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.
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