CHAPTER IX
RESPONSIBILITY
For a long time after he had completed the reading of the letter,Calumet was silent, staring straight ahead of him. The informationcontained in the account of his father's adventures was soothing--thetermagant who had presided over his boyhood destinies had not been hisreal mother, and his father had left him a score to settle. He alreadyhated the Taggarts, not particularly because they were his father'senemies, but rather because Tom Taggart had been a traitor. He felt acontempt for him. He himself was mean and vicious--he knew that. Buthe had never betrayed a friend. It was better to have no friend thanto have one and betray him. He looked around to see that Betty wasstill apparently absorbed in her book.
"Do you know what is in this letter?" he said.
She laid the book in her lap and nodded affirmatively.
"You opened it, I suppose?" he sneered.
"No," she returned, unmoved. "Your father read it to me."
"Kind of him, wasn't it? What do you think of it?"
"What I think isn't important. What do you think of it?"
"Nosey, eh?" he jeered. "If it won't inconvenience you any, I'll keepwhat I think of it to myself. But it's plain to me now that when youcaught me tryin' to guzzle your granddad you thought I belonged to theTaggart bunch. You told me I'd have to try again--or somethin' likethat. I reckon you thought I was after the idol?"
"Yes."
"Then the Taggarts have tried to get it since you've been here?"
"Many times."
"But you left the front door open the night I came," insinuatedCalumet, his eyes glowing subtly. "That looks like you was invitin'someone to come in an' get the idol."
"We never bother much about barring the doors. Besides, I don'tremember to have told you that the idol is in the house," she smiled.
He looked at her with a baffled sneer. "Foxy, ain't you?" He foldedthe letter and placed it into a pocket, she watching him silently. Hergaze fell on the injured arm; she saw the angry red streaks spreadingfrom beneath the crude bandage and she got up, laying her book down andregarding him with determined eyes.
"Please come out into the kitchen with me," she said; "I am going totake care of your arm."
He looked up at her with a glance of cold mockery. "When did you getmy permission to take care of it? It don't need any carin' for. An'if it did, I reckon to be able to do my own doctorin'."
She looked at him steadily and something in her gaze made him feeluncomfortable.
"Don't be silly," she said. She turned and went out into the kitchen.He could hear her working over the stove. He saw her cross the roomwith a tea kettle, fill it with water from a pail, return and place thekettle on the stove. He was determined that he would not allow her todress the wound, but when ten minutes later she appeared in the kitchendoor and told him she was ready, he got up and went reluctantly out.
She washed the arm, bathing the wound with a solution of water and somemedicine which she poured from a bottle, and then bandaged it with somewhite cloth. Neither said anything until after she had delicately tieda string around the bandage to keep it in place, and then she steppedback and regarded her work with satisfaction.
"There," she said; "doesn't that feel better?"
"Some," he returned, grudgingly. He stood up and watched her while shespread a cloth partly over the table and placed some dishes and foodupon it. He was hungry, and the sight of the food made him feelsuddenly ravenous. He watched her covertly, noting her matter-of-factmovements. It was as though she had not the slightest idea that hewould refuse to eat, and he felt certain that he could not refuse. Shewas making him feel uncomfortable again; that epithet, "silly," rankledin him and he did not want to hear her apply it to him again. But hewould have risked it had she looked at him. She did not look at him.When she had finally arranged everything to suit her taste she turnedher back and walked to the door of the dining-room.
"There is your supper," she said quietly. "I have fixed up your roomfor you--the room you occupied before you left home. I am going toleave the light burning in the dining-room--you might want to read yourletter again. Blow the light out when you go to bed. Good night."
He grumbled an incoherent reply, turning his back to her. Her calm,unruffled acceptance of his incivility filled him with a coldresentment.
"What did you say?" she demanded of him from the door.
He turned sullenly. The light mockery in her voice stung him, shamedhim--her eyes, dancing with mischief, held his.
"Good night," he said shortly.
"Good night," she said again. She laughed and vanished.
For an instant Calumet stood, scowling at the vacant doorway. Then heturned and went over to the table in the kitchen, looking down at thefood and the dishes. She had compelled him to be civil. He grippedone end of the table cloth, and for an instant it seemed as though hemeditated dumping dishes and food upon the floor. Then he grinned,grimly amused, and sat in the chair before the table, taking up knifeand fork.
Early as he arose the next morning, he found that Betty had been beforehim. He saw her standing on the rear porch when he went out to carefor his horse, and she smiled and called a greeting to him, which heanswered soberly.
For some reason which he could not explain he felt a little reluctancetoward going into the kitchen for breakfast this morning. Yet he didgo, though he waited outside until Betty came to the door and calledhim. He was pretending to be busy at his saddle, though he knew thiswas a pretext to cover his submission to her. He did not move towardthe house until she vanished within it.
He was quiet during the meal, wondering at the change that had comeover him, for he felt a strange resignation. He told himself that itwas gratitude for her action in caring for his injured arm, and yet hewatched her narrowly for any sign that would tell him that she wasaware of his thoughts and was enjoying him. But he was able todetermine nothing from her face, for though she smiled often there wasnothing in her face at which he could take offense. She devoted muchof her time and attention to Bob. And Bob talked to Calumet. Therewas something about the boy that attracted Calumet, and before the mealended they were conversing companionably. But toward the conclusion ofthe meal, when in answer to something Bob said to him he smiled at theboy, he saw Betty looking at him with a glance of mingled astonishmentand pleasure, he sobered and ceased talking. He didn't want to doanything to please Betty.
He was saddling Blackleg after breakfast, intending to go down theriver a short distance, when he became aware that Betty was standingnear him. Without a word she handed him a bulky envelope with his namewritten on it. He took it, tore open an end, and a piece of paper,enclosing several bills, slipped out. He shot a quick glance at Betty;she was looking at him unconcernedly. He counted the bills; there wereten one hundred dollar gold certificates.
"What's this for?" he demanded.
"Read the letter," she directed.
He unfolded the paper. It read:
"MY DEAR SON: The money in this envelope is to be used by you in buyingmaterial to be used to repair the ranchhouse. I have prepared anitemized list of the necessary materials, which Betty will give you.Your acceptance of the task imposed on you will indicate that youintend to fulfill my wishes. It will also mean that you seriouslycontemplate an attempt at reform. The fact that you receive this moneyshows that you are already making progress, for you would never get itif Betty thought you didn't deserve it, or were not worthy of a trial.I congratulate you.
"YOUR FATHER."
"Got it all framed up on me, eh?" said Calumet. "So you think I'vemade progress, an' that I'm goin' to do what you want me to do?"
"Your progress hasn't been startling," she said dryly. "But you _have_progressed. At least, you have shown some inclination to listen toreason. Here is the itemized list which your father speaks of." Shepassed over another paper, which Calumet scanned slowly and carefully.His gaze became fixed on the total at the bottom of the
column offigures.
"It amounts to nine hundred and sixty dollars," he said, looking ather, a disgusted expression on his face. "Looks like the old fool wasmighty careless with his money. Couldn't he have put down another itemto cover that forty dollars?"
"I believe that margin was left purposely to take care of a possibleadvance in prices over those with which your father was familiar at thetime he made out the list," she answered, smiling in appreciation ofhis perturbation.
"That's keepin' cases pretty close, ain't it?" he said. "Suppose I'dblow the whole business?"
"That would show that you could not be trusted. Your father leftinstructions which provide for that contingency."
"What are they?"
"I am not to tell."
"Clever, ain't it?" he said, looking at her with displeased, hostileeyes. She met his gaze with a calm half-smile which had in it thatirritating quality of advantage that he had noticed before.
"I am glad you think it clever," she returned.
"It was your idea, I reckon?"
"I believe I did suggest it to your father. He was somewhat at a lossto know how to deal with you. He told me that he had some doubts aboutthe scheme working; he said you would take it and 'blow' it in, as yousaid you might, but I disagreed with him. I was convinced that youwould do the right thing."
"You had a lot of faith in me, didn't you?" he said, incredulously."You believed in a man you'd never seen."
"Your father had a picture of you," she said, looking straight at him."It was taken when you were fifteen, just before you left the ranch.It showed a boy with a cynical face and brooding, challenging eyes.But in spite of all that I thought I detected signs of promise in theface. I was certain that if you were managed right you could bereformed."
"You _were_ certain," he said significantly. "What do you think now?"
"I haven't altered my opinion." Her gaze was steady and challenging."Of course," she added, blushing faintly; "I believe I was a littlesurprised when you came and I saw that you had grown to be a man. Yousee, I had looked at your picture so often that I rather expected tosee a boy when you came. I had forgotten those thirteen years. But ithas been said that a man is merely a grown-up boy and there is muchtruth in that. Despite your gruff ways, your big voice, and yourcontemptible way of treating people, you are very much a boy. But I amstill convinced that you are all right at heart. I think everybody is,and the good could be brought forward if someone would take enoughinterest in the subject."
"Then you take an interest in me?" said Calumet, grinning scornfully.
"Yes," she said frankly; "to the extent of wondering whether or nottime will vindicate my judgment."
"Then you think I won't blow this coin?" he said, tapping the bills.
"I think you will spend it for the articles on the list I have givenyou."
He looked at her and she was certain there was indecision in the glance.
"Well," he said abruptly, turning from her; "mebbe I will an' mebbe Iwon't. But whatever I do with it will be done to suit myself. Itwon't be done to please you."
He mounted his pony and rode to the far end of the ranchhouse yard.When he turned in the saddle it was with the conviction that Bettywould be standing there watching him. Somehow, he wished she would.But she was walking toward the ranchhouse, her back to him, and he madea grimace of disappointment as he urged his pony out into the valley.
The Boss of the Lazy Y Page 9