Watching him, Calumet suffered a
recurrence of that vague disquiet which had moved him the night before
when he had listened to the cordial greeting which Betty had given the
young man. Old friendship had been between the two and somehow it had
disturbed Calumet. He did not know why. He didn't like Betty, but at
the same time every smile that she had given Dade the night before had
caused some strange emotion to grip him. And he liked Dade, too. He
couldn't understand that, either.
He had never been friendly with any man. But something about Dade
appealed to him; he felt tolerant toward him, was mildly interested in
him. He thought it was because Dade was boyish and impulsive.
Whatever it was, he knew of its existence. It was not a deep feeling;
it was like the emotion that moves a large animal to permit a smaller
one to remain near it--a grudging tolerance which may develop into
sincere friendship or at a flash turn into a furious hatred. And so
Dade's security depended entirely upon how he conducted himself. If he
kept out of Calumet's way, all well and good. But if he interfered
with him, if, for instance, he became too friendly with Betty, there
would come an end to Calumet's tolerance.
And so there was a glint of speculative distrust in Calumet's eyes as
he sat and watched Dade ponder.
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