BETTY TALKS FRANKLY
Betty, however, had not been asleep. After seeking her room she had
heard the rapid beat of hoofs, and, looking out of her window, she had
seen Calumet when he had raced from the ranchhouse in search of
Taggart. Still watching at the window, she had seen him returning; saw
him disappear into the timber clump.
Some time later she had observed the Taggarts emerge and run as though
their lives depended on haste. She watched Calumet as he rode by her
window to take the two horses to the corral, stared at him with
fascinated eyes, holding her breath with horror as he walked from the
ranchhouse to the timber clump with the pick and shovel on his
shoulder; stood at the window with a great fear gripping her until he
came back, still carrying the pick and shovel; watched him as he
released the Taggart horses, drove them to the bend in the trail, and
returned to the house. His movements had been stealthy, but she heard
him when he came into the house and mounted the stairs. Then she heard
him no more.
But a great dread was upon her. What meant that journey to the timber
clump with the pick and shovel, and what had been done there during the
hour that he had remained there? The idol she knew, was buried in a
clearing in the timber clump; she did not know just where, for she had
looked at the diagram only once, when Calumet's father had shown it to
her. She had a superstitious dread of the idol and would not, under
any circumstances, have examined the diagram again. But she did not
connect Calumet's visit to the timber clump with the diagram, for the
latter was concealed in a safe place, under a board in the closet that
led off her room; she had looked at it only once since Calumet had
returned, and that only hastily, to make sure that it was still there,
and she was certain that Calumet had no knowledge of its whereabouts.
Could Calumet have-- She pressed her hands tightly over her breast at
this thought. She did not want to think that! But he had a violent
temper, and there were those men in Lazette, Denver and the other man,
whom he had-- She shuddered. That must be the explanation for his
strange actions. But still she had heard no shot, and there was a
chance that the diagram--
Tremblingly she made her way to the closet and removed the loose board.
A tin box met her eyes, the box in which she had placed the diagram,
and she lifted the box out, her fingers shaking as she fumbled at the
fastening and raised the lid.
The box was empty.
For a long time she sat there looking at it, anger and resentment
fighting within her for the mastery.
Of course, the idol really belonged to Calumet; she would have given it
to him in time, but that thought did not lessen her resentment against
him. Somehow, though, she was conscious of a feeling of gratefulness
that his visit to the timber clump had no significance beyond the
recovery of the idol, and, despite his offense against her privacy, she
began after a while to view the matter with greater calm. And though
she did not close her eyes during the remainder of the night, lying on
her back in bed and wondering how he had discovered the hiding place of
the diagram, she came downstairs shortly after daylight and proceeded
calmly about her duties.
She managed, though, to be near the kitchen door when Calumet came
down, and, without appearing to do so, she watched his face closely as
he prepared himself for breakfast. But without result. If he had
gained possession of the idol his face did not betray him. But once
during the meal she looked up unexpectedly, to see him looking at her
with amused, speculative eyes. Then she knew he was gloating over her.
With an appearance of grave concern, and not a little well-simulated
excitement, she approached him during the morning where he was working
at the corral fence. She was determined to discover the truth.
"I have some bad news for you," she said.
"Shucks," he returned, with a grin that almost disarmed her; "you don't
say!"
"Yes," she continued. "When your father left his other papers with me
he also left a diagram of a place in the timber clump where the idol is
hidden. Some time yesterday the diagram was stolen."
"You don't say?" he said.
His voice had not been convincing enough; there had been a note of
mockery in it, and she knew he was guilty of the theft.
She looked at him fairly. "You took it," she accused.
"I didn't take it," he denied, returning her gaze. "But I've got it.
What are you goin' to do about it?"
"Nothing," she replied. "But do you think that was a gentleman's
action--to enter my room, to search it--even for something that
belonged to you?"
"No gentleman took it," he grinned; "therefore it couldn't have been
me. I told you I had it; I didn't take it."
"Who did, then?"
"Do you know Telza?"
"Telza?"
"Toltec," he said; "a Toltec from Yucatan. He got it yesterday--last
night--while you was gassin' to your friend, Neal Taggart."
She started, recollection filling her eyes. "A Toltec!" she said in an
awed voice. "I have heard that they are fanatics where their religion
is concerned; your father told me that his--that woman--Ezela--told
him. She said that the tribe would never give up the search for the
idol. He laughed at her; he laughed at me when he told me about it."
She drew a deep breath. "And so one of them has come," she said. "I
thought I heard a noise upstairs last night," she added. "It must have
been then."
"An'," he jeered, "you was so busy about that time that you couldn't go
to investigate. That's how you guarded it--how you filled your trust."
She gazed fixedly at him and his gaze dropped. "You are determined to
continue your insults," she said coldly.
He reddened. "I reckon you deserve them," he said sneeringly.
"Taggart's makin' a fool of you. I heard him palaverin' to you last
night. I followed him, but lost him. Then I got into the clearin' in
the timber. I run into a man named Al Sharp, who'd been knifed by the
Toltec. Him an' the Toltec had been detailed by Taggart to get the
diagram. Sharp said Taggart knowed my dad had drawed one. Telza got
it last night while you was talkin' to Taggart. Frame-up. Sharp tried
to take it away from Telza, an' Telza knifed him. Sharp's dead. I
buried him last night. Telza dropped the diagram. I got it. I reckon
Telza has sloped. Then I met Taggart an' his dad. They reckoned they
didn't like my company overmuch an' they walked home. Didn't even wait
to take their horses."
She drew a breath which sounded strangely like relief.
"Well," she said; "it was fortunate that you happened to be there to
get the idol."
"Yes," he drawled, with a suspicious grin; "I reckon you feel a whole
lot like congratulatin' me."
"I do," she said. "Of course you were not to have the idol just yet,
but it is better for you to have it before the time than that the
Taggarts should get hold of it."
"Do you know where the idol is hid?" he asked.
She told him no, that she had never consulted the diagram.
"I reckon," he said, looking into her steady eyes, "that you're tellin'
the truth. In that case it will be safe where it is, for a while.
I'll be lookin' it up when I get hold of the money."
Her chin raised triumphantly. "You will not get that so easily," she
said. "But," she added, interestedly, "now that you know where the
idol is, why don't you get it and convert it into cash?"
He reddened and eyed her with a decidedly crestfallen air. "I ain't so
much stuck on monkeyin' with them religious things," he admitted.
Again a doubt arose in his mind concerning her relations with Neal
Taggart. The fact that she had not divulged the hiding place of the
idol to him was proof that if he had been trying to deceive her he had
not succeeded. This thought filled him with a sudden elation.
"Lately," he said, "it begins to look as though you was gettin' some
sense. You're gettin' reasonable. I reckon you'll be a bang-up girl,
give you time."
Her lips curled, but there was a flash of something in her eyes that he
could not analyze. But he was sure that it wasn't anger or
disapproval. Neither was it scorn. It seemed to him that it might
have been mockery, mingled with satisfaction. Certainly there was
mockery in her voice when she answered him.
"Indeed!" she said. "I presume I am to take that as a compliment?"
"But you will be a fool if you cotton up to Neal Taggart," he
continued, paying no attention to her question. "I know men.
Taggart's a no good fourflusher, an' no woman can be anything if she
takes up with him."
She looked at him with a dazzling smile. In the smile were those
qualities that he had noticed during his other conversations with her
when he had accused her of meeting Taggart secretly--mirth, tempered
with doubt. Also, just now there was enjoyment.
"I feel flattered to think that you are taking that much interest in
me," she said. "But when I am in need of someone to lay down rules of
conduct for me I shall let you know. At present I feel quite competent
to take care of myself. But if you are very much worried, I don't mind
telling you that I have not 'cottoned up' to Neal Taggart."
"What you meetin' him for, then?" he asked suspiciously.
"I have not met Neal Taggart since the day you made him apologize to
me," she said slowly.
"Who are you meetin', then?" he demanded.
She looked straight at him. "I cannot answer that," she said.
His lips curled with disbelief, and her cheeks flushed a little.
"Can't you trust anybody?" she said.
"Why," she continued as he kept silent, "don't you think that if I had
intended, as you said once before, to cheat you, to take _anything_
that belongs to you, that I could have done so long ago? I had the
diagram; I could have kept the idol, the money, the ranch. What could
you have done; what could you do now? Don't you think it is about time
for you to realize that you are hurting no one but yourself by
harboring such black, dismal thoughts. Nobody is trying to cheat
you--except probably the Taggarts. Everybody here is trying their best
to be friendly to you, trying to aid in making those reforms which your
father mentioned. Dade likes you; Bob loves you. And even my
grandfather said the other day that you are not a bad fellow. You have
been making progress, more than I expected you to make. But you must
make more."
The mirth had died out of her eyes; she was deeply in earnest. Calumet
could see that, and the knowledge kept him silent, hushed the
half-formed sarcastic replies that were on his lips, made his
suspicions seem brutal, preposterous, ridiculous. There was much
feeling in her voice; he was astonished and awed at the change in her;
he had not seen her like this before. Her reserve was gone, the
disdain with it; there was naked sincerity in her glowing eyes, in her
words, in her manner. He watched her, fascinated, as she continued:
"I think you can see now that if I had wanted to be dishonest you could
not have stopped me. My honesty proven, what must have been my motive
in staying here to take your insults, to submit to your boorishness? I
will tell you; you may believe me or not, as you please. I was
grateful to your father. I gave him my promise. He wanted me to make
a man of you.
"When you first came here, and I saw what a burden I had assumed, I was
afraid. But I saw that you did not intend to take advantage of me;
that you weren't like a good many men--brutes who prey on unprotected
women; that only your temper was wanton. And instead of fearing you I
began to pity you. I saw promise in you; you had manly impulses, but
you hadn't had your chance. I had faith in you. To a certain extent
you have justified that faith. You have shown flashes of goodness of
heart; you have exhibited generous, manly sympathies--to everybody but
me. But I do not care [there was a suspicious moisture in her eyes and
a queer tightening of the lips that gave the lie to this declaration]
how you treat me. I intend to keep my promise to your father, no
matter what you do. But I want to make you understand that I am not
the kind of woman you take me to be--that I am not being made a fool of
by Neal Taggart--or by any man!"
Calumet did not reply; the effect of this passionate defense of herself
on him was deep and poignant, and words would not come to his lips.
Truth had spoken to him--he knew it. At a stroke she had subdued him,
humbled him. It was as though a light had suddenly been turned on him,
showing him the mean, despicable side of him, contrasting it with the
little good which had come into being--good which had been placed
there, fostered, and cultivated into promise. Then the light had been
as suddenly turned off, leaving him with a gnawing, impotent longing to
be what she wanted him to be. Involuntarily, he took his hat off to
her and bowed respectfully. Then he reached a swift hand into an inner
pocket of his vest and withdrew it, holding out a paper to her. She
took it and looked wonderingly at it. It was the diagram of the
clearing in the timber clump showing where the idol was buried.
Her face paled, for she knew that his action in restoring the diagram
to her was his tribute to her honesty, an evidence of his trust in her,
despite his uttered suspicions. Also, it was his surrender.
She looked up, intending to thank him. He was walking away, and did
not look around at her call.