And that he was not boasting now was plainly evident, both to her and
Kelton. His declaration had been merely a calm announcement of a
deliberate purpose. He was as natural now as he had been all along.
She saw Kelton's expression change--saw the incredulity go out of it,
observed his face whiten a little.
But his former vindictiveness remained. "I reckon if you want to be a
damn fool I ain't interferin'. But I've warned you, an' it's your
funeral."
Calumet did not reply, contenting himself with grinning. He swung down
from Blackleg, removed the saddle and bridle from the animal, and
holding the latter by the forelock turned to Betty.
"I'd like you to ride Blackleg home. He's your horse now. Kelton will
lend you a halter to lead that skate you're on. While he's gettin' the
halter I'll put your saddle on Blackleg--if you'll get off."
Betty dismounted and the change was made. She had admired
Blackleg--she was in love with him now that he belonged to her, but she
was afflicted with a sudden speechlessness over the abruptness with
which he had made the gift. She wanted to thank him, but she felt it
was not time. Besides, he had not waited for her thanks. He had
placed the halter on the horse she had ridden to the Diamond K, had
looked on saturninely while Kelton had helped her into the saddle, and
had then carried his own saddle to a point near the outside of the
corral fence, laying the bridle beside it.
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