His father had been wronged, misled, betrayed, and humiliated by the Taggarts, and as Calumet stood beside the corral fence he found that all his rage--the bitter, malignant hatred which had once been in his heart against his father--had vanished, that it had been succeeded by an emotion that was new to him--pity.

An hour, two hours, passed before he turned and walked toward the ranchhouse.

His lips were grim and white, tell-tale signs of a new resolve, as he stepped softly upon the rear porch, stealthily opened the kitchen door, and let himself in.

He halted at the table on which stood the kerosene lamp, looking at the chair in which he had been sitting some hours before talking to Betty, blinking at the chair in which she had sat, summoning into his mind the picture she had made when he had voiced his suspicions about her knowledge of the contents of the letter she had given him.

"Nobody but a fool could hate Betty," the letter had read.