For an instant he was
held at arm's length, shaken savagely, and in the next he was flung
with furious force against the corral fence, from whence he staggered
and fell into a corner.
Calumet turned from him to confront Betty. Her eyes were ablaze, and
one hand rested with unconscious affection on Bob's head as the boy
stood looking down at the body of the dog, sobbing quietly. Betty was
trying to keep her composure, but at her first words her voice trembled.
"So you've killed Lonesome," she said. Calumet had finished reloading
his pistol, and he folded his arms over his chest, deliberately
shielding the left, which Lonesome had bitten, thus hiding the red
patches that showed on the shirt sleeve over the wound. He would not
give Betty the satisfaction of seeing that he had been hurt.
"Lonesome," explained Betty, frigidly, "was a dog--he was Bob's dog.
Bob loved him. I suppose you didn't know that--you couldn't have
known. We believed him to be part wolf. Bob found him on the Lazette
trail, where he had evidently been left behind, probably forgotten, by
some traveler who had camped there. Bob brought him home and raised
him. He has never been known to exhibit any vicious traits. You were
born in the West," she went on, "and ought to be able to tell the
difference between a dog and a wolf.
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