Calumet yielded to a sudden wonder over the rider's appearance on the
hill. He had not seen him; had not heard him before. Still, that was
not strange, for he had become so absorbed in his thoughts while on the
hill that he had paid very little attention to his surroundings except
to associate them with his past.
The man, evidently, was a cowpuncher in the employ of his father; had
probably seen him from the level of the valley and had ridden to the
crest of the hill out of curiosity.
Another impulse moved Calumet. He decided to have a talk with the man
in order to learn, if possible, something of the life his father had
led during his absence. He kicked his pony in the ribs and rode toward
the man, the animal traveling at a slow chop-trot.
For a moment the man watched him, still motionless. Then, as Calumet
continued to approach him the man wheeled his horse and sent it
clattering down the opposite side of the hill.
Calumet sneered, surprised, for the instant, at the man's action.
"Shy cuss," he said, grinning contemptuously. In the next instant,
however, he yielded to a quick rage and sent his pony scurrying up the
slope toward the crest of the hill.
When he reached the top the man was on the level, racing across a
barren alkali flat at a speed which indicated that he was afflicted
with something more than shyness.
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