"I reckon he's my horse," said Calumet. "The boss of the Lazy Y will
pay for him when she hands you the coin for your cattle." He
scrutinized Kelton's face closely, having caught a note in his voice
which had interested him. "Why you wantin' to get rid of the black?"
he questioned.
"He ain't been rode," said Kelton; "he won't be rode. You can back out
of that sale now, if you like. But I'm tellin' you the gospel truth.
There ain't no man in the Territory can ride him. Miskell, my regular
bronc-buster, is the slickest man that ever forked a horse, an' he's
layin' down in the bunkhouse right now, nursin' a leg which that black
devil busted last week. An' men is worth more to me than horses right
now. I reckon," he finished, eyeing Calumet with a certain
vindictiveness, which had undoubtedly lasted over from his acquaintance
with the latter in the old days; "that you ain't a heap smart at
breakin' broncs, an' you won't want the black now."
"I'm reckonin' on ridin' him back to the Lazy Y," said Calumet.
Kelton grinned incredulously, and Betty looked swiftly at Calumet. For
an instant she had half feared that this declaration had been made in a
spirit of bravado, and she was prepared to be disagreeably disappointed
in Calumet. She told herself when she saw his face, however, that she
ought to have known better, for whatever his other shortcomings she had
never heard him boast.
And that he was not boasting now was plainly evident, both to her and
Kelton. His declaration had been merely a calm announcement of a
deliberate purpose. He was as natural now as he had been all along.
She saw Kelton's expression change--saw the incredulity go out of it,
observed his face whiten a little.
But his former vindictiveness remained. "I reckon if you want to be a
damn fool I ain't interferin'. But I've warned you, an' it's your
funeral."
Calumet did not reply, contenting himself with grinning. He swung down
from Blackleg, removed the saddle and bridle from the animal, and
holding the latter by the forelock turned to Betty.
"I'd like you to ride Blackleg home. He's your horse now. Kelton will
lend you a halter to lead that skate you're on. While he's gettin' the
halter I'll put your saddle on Blackleg--if you'll get off."
Betty dismounted and the change was made. She had admired
Blackleg--she was in love with him now that he belonged to her, but she
was afflicted with a sudden speechlessness over the abruptness with
which he had made the gift. She wanted to thank him, but she felt it
was not time. Besides, he had not waited for her thanks. He had
placed the halter on the horse she had ridden to the Diamond K, had
looked on saturninely while Kelton had helped her into the saddle, and
had then carried his own saddle to a point near the outside of the
corral fence, laying the bridle beside it. Then he uncoiled the
braided hair lariat that hung at the pommel of the saddle and walked to
the corral gate.
With a little pulse of joy over her possession of the splendid animal
under her, and an impulse of curiosity, she urged him to the corral
fence and sat in the saddle, a little white of face, watching Calumet.
The black horse was alone in the corral and as Calumet entered and
closed the gate behind him, not fastening it, the black came toward him
with mincing steps, its ears laid back.
Calumet continued to approach him. The black backed away slowly until
Calumet was within fifty feet of him--it seemed to Betty that the horse
knew from previous experience the length of a rope--and then with a
snort of defiance it wheeled and raced to the opposite end of the
corral.
"Watch the gate!" called Calumet to Kelton.
He continued to approach the black. The beast retreated along the
fence, stepping high, watching Calumet over its shoulder. Plainly, it
divined Calumet's intention--which was to crowd it into a corner--and
when almost there it halted suddenly, made a feint to pass to Calumet's
left, wheeled just as suddenly and plunged back to his right.
The ruse did not work. Calumet had been holding his rope low, with
seeming carelessness, but as the black whipped past he gave the rope a
quick flirt. Like a sudden snake it darted sinuously out, the loop
opened, rose, settled around the black's neck, tightened; the end in
Calumet's hand was flipped in a half hitch around a snubbing post
nearby, and the black tumbled headlong into the dust of the corral,
striking with a force that brought a grunt from him.
For an instant he lay still. And in that instant Calumet was at his
side. While advancing toward the black, he had taken off his
neckerchief, and now he deftly knotted it around the black's head,
covering its eyes. A moment later he was leading it, unprotesting, out
of the corral gate.
He halted near the fence and looked at Betty, who was watching
critically, though with a tenseness in her attitude that brought a
fugitive smile to Calumet's lips.
"I reckon you'd better move a way an' give this here animal plenty of
room," he said. "If he's as much horse as Kelton says he is he'll want
a heap of it."
He waited until in obedience to his suggestion Betty had withdrawn to a
safe distance toward the ranchhouse. Then with Kelton holding the
black's head he placed the saddle on, then the bridle, working with a
sure swiftness that brought an admiring glint into Betty's eyes. Then
he deliberately coiled his rope and fastened it to the pommel of the
saddle, taking extra care with it. This done he turned with a cold
grin to Kelton, nodding his head shortly.
Kelton pulled the neckerchief from the black's eyes, let go of its
head, and scurried to the top of the corral fence. Before he could
reach it Calumet had vaulted into the saddle, and before the black
could realize what had happened, his feet were in the stirrups.
For an instant the Black stood, its legs trembling, the muscles under
its glossy coat quivering, its ears laid flat, its nostrils distended,
its mouth open, its eyes wild and bloodshot. Then, tensed for
movement, but uncertain, waiting a brief instant before yielding to the
thousand impulses that flashed over him, he felt the rowels of
Calumet's spurs as they were driven viciously into his sides.
He sprang wildly upward, screaming with the sudden pain, and came down,
his legs asprawl, surprised, enraged, outraged. Alighting, he
instantly lunged--forward, sideways, with an eccentric movement which
he felt must dislodge the tormentor on his back. It was futile,
attended with punishment, for again the sharp spurs sank in, were
jammed into his sides, held there--rolling, biting points of steel that
hurt him terribly.
He halted for a moment, to gather his wits and his strength, for his
former experiences with this strange type of creature who clung so
tenaciously to his back had taught him that he must use all his craft,
all his strength, to dislodge him. To his relief, the spurs ceased to
bite. But he was not misled. There was that moment near the corral
fence when he had not moved, but still the spurs had sunk in anyway.
He would make certain this time that the creature with the spurs would
not have another opportunity to use them. And, gathering himself for a
supreme effort, he lunged again, shunting himself off toward a stretch
of plain back of the ranchhouse, bounding like a ball, his back arched,
his head between his forelegs, coming down from each rise with his
hoofs bunched so that they might have all landed in a dinner plate.
It was fruitless. Calumet remained unshaken, tenacious as ever. The
black caught his breath again, and for the next five minutes practiced
his whole category of tricks, and in addition some that he invented in
the stress of the time.
To Betty, watching from her distance, it seemed that he must certainly
unseat Calumet. She had watched bucking horses before, but never had
her interest in the antics of one been so intense; never had she been
so desperately eager for a rider's victory; never had she felt so
breathlessly fearful of one's defeat. For, glancing from the corners
of her eyes at Kelton, she saw a scornful, mocking smile on his face.
He was wishing, hoping, that the black would throw Calumet.
At the risk of danger from the black's hoofs she urged Blackleg forward
to a more advantageous position. As she brought him to a halt, she
heard Kelton beside her.
"Some sunfisher, that black," he remarked.
She turned on him fiercely. "Keep still, can't you!" she said.
Kelton reddened; she did not see his face though, for she was watching
Calumet and the black.
The outlaw had not ceased his efforts. On the contrary, it appeared
that he was just beginning to warm to his work. Screaming with rage
and hate he sprang forward at a dead run, propelling himself with the
speed of a bullet for a hundred yards, only to come to a dizzying,
terrifying stop; standing on his hind legs; pawing furiously at the air
with his forehoofs; tearing impotently at the bit with his teeth,
slashing with terrific force in the fury of his endeavor.
Calumet's hat had come off during the first series of bucks. The grin
that had been on his face when he had got into the saddle back near the
corral fence was gone, had been superseded by a grimness that Betty
could see even from the distance from which she watched. He was a
rider though, she saw that--had seen it from the first. She had seen
many cowboy breakers of wild horses; she knew the confident bearing of
them; the quickness with which they adjusted their muscles to the
eccentric movements of the horse under them, anticipating their every
action, so far as anyone was able to anticipate the actions of a
rage-maddened demon who has only one desire, to kill or maim its rider,
and she knew that Calumet was an expert. He was cool, first of all, in
spite of his grimness; he kept his temper, he was absolutely without
fear; he was implacable, inexorable in his determination to conquer.
Somehow the battle between horse and man, as it raged up and down
before her, sometimes shifting to the far end of the level, sometimes
coming so near that she could see the expression of Calumet's face
plainly, seemed to be a contest between kindred spirits. The analogy,
perhaps, might not have been perceived by anyone less intimately
acquainted with Calumet, or by anyone who understood a horse less, but
she saw it, and knowing Calumet's innate savagery, his primal
stubbornness, his passions, the naked soul of the man, she began to
feel that the black was waging a hopeless struggle. He could never win
unless some accident happened.
And they were very near her when it seemed that an accident did happen.
The black, his tongue now hanging out, the foam that issued from his
mouth flecked with blood; his sides in a lather; his flanks moist and
torn from the cruel spur-points: seemed to be losing his cunning and to
be trusting entirely to his strength and yielding to his rage. She
could hear his breath coming shrilly as he tore past her; the whites of
his eyes white no longer, but red with the murder lust. It seemed to
her that he must divine that defeat was imminent, and in a transport of
despair he was determined to stake all on a last reckless move.
As he flashed past her she looked at Calumet also. His face was pale;
there was a splotch of blood on his lips which told of an internal
hemorrhage brought on by the terrific jarring that he had received, but
in his eyes was an expression of unalterable resolve; the grim, cold,
immutable calm of purpose. Oh, he would win, she knew. Nothing but
death could defeat him. That was his nature--his character. There was
no alternative. He saw none, would admit none. He found time, as he
went past her, to grin at her, and the grin, though a trifle wan,
contained much of its old mockery and contempt of her judgment of him.
The black raced on for a hundred yards, and what ensued might have been
an accident, or it might have been the deliberate result of the black's
latest trick. He came to a sudden stop, rose on his hind legs and
threw himself backward, toppling, rigid, upon his back to the ground.
As he rose for the fall Calumet slipped out of the saddle and leaped
sideways to escape being crushed. He succeeded in this effort, but as
he leaped the spur on his right heel caught in the hollow of the
black's hip near the flank, the foot refused to come free, it caught,
jammed, and Calumet fell heavily beside the horse, luckily a little to
one side, so that the black lay prone beside him.
Betty's scream was sharp and shrill. But no one heard it--at least
Kelton seemed not to hear, for he was watching Calumet, his eyes wide,
his face white; nor did Calumet seem to hear, for he was sitting on the
ground, trying to work his foot out of the stirrup. Twice, as he
worked with the foot, Betty saw the black strike at him with its hoofs,
and once a hoof missed his head by the narrowest of margins.
But the foot was free at last, and Calumet rose. He still held the
reins in his hands, and now, as he got to his feet, he jerked out the
quirt that he wore at his waist and lashed the black, vigorously,
savagely.
The beast rose, snorting with rage and pain, still unsubdued. His hind
legs had not yet straightened when Calumet was again in the saddle.
The black screamed, with a voice almost human in its shrillness, and
leaped despairingly forward, shaking its head from side to side as
Calumet drove the spurs deep into its sides. It ran another hundred
yards, half-heartedly, the spring gone out of its stride; then wheeled
and came back, bucking doggedly, clumsily, to a point within fifty feet
of where Betty sat on Blackleg. Then, as it bucked again, it came down
with its forelegs unjointed, and rolled over on its side, with
Calumet's right leg beneath it.
The black was tired and lay with its neck outstretched on the ground,
breathing heavily, its sides heaving. Calumet also, was not averse to
a rest and had straightened and lay, an arm under his head, waiting.
Betty smiled, for though he appeared to be in a position which might
result in a crushed leg or foot, she knew that he was in no danger,
because the heavy ox-bow stirrup afforded protection for his foot,
while the wide seat of the saddle kept the upper part of his leg from
injury. She had seen the cowboys roll under their horses in this
manner many times, deliberately--it saved them the strenuous work of
alighting and remounting. They had done it, too, for the opportunity
it afforded them to rest and to hurl impolite verbiage at their horses.
But Calumet was silent. She rode a little closer to him, to look at
him, and when his eyes met hers; she saw that his spirit was in no way
touched; that his job of subduing the black was not yet finished and
that he purposed to finish it.
"We're goin' in a minute," he said to her, his voice a little husky.
"I'd thank you to bring my hat. I don't reckon you'll be able to keep
up with us, but I reckon you'll excuse me for runnin' away from you."
He had scarcely finished speaking before the black struggled to rise.
Calumet helped him by keeping a loose rein and lifting his own body.
And when the black swung over and got to its feet, Calumet settled
firmly into the saddle and instantly jammed his spurs home into its
flanks. The black reared, snorted, came down and began to run
desperately across the level, desiring nothing so much now as to do the
bidding of the will which he had discovered to be superior to his own.
Betty watched in silence as horse and rider went over the level,
traveling in a dust cloud, and when they began to fade she turned to
Kelton. The latter was crestfallen, glum.
"Shucks," he said; "if I'd have thought he'd break the black devil he
wouldn't have got him for twice fifty dollars. He's sure a slick,
don't-give-a-damn buster."
Betty smiled mysteriously and went to look for Calumet's hat. Then,
riding Blackleg and leading the other horse, she went toward the Lazy Y.
It was dusk when she arrived, to be greeted by Dade and Bob. She saw
the black horse in the corral and she knew that Calumet had won the
victory, for the black's head dropped dejectedly and she had never seen
an animal that seemed less spirited. It did not surprise her to find
that Calumet looked tired, and when she came down stairs from changing
her dress and got supper for them all, she did not mention the incident
of the breaking of the black. Nor would he talk, though she was
intensely curious as to the motive which had prompted him to make her a
present of Blackleg. Was it an indication that he was feeling more
friendly to her, or had he merely grown tired of Blackleg?
The answer came to her late that night, after Calumet had retired.
Betty and Dade were in the kitchen; Malcolm and Bob were in the
sitting-room. Betty had taken Dade into her confidence and had related
to him the happenings of the day--so far as she could without
acquainting him with the state of her feelings toward Calumet.
"So he can ride some?" commented Dade, after she had told him about the
black. "I reckon he'd bust that horse or break his neck. But he was
in bad shape when he rode in--almost fell out of the saddle, an'
staggered scandalous when he walked. All in. Didn't make a whimper,
though. Clear grit. He grinned at me when he turned the black into
the corral.
"'Does that cayuse look busted?' he said.
"I allowed he had that appearance, an' he laughed.
"'I've give Betty Blackleg,' he said. 'I've got tired of him.'"
Betty's disappointment showed in her eyes; she had suspected that
Calumet had had another reason. She had hoped--
"I reckon, though, that that wasn't his real reason," continued Dade;
"he wasn't showin' all of his hand there."
"What makes you think that?" asked Betty, trying not to blush.
"Well," said Dade, "I was walkin' round the stable a while ago, just
nosin' around without any purpose, an' walkin' slow. When I got to the
corner, not makin' any noise, I saw Calumet standin' in front of the
stable door, talkin'. There was nobody around him--nothin' but
Blackleg, an' so I reckon he was talkin' to Blackleg. Sure enough he
was. He puts his head up against Blackleg's head, an' he said, soft
an' low, kinda:
"'Blackleg,' he said; 'I've give you away. I hated like poison to do
it, but I reckon Betty'll look a heap better on you than she does on
that skate she rode today. Damn that black devil!' he said, 'I
wouldn't have took the job of breakin' him for any other woman in the
world.'
"I come away then," concluded Dade; "for somehow I didn't want him to
know there was anybody around to hear him."
Betty got up quickly and went out on the porch. She stood there,
looking out into the darkness for a long, long time, and presently Dade
grew tired of waiting for her and went to his room.