Betty was deceiving him, trifling
with him. Some plan that she had in mind with reference to him was
working smoothly and well, so successfully that her confederate--for
certainly the man in the room with her must be that--was distinctly
pleased. Betty, to use the man's words, was "stringing" him. In other
words, she was making a fool of him!
Those half-formed good resolutions which Calumet had made a few minutes
before entering the house had fled long ago; he snarled now as he
realized what a fool he had been for making them. Betty had been
leading him on. He had been under the spell of her influence; he had
been allowing her to shape his character to her will; he was, or had
been, in danger of becoming a puppet which she could control by merely
pulling some strings. She had been working on his better nature with
selfish aims.
Who was the man? Malcolm? Dade? He thought not; the voice sounded
strangely like Neal Taggart's. This suspicion enraged him, and he
stepped back, intending to hurl himself against the door in an effort
to smash it in. But he hesitated, leered cunningly at the door, and
then softly and swiftly made his way upstairs.
He went first to his own room, for he half suspected that it might be
Dade who was downstairs with Betty, and if it was-- Well, just now he
remembered vividly how Dade had defied him, and he made a mental vow
that if it were Dade who was with Betty the young man would leave the
Lazy Y before dawn quite suddenly.
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