CHAPTER II
BETTY MEETS THE HEIR
An emotion which he did not trouble himself to define impelled Calumet
to wheel his pony when he reached the far end of the corral fence and
ride into the cottonwood where, thirteen years before, he had seen the
last of his mother. No emotion moved him as he rode toward it, but
when he came upon the grave he experienced a savage satisfaction
because it had been sadly neglected. There was no headboard to mark
the spot, no familiar mound of earth; only a sunken stretch, a pitiful
little patch of sand, with a few weeds thrusting up out of it, nodding
to the slight breeze and casting grotesque shadows in the somber
twilight.
Calumet was not surprised. It was all as he had pictured it during
those brief moments when he had allowed his mind to dwell on his past;
its condition vindicated his previous conviction that his father would
neglect it. Therefore, his satisfaction was not in finding the grave
as it was, but in the knowledge that he had not misjudged his father.
And though he had not loved his mother, the condition of the grave
served to infuse him with a newer and more bitter hatred for the
surviving parent. A deep rage and contempt slumbered within him as he
urged his pony out of the wood toward the ranchhouse.
He was still in no hurry, and soon after leaving the edge of the wood
he halted his pony and sat loosely in the saddle, gazing about him.
Pages:
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28