His thoughts had become momentarily introspective, and when his mental
faculties returned to a realization of the present he saw that the girl
was regarding him with an intense and wondering gaze. She had been
studying him and when she saw him looking at her she turned her head.
He experienced an unaccountable elation, though he kept his voice dryly
sarcastic.
"I reckon the ol' fool asked for me?"
"Yes."
This time Calumet could not conceal his surprise; it was revealed in
the skeptical, sneering, boring glance that he threw at the girl's
face, now inscrutable. Her manner angered him.
"I reckon you're a liar," he said, with cold deliberation.
The girl reddened quickly; her hands clenched. But she did not look at
him.
"Thank you," she returned, mockingly.
"What did he say?" he demanded gruffly, to conceal a slight
embarrassment over her manner of receiving the insult.
Her chin lifted disdainfully. "You wouldn't believe a liar," she said
coldly.
Again her spirit battled his. The dark flush spread over his face and
he found that he could not meet her eyes; again the sheer, compelling
strength of her personality routed the evilness in his heart.
Involuntarily, his lips moved.
"I reckon I didn't mean just that," he said. And then, surprised that
such words should come from him he looked up to see the hard calm of
her face change to triumph.
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