"My neck hurts, sorta.
I'll send Bob in to keep you company." The girl cast a sharp, eloquent glance at Calumet and smiled with straight lips.
"Don't bother to send Bob," she replied; "I am not afraid." The grandfather went out, leaving the door open.

While the girl stood listening to his retreating steps, Calumet considered her.

She had said that she was not afraid of him--he believed her; her actions showed it.

He said nothing until after her grandfather had vanished and his step was no longer heard, and then when she turned to him he said shortly: "So your name's Betty.

Betty what ?" "Clayton." "An' your grandpap ?" "Malcolm Clayton." "Who's Bob ?" "My brother." "Any more Claytons around here ?" he sneered.
"No." "Well," he said with truculent insolence; "what in Sam Hill are you-all doin' at the Lazy Y, anyway ?" "I am coming to that presently," she returned, unruffled.
"Goin' to work your jaw again, I reckon ?" he taunted.
The hard calm came again into her face as she looked at him, though behind it was that subtle quality that hinted of her possession of advantage.