But it did not seem to be Bob's voice; it was deeper and more resonant,
and vibrated clearly, strongly, and with passion. It was strangely
familiar, though, and she shook a little with a nameless anxiety and
anticipation as she fumbled at the fastenings of the door and swung it
open.
It was not Bob, but Calumet, who stepped in. One of his heavy pistols
was in his right hand; with the left he had helped her to swing the
door open, and he stood, for the first brief instant following his
entrance, his arms extended, gazing sharply at Taggart. Then, quickly,
apparently satisfied that he need have no concern for his enemy, he
turned to Betty, placed both hands on her shoulders--the heavy pistol
in his right resting on her--she felt the warmth of the barrel as it
touched the thin material of her dress and knew then that it had been
he who had fired the shot that had been the undoing of her
assailant--and holding her away from him a little peered searchingly at
her.
[Illustration: Calumet stepped in.]
His face was pale, his lips stiff and white, and his eyes were alight
with the wanton fire that she had seen in them many times, though now
there was something added to their expression--concern and thankfulness.
"God!" he said, after a little space, during which she looked at him
with shining eyes.
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