Betty and Dade were in the kitchen; Malcolm and Bob were in the
sitting-room. Betty had taken Dade into her confidence and had related
to him the happenings of the day--so far as she could without
acquainting him with the state of her feelings toward Calumet.
"So he can ride some?" commented Dade, after she had told him about the
black. "I reckon he'd bust that horse or break his neck. But he was
in bad shape when he rode in--almost fell out of the saddle, an'
staggered scandalous when he walked. All in. Didn't make a whimper,
though. Clear grit. He grinned at me when he turned the black into
the corral.
"'Does that cayuse look busted?' he said.
"I allowed he had that appearance, an' he laughed.
"'I've give Betty Blackleg,' he said. 'I've got tired of him.'"
Betty's disappointment showed in her eyes; she had suspected that
Calumet had had another reason. She had hoped--
"I reckon, though, that that wasn't his real reason," continued Dade;
"he wasn't showin' all of his hand there."
"What makes you think that?" asked Betty, trying not to blush.
"Well," said Dade, "I was walkin' round the stable a while ago, just
nosin' around without any purpose, an' walkin' slow. When I got to the
corner, not makin' any noise, I saw Calumet standin' in front of the
stable door, talkin'.
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