The Boss of the Lazy Y | Page 9

that could not be disturbed, an unconscious dignity of character that excitement could not efface, and her gaze was unwavering as her eyes met his in a sharp, brief struggle. Brief, for Calumet's drooped. He felt the dominant personality of the girl and tried to escape its effect; looked at her with a snarl, writhing under her steady gaze, a slow red coming into his cheeks.
The silence between them lasted long. The man on the chair, swaying back and forth, began to recover his wits and his breath. He struggled to an erect position and gazed about him with blood-shot eyes, feeling his throat where Calumet's iron fingers had gripped it. Twice his lips moved in an effort to speak, but no, sound came from between them.
Under the girl's uncomfortable scrutiny, Calumet's thoughts became strangely incoherent, and he shifted uneasily, for he felt that she was measuring him, appraising him, valuing him. He saw slow-changing expressions in her eyes--defiance, scorn, and, finally, amused contempt. With the last expression he knew she had reached a decision, not flattering to him. He tried to show her by looking at her that he did not care what her opinion was, but his recreant eyes refused the issue and he knew that he was being worsted in a spiritual battle with the first strong feminine character he had met; that her personality was overpowering his in the first clash. With a last effort he forced his eyes to steadiness and succeeded in sneering at her, though he felt that somehow the sneer was ineffectual, puerile. And then she smiled at him, deliberately, with a disdain that maddened him and brought a dark flush to his face that reached to his temples. And then her voice taunted him:
"What a big, brave man you are?"
Twice her gaze roved over him from head to foot before her voice came again, and in the total stoppage of his thoughts he found it impossible to choose a word suitable to interrupt her.
"For you think you are a man, I suppose?" she added, her voice filled with a lashing 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 butted 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 analyze.
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 identity. 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