But besides Betty, none of them attempted to interfere,
and there was a queer silence when Taggart finally got to his feet.
He stood for an instant, glaring around at them all, and then his gaze
at last centered on Calumet. Calumet silently motioned toward Betty.
In response to the movement, Taggart's lips moved. "I'm apologizin',"
he said. He turned to his horse. After he had climbed into the saddle
he looked around at Calumet. He sneered through his swollen lips.
"You'll be gettin' what I owe you," he threatened.
"I'm your friend," jeered Calumet. "I've been your friend since the
day you tried to bore me with a rifle bullet out there in the
valley--the day I come here--after runnin' like a coyote from the
daylight. I've got an idea what you was hangin' around for that
day--I've got the same idea now. You're tryin' to locate that heathen
idol. You're wastin' your time. You're doin' more--you're runnin' a
heap of risk. For what you've just got is only a sample of what you'll
get if you stray over onto my range again. That goes for the sneakin'
thief you call your father, or any of your damned crowd."
He stood, slouching a little, watching Taggart until the latter rode
well out into the valley. Then without a word he walked over to the
sill upon which he had been working before the arrival of Taggart,
seized a hammer, and began to drive wedges wherever they were necessary.
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