The latter went
immediately to the ranchhouse, but Dade lingered until Calumet stepped
down from the door of the bunkhouse.
"Bed suits me," suggested Dade. "Comin'?"
"I'm smokin' a cigarette first," said Calumet. "Mebbe two," he added
as an afterthought.
He watched Malcolm go in; saw the light from the lamp on the table in
the kitchen flare its light out through the kitchen door as Dade
entered; heard the door close. The lamp still burned after he had seen
Dade's shadow vanish, and he knew that Dade had gone upstairs. Dade
had left the light burning for him.
Alone, Calumet rolled the cigarette he had promised himself, lit it,
and then, in the flood of moonlight, walked slowly around the
bunkhouse, estimating the material and work that would be necessary to
repair it. Then, puffing at his cigarette, he made a round of the
corral fence. It was a long trip, and he stopped twice to roll new
cigarettes before he circled it. Then he examined the stable. This
finished, he stepped over to the corral fence, leaned his arms on the
top rail, and, in the moonlight that came over his shoulder, reread his
father's letter, making out the picturesque chirography with difficulty.
As during the first days of his return, when he had watched the army of
memories pass in review, he lingered over them now, and, to his
surprise, discovered that he felt some little regret over his own
conduct in those days preceding his leave-taking.
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