Twice he lifted the man's head and knocked it furiously against the floor, and each time he spoke, his voice a hoarse, throaty whisper: "So, this is the way you greet your son, you damned maverick!" he said.
So engrossed was Calumet with his work of subduing the still struggling parent that he did not hear a slight sound behind him.

But a flickering light came over his shoulder and shone fairly into the face of the man beneath him, and he saw that the man was not his father but an entire stranger! He was not given time in which to express his surprise, for he heard a voice behind him and turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway, a candle in one hand, a forty-five Colt clutched in the other, its muzzle gaping at him.

The young woman's face was white, her eyes wide and brilliant, she swayed, but there was determination in her manner that could not be mistaken.
"Get up, or I will shoot you like a dog!" she said, in a queer, breathless voice.
[Illustration: "Get up, or I will shoot you like a dog!" she said.] Releasing his grip on the man's throat, Calumet swung around sideways and glared malevolently at the young woman.

His anger was gone; there was no reason for it, now that he had discovered that the man was not his father.

But the demon in him was not yet subdued, and he got to his feet, not because the young woman had ordered him to do so, but because he saw no reason to stay down.