It's plumb simple."
From where he kneeled began another slope that descended to the Lazy Y
valley. It dipped gently down into the wood in front of the house,
where he had hitched his horse on the night of his home-coming, and
between the trees he could see a light flickering. The light came from
the kitchen window of the ranch-house; Betty had left it burning for
him, expecting him to return shortly after dusk. The house was not
more than a mile distant and he wondered at the hardihood of his enemy
in planning to ambush him so close to his home. He reflected, though,
that it was not likely that the shots could be heard from the house,
for the spot on which the wagon stood was several hundred feet above
the level of the valley, and then there was the intervening wood, which
would dull whatever sound might float in that direction.
Who could his assailant be? Why, it was Taggart, of course. Taggart
had left town hours before him, he was a coward, and shooting from
ambush is a coward's game.
Calumet's blood leaped a little faster in his veins. He would settle
for good with Neal Taggart. But he did not move except to draw one of
his six-shooters and push its muzzle over the edge of the gully. He
shoved his arm slowly forward so that it lay extended along the ground
the barrel of the pistol resting on the felloes of the wheel.
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