So it appeared to Calumet. In the flashing look she
gave him he thought he could detect a knowledge of advantage, a
consciousness of power, over him. Her voice emphasized this impression.
"Your father's dead," she returned, and watched him narrowly.
Calumet's eyelashes flickered once. Shock or emotion, this was all the
evidence he gave of it. He puffed long and deeply at his cigarette and
not for an instant did he remove his gaze from the girl's face, for he
was studying her, watching for a recurrence of the subtle gleam that he
had previously caught. But in the look that she now gave him there was
nothing but amusement. Apparently she was enjoying him. Certainly she
had entirely recovered from the shock he had caused her.
"Dead, eh?" he said. "When did he cash in?"
"A week ago today."
Calumet's eyelashes flickered again. Here was the explanation for that
mysterious impulse which had moved him to return home. It was just a
week ago that he had taken the notion and he had acted upon it
immediately. He had heard of mental telepathy, and here was a working
illustration of it. However, he gave no thought to its bearing on his
presence at the Lazy Y beyond skeptically assuring himself that it was
a mere coincidence. In any event, what did it matter? He was here;
that was the main thing.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43