"Then you," she said; "you are----" She hesitated and stared at him intensely, her free hand tightly clenched. He bowed, derisively, discerning the sudden confusion that had overtaken her and making the most of his opportunity to increase it. "I'm Calumet Marston," he said, grinning. The girl gasped. "Oh!" she said, weakly; "Oh!" The huge pistol slipped out of her hand and thudded dully to the floor and she stood, holding tightly to the door jambs, her eyes fixed on Calumet with an expression that he could not analyze. CHAPTER III CALUMET'S GUARDIAN A new silence fell; a silence pregnant with a premonition of renewed strife. Calumet felt it and the evil in him exulted. He left the desk and stepped close to the girl, deftly picking up the fallen pistol and placing it on the desk back of him, out of the girl's reach. She watched him, both hands pressed over her bosom, apparently still stunned over the revelation of his identity. There was mystery here, Calumet felt it and was determined to uncover it. He took up the chair that he had previously overturned and seated himself on it, facing the girl. "Set down," he said, waving a hand toward another chair. In response to his invitation she moved toward the chair, hesitated when she reached it, apparently having nearly recovered her composure, though her face was pale and she watched him covertly, half fearfully. While she seated herself Calumet got out of his chair and took up the candle, placing it on the desk beside the pistol. This done, he busied himself with the rolling of a cigarette, working deliberately, an alert eye on the girl and her grandfather. The latter had recovered and was sitting rigid in the chair, fear and wonder in his eyes as he watched Calumet. To him Calumet spoke when he had completed the rolling of the cigarette and was holding a flaring match to it. He took a tigerish amusement from the old man's plight. "I reckon I come pretty near doin' for you, eh?" he said, grinning. "Well, there ain't no tellin' when a man will make a mistake." His gaze left the old man and was directed at the girl. "I reckon we'll clear things up a bit now, ma'am," he said. "What are you an' your grand-pap doin' at the Lazy Y?" "We live here." "Where's the old coyote which has been callin' himself my dad?" A sudden change came over the girl; a vindictive satisfaction seemed to radiate from her. So it appeared to Calumet. In the flashing look she gave him he thought he could detect a knowledge of advantage, a consciousness of power, over him. Her voice emphasized this impression. "Your father's dead," she returned, and watched him narrowly.