Holding it thus in spite of her
frantic efforts to wrench it free, he got to his feet and stood in
front of her.
"Why, Betty," he jeered; "you're sure some excited." Seizing her other
hand, he turned her around so that she faced him fairly, holding her
with a grip so tight that she could not move.
"It's your game, ain't it?" he said mockingly. "Well, I'm playin' it
with you. Somethin' seems to tell me that we're goin' to have a daisy
time makin' a go of it."
He suddenly released her hands and stepped back, leaving her in
possession of the pistol.
"Usin' it?" he questioned, drawling, nodding toward the weapon. Betty
looked down at it, shuddered, and then with an expression of dread and
horror reached out and laid it gingerly on the desk top.
The next instant Calumet stood alone, grinning widely at the door
through which Betty had vanished. Listening, he heard her retreating
steps, heard a distant door slam. He walked to the desk and looked at
the pistol, then turned and surveyed the room with a speculative eye.
"She didn't even offer me a place to sleep," he said mockingly.
He stood for an instant longer, debating the situation. Then he
crossed the floor, closed the dining-room door, fastened it securely
and recrossing to the outside door stepped down from the porch and
sought his pony.
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