Calumet drew the hand fiercely away, overturning Bob so that he fell sprawling into the dust at his feet.

The youngster was up again before Betty and Malcolm could reach him, hobbling toward Calumet, his thin face working from excitement, his big eyes alight over the discovery he had made.
"He didn't kill Lonesome because he is mean, Betty!" he shrilled; "I knew he didn't! Look at his arm, Betty! It's all bloody! Lonesome bit him!" In spite of Calumet's efforts to avoid him, the boy again seized the arm, holding it out so that Betty and Malcolm could see the patches on the sleeve and the thin red streak that had crawled down over the back of his hand and was dripping from the finger tips.
Malcolm halted in his advance on Calumet and stealthily sheathed his weapon.

Betty, too, had stopped, a sudden wave of color overspreading her face, the picture of embarrassment and astonishment.
"Why didn't you tell us ?" she asked accusingly; "it would have saved--" "Saved you from makin' a fool of yourself," interrupted Calumet.

"You certainly did prove that I'm a mighty mean man," he added, mockingly.
"I didn't tell you because it's none of your business.

It's only a scratch, but I ain't lettin' no damned animal chaw me up an' get away with it." He drew the hand away from the boy and placed it behind him so that Betty could not look at it, which she had been doing until now, with wide, frightened eyes.