Calumet's eyelashes flickered once. Shock or emotion, this was all the evidence he gave of it. He puffed long and deeply at his cigarette and not for an instant did he remove his gaze from the girl's face, for he was studying her, watching for a recurrence of the subtle gleam that he had previously caught. But in the look that she now gave him there was nothing but amusement. Apparently she was enjoying him. Certainly she had entirely recovered from the shock he had caused her. "Dead, eh?" he said. "When did he cash in?" "A week ago today." Calumet's eyelashes flickered again. Here was the explanation for that mysterious impulse which had moved him to return home. It was just a week ago that he had taken the notion and he had acted upon it immediately. He had heard of mental telepathy, and here was a working illustration of it. However, he gave no thought to its bearing on his presence at the Lazy Y beyond skeptically assuring himself that it was a mere coincidence. In any event, what did it matter? He was here; that was the main thing. His thoughts had become momentarily introspective, and when his mental faculties returned to a realization of the present he saw that the girl was regarding him with an intense and wondering gaze. She had been studying him and when she saw him looking at her she turned her head. He experienced an unaccountable elation, though he kept his voice dryly sarcastic. "I reckon the ol' fool asked for me?" "Yes." This time Calumet could not conceal his surprise; it was revealed in the skeptical, sneering, boring glance that he threw at the girl's face, now inscrutable. Her manner angered him. "I reckon you're a liar," he said, with cold deliberation. The girl reddened quickly; her hands clenched. But she did not look at him. "Thank you," she returned, mockingly. "What did he say?" he demanded gruffly, to conceal a slight embarrassment over her manner of receiving the insult. Her chin lifted disdainfully. "You wouldn't believe a liar," she said coldly. Again her spirit battled his. The dark flush spread over his face and he found that he could not meet her eyes; again the sheer, compelling strength of her personality routed the evilness in his heart. Involuntarily, his lips moved. "I reckon I didn't mean just that," he said. And then, surprised that such words should come from him he looked up to see the hard calm of her face change to triumph. The expression was swiftly transient. It baffled him, filling him with an impotent rage. But he watched her narrowly as she folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. "Your father expected you to come," she said quietly. "He prayed that you might return before he died. It seems that he felt he had treated you meanly and he wanted to tell you that he had repented." A cynical wonder filled Calumet, and he laughed--a short, raucous staccato. "How do you know?" he questioned. "He told me."