instant the latter saw him he
looked up, his pale, thin face drawn and set, his eyes filled with an
expression of reproach and horror.

He was not over fifteen feet distant from Calumet, and the latter
watched him with a growing curiosity until Betty ran to him and folded
him into her arms. Then Calumet began to reload his six-shooter,
ignoring Malcolm, who had come close to him and was standing beside the
corral fence, breathing heavily and trembling from excitement.

"It's Lonesome!" gasped Malcolm, his lips quivering as he looked at the
beast; "Bob's Lonesome!"

Calumet flashed around at him, cursing savagely.

"What you gettin' at, you damned old gopher?" he sneered.

"It's Lonesome!" repeated Malcolm, his weather-lined face red with
resentment and anger. He showed no fear of Calumet now, but came close
to him and stood rigid, his hands clenched. "It's Lonesome!" he
repeated shrilly; "Bob's Lonesome!" And then, seeing from the
expression of Calumet's face that he did not comprehend, he added:
"It's Bob's dog, Lonesome! Bob loved him so, an' now you've gone an'
killed him--you--you hellhound! You--"

His quavering voice was cut short; once more his throat felt the
terrible pressure of Calumet's iron fingers. For an instant he was
held at arm's length, shaken savagely, and in the next he was flung
with furious force against the corral fence, from whence he staggered
and fell into a corner.

Calumet turned from him to confront Betty. Her eyes were ablaze, and
one hand rested with unconscious affection on Bob's head as the boy
stood looking down at the body of the dog, sobbing quietly. Betty was
trying to keep her composure, but at her first words her voice trembled.

"So you've killed Lonesome," she said. Calumet had finished reloading
his pistol, and he folded his arms over his chest, deliberately
shielding the left, which Lonesome had bitten, thus hiding the red
patches that showed on the shirt sleeve over the wound. He would not
give Betty the satisfaction of seeing that he had been hurt.

"Lonesome," explained Betty, frigidly, "was a dog--he was Bob's dog.
Bob loved him. I suppose you didn't know that--you couldn't have
known. We believed him to be part wolf. Bob found him on the Lazette
trail, where he had evidently been left behind, probably forgotten, by
some traveler who had camped there. Bob brought him home and raised
him. He has never been known to exhibit any vicious traits. You