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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ranchman, by Charles Alden Seltzer
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Ranchman
+
+Author: Charles Alden Seltzer
+
+Illustrator: P. V. E. Ivory
+
+Release Date: August 25, 2011 [EBook #37204]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RANCHMAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CARRINGTON LAUGHED JEERINGLY. (Page 268)]
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                                RANCHMAN
+
+                                   BY
+                         CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER
+
+                               AUTHOR OF
+                        THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y,
+                          FIREBRAND TREVISON,
+                          THE RANGE BOSS, ETC.
+
+                            FRONTISPIECE BY
+                             P. V. E. IVORY
+                                NEW YORK
+                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
+                               PUBLISHERS
+
+                  Made in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+                               Copyright
+                          A. C. McClurg & Co.
+                                  1919
+
+                       Published September, 1919
+
+                     _Copyrighted in Great Britain_
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+              CHAPTER                                    PAGE
+                    I Concerning Dawes                      1
+                   II Slick Duds                           14
+                  III The Serpent Trail                    20
+                   IV The Hold-Up                          26
+                    V The Unexpected                       36
+                   VI A Man Makes Plans                    51
+                  VII The Shadow of the Past               59
+                 VIII Concerning “Squint”                  66
+                   IX A Man Lies                           75
+                    X The Frame-Up                         86
+                   XI “No Fun Fooling Her”                 91
+                  XII Lifting the Mask                    106
+                 XIII The Shadow of Trouble               113
+                  XIV The Face of a Fighter               128
+                   XV Gloom—and Plans                     142
+                  XVI A Man Becomes a Brute               153
+                 XVII The Wrong Ankle                     172
+                XVIII The Beast Again                     186
+                  XIX The Ambush                          193
+                   XX A Fight to a Finish                 200
+                  XXI A Man Faces Death                   212
+                 XXII Looking for Trouble                 218
+                XXIII A World-Old Longing                 225
+                 XXIV A Death Warrant                     232
+                  XXV Keats Looks for “Squint”            238
+                 XXVI Keats Finds “Squint”                245
+                XXVII Besieged                            254
+               XXXIII The Fugitive                        259
+                 XXIX The Captive                         264
+                  XXX Parsons Has Human Instincts         270
+                 XXXI A Rescue                            277
+                XXXII Taylor Becomes Riled                284
+               XXXIII Retribution                         290
+                XXXIV The Will of the Mob                 304
+                 XXXV Triumph at Last                     315
+
+
+
+
+THE RANCHMAN
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I—CONCERNING DAWES
+
+
+The air in the Pullman was hot and, despite the mechanical contrivances
+built into the coach to prevent such a contingency, the dust from the
+right-of-way persisted in filtering through crevices.
+
+Even the electric fans futilely combated the heat; their droning hum
+bespoke terrific revolutions which did not materially lessen the
+discomfort of the occupants of the coach; and the dry, dead dust of the
+desert, the glare of a white-hot sun, the continuing panorama of waste
+land, rolling past the car windows, afforded not one cool vista to
+assuage the torture of travel.
+
+For hours after leaving Kansas City, several of the passengers had
+diligently gazed out of the windows. But when they had passed the vast
+grass plains and had entered the desert, where their eyes met nothing
+but endless stretches of feathery alkali dust, beds of dead lava, and
+clumps of cacti with thorny spire and spatula blade defiantly upthrust
+as though in mockery of all life—the passengers drew the shades and
+settled down in their seats to endure the discomfort of it all.
+
+A _blasé_ tourist forward reclined in one seat and rested his legs on
+another. From under the peak of a cap pulled well down over his eyes he
+smiled cynically at his fellow-passengers, noting the various
+manifestations of their discomfort. The tourist was a transcontinental
+traveler of note and he had few expectations. It amused him to watch
+those who had.
+
+A girl of about twenty, seated midway in the coach to the left of the
+tourist, had been an intent watcher of the desert. With the covert eye
+of the tourist upon her she stiffened, stared sharply out of the window,
+then drew back, shuddering, a queer pallor on her face.
+
+“She’s seen something unpleasant,” mused the tourist. “A heap of
+bleached bones—which would be the skeleton of a steer; or a
+rattlesnake—or most anything. She’s got nerves.”
+
+_One_ passenger in the car had no nerves—of that the tourist was
+convinced. The tourist had observed him closely, and the tourist was a
+judge of men. The nerveless one was a young man who sat in a rear seat
+staring intently out into the inferno of heat and sand, apparently
+absorbed in his thoughts and unaware of any physical discomfort.
+
+“Young—about twenty-seven or twenty-eight—maybe thirty,” mused the
+tourist; “but an old-timer in this country. I wised up to him when he
+got aboard at Kansas City. Been a miner in his time—or a cow-puncher.
+I’d hate to cross him.”
+
+Among the other passengers were two who attracted the attention of the
+tourist. They occupied the seat in front of the young man.
+
+One of the two, who sat nearest the window, was not much older than the
+young man occupying the seat behind him. The tourist guessed his age to
+be around thirty-five or thirty-six. He was big, almost massive, and had
+lived well—as the slightly corpulent stomach revealed. Despite that,
+however, he was in good physical condition, for his cheeks glowed with
+good healthy color under the blue-black sheen of his fresh-shaved beard;
+there was a snapping twinkle in his black eyes, which were penetrating
+and steady; and there was a quiet confidence in his manner which told
+that he knew and appreciated himself. He was handsome in a heavy,
+sensuous fashion, and his coal-black hair, close-cropped and wavy, gave
+him an appearance of virility and importance that demanded a second
+look. The man seated beside him was undersized and ordinary-looking,
+with straight, iron-gray hair and a look of having taken orders all his
+life. The tourist set his age at fifty-five.
+
+The girl was of the type that the tourist admired. He had seen her kind
+in the far corners of the world, on the thronged streets of cosmopolitan
+cities, in isolated sections of the world—the self-reliant, quietly
+confident American girl whose straight-in-the-eye glance always made a
+man feel impelled to respectfully remove his hat.
+
+She was not beautiful, but she was undeniably good-looking. She was
+almost tall, and the ease and grace of her movements sufficed to convey
+to the tourist some conception of the symmetrical lines of her figure.
+If her features had been more regular, the girl would have been plain;
+but there was a slight uptilt to her nose that hinted of piquancy,
+denied by the quiet, steady eyes.
+
+A brown mass of hair, which she had twisted into bulging coils and
+glistening waves, made the tourist wonder over her taste in that
+feminine art.
+
+“She knows what becomes her,” he decided.
+
+He knew the two men seated in front of the young man were traveling with
+her, for he had seen them together, with the older man patting her
+shoulder affectionately. But often she left them with their talk, which
+did not seem to interest her, while she withdrew to a distant seat to
+read or to gaze out of the window.
+
+She had not seemed to notice either the man of colorless personality or
+the young man who occupied the seat behind her friends. If she had
+glanced at them at all it was with that impersonal interest one feels in
+the average traveler one meets anywhere.
+
+But long ago—which, to be strictly accurate, was when he had entered
+the coach at Kansas City—Quinton Taylor had been interested in her. He
+was content, though, to conceal that interest, and not once when she
+chanced to look toward him did she catch him looking at her.
+
+Taylor knew he was no man to excite the interest of women, not even when
+he looked his best. And he knew that in his present raiment he did not
+look his best. He was highly uncomfortable.
+
+For one thing, the white, starched collar he wore irritated him, choked
+him, reddening his face and bulging his eyes. The starched shirt had a
+pernicious habit of tightly sticking to him, the seams chafing his skin.
+
+The ready-made suit he had bought at Kansas City was too small, and he
+could feel his shoulders bulging through the arms of the coat, while the
+trousers—at the hips and the knees—were stretched until he feared the
+cloth would not stand the strain.
+
+The shoes were tight, and the derby hat—he glowered humorously at it in
+the rack above his head and gazed longingly at the suitcase at his feet,
+into which he had crammed the clothing he had discarded and which he had
+replaced at the suggestion of his banker in Kansas City. Cowboy rigging
+was not uncommon to Kansas City, the banker had told him, but
+still—well, if a man was wealthy, and wished to make an impression, it
+might be wise to make the change.
+
+Not in years had Taylor worn civilized clothing, and he was fully
+determined that before reaching his home town he would resume the
+clothing to which he was accustomed—and throw the new duds out of a
+window. He reddened over an imaginary picture of himself descending from
+the train in his newly acquired rigging to endure the humorous comments
+of his friends. Old Ben Mullarky, for instance, would think he had gone
+loco—and would tell him so. Yes, the new clothes were doomed; some
+ragged overland specimen of the genus “hobo” would probably find them
+or, if not, they would clutter up the right-of-way as the sad memento of
+a mistake he had made during a fit of momentary weakness.
+
+As a matter of fact the girl had noticed Taylor. A girl will notice men,
+unconsciously. Sitting at her window even now, she was thinking of him.
+
+She was not aware that she had studied him, or that she had even glanced
+at him. But despite her lack of interest in him she had a picture of him
+in mind, and her thoughts dwelt upon him.
+
+She, too, had been aware that Taylor’s clothes did not fit him. She had
+noticed the bulging shoulders, the tight trousers, the shoes, squeaking
+with newness, when once he had passed through the car to go out upon the
+platform. She had noticed him screwing his neck around in the collar;
+she had seen him hunch his shoulders intolerantly; she had seen that the
+trousers were too short; that he looked like an awkward farmer or
+homesteader abroad on a pleasure trip, and decidedly uncomfortable in
+the unaccustomed attire.
+
+She had giggled to herself, then. For Taylor did make a ridiculous
+figure. But later—when he had reentered the car and she had looked
+fairly, though swiftly, at him as he advanced down the aisle—she had
+seen something about him that had impressed her. And that was what she
+was thinking about now. It was his face, she believed. It was red with
+self-consciousness and embarrassment, but she had seen and noted the
+strength of it—the lean, muscular jaw, the square, projecting chin, the
+firm, well-controlled mouth; the steady, steel-blue eyes, the broad
+forehead. It had seemed to her that he was humorously aware of the
+clothes, but that he was grimly determined to brazen the thing out.
+
+Her mental picture now gave her the entire view of Taylor as he had come
+toward her. And she could see him in a different environment, in cowboy
+regalia, on a horse, perfectly at ease. He made a heroic figure. So real
+was the picture that she caught herself saying: “Clothes _do_ make the
+man!” And then she smiled at her enthusiasm and looked out of the
+window.
+
+Taylor had been thinking of her with the natural curiosity of the man
+who knows he has no chance and is not looking for one. But she had
+impressed him as resembling someone with whom he had been well
+acquainted. For an hour he puzzled his brain in an endeavor to associate
+hers with some face of his recollection, but elusive memory resisted his
+demands on it with the result that he gave it up and leaned back as
+restfully as he could with the consciousness of the physical torture he
+was undergoing.
+
+And then he heard the younger of the two men in front of him speak to
+the other:
+
+“We’ll make things hum in Dawes, once we get hold of the reins.”
+
+“But there will be obstacles, Carrington.”
+
+“Sure! Obstacles! Of course. That will make the thing all the more
+enjoyable.”
+
+There was a ring in Carrington’s voice that struck a chord of sudden
+antagonism in Taylor, a note of cunning that acted upon Taylor
+instantly, as though the man had twanged discord somewhere in his
+nature.
+
+Dawes was Taylor’s home; he had extensive and varied interests there; he
+had been largely responsible for Dawes’s growth and development; he had
+fought for the town and the interests of the town’s citizens against the
+aggressions of the railroad company and a grasping land company that had
+succeeded in clouding the titles to every foot of land owned by Dawes’s
+citizens—his own included.
+
+And he had heard rumors of outside interests that were trying to gain a
+foothold in Dawes. He had paid little attention to these rumors, for he
+knew that capital was always trying to drive wedges that would admit it
+to the golden opportunities afforded by new towns, and he had ascribed
+the rumors to idle gossip, being aware that such things are talked of by
+irresponsibles.
+
+But the words, “Get hold of the reins,” had a sound of craft and
+plotting. And there was something in Carrington’s manner and appearance
+that suggested guile and smooth cunning. Seething with interest, Taylor
+closed his eyes and leaned his head back upon the cushion behind him,
+simulating sleep.
+
+He felt Carrington turn; he could feel the man’s eyes on him, and he
+knew that Carrington was speculating over him.
+
+He heard the other man whisper, though he could not catch the words.
+However, he heard Carrington’s answer:
+
+“Don’t be uneasy—I’m not ‘spilling’ anything. _He_ wouldn’t know the
+difference if I did. A homesteader hitting town for the first time in a
+year, probably. Did you notice him? Lord, what an outfit!”
+
+He laughed discordantly, resuming in a whisper which carried to Taylor:
+
+“As I was saying, we’ll make things hum. The good folks in Dawes don’t
+know it, but we’ve been framing them for quite a spell—been feeding
+them Danforth. You don’t know Danforth, eh? He’s quite a hit with these
+rubes. Knows how to smear the soft stuff over them. He’s what we call a
+‘mixer’ back in Chicago. Been in Dawes for about a year, working in the
+dark. Been going strong during the past few months. Running for mayor
+now—election is today. It’ll be over by the time we get there. He’ll
+win, of course; he wired me it was a cinch. Cost a lot, though, but it’s
+worth it. We’ll own Dawes before we get through!”
+
+It was with an effort that Taylor kept his eyes closed. He heard nothing
+further, for the man’s voice had dropped lower and Taylor could not hear
+it above the roar of the train.
+
+Still, he had heard enough to convince him that Carrington had designs
+on the future welfare of Dawes, and his muscles swelled until the
+tight-fitting coat was in dire danger of bursting.
+
+Danforth he knew slightly. He had always disliked and distrusted the
+man. He remembered Danforth’s public _début_ to the people of Dawes. It
+had been on the occasion of Dawes’s first anniversary and some
+public-spirited citizens had decided upon a celebration. They had
+selected Danforth as the speaker of the day because of his
+eloquence—for Danforth had seized every opportunity to publicly air his
+vigorous voice, and Taylor had been compelled to acknowledge that
+Danforth was a forceful and able speaker.
+
+Thereafter, Danforth’s voice often found the public ear. He was a
+lawyer, and the sign he had erected over the front of the frame building
+adjoining the courthouse was as magnificent as Danforth was eloquent.
+
+But though Taylor had distrusted Danforth, he had found no
+evidence—until now—that the lawyer intended to betray his
+fellow-citizens. Before leaving Dawes the week before he had heard some
+talk, linking Danforth’s name with politics, but he had discredited the
+talk. His own selection had been Neil Norton, and he had asked his
+friends to consider Norton.
+
+Taylor listened intently, with the hope of hearing more of the
+conversation being carried on between the two men in front of him. But
+he heard no more on the subject broached by Carrington. Later, however,
+his eyes still closed, still pretending to be asleep, he saw through
+veiled eyelids the girl rise from her seat and come toward the two men
+in front of him.
+
+For the first time he got a clear, full view of her face and a deep,
+disturbing emotion thrilled him. For now, looking fairly at her, he was
+more than ever convinced that he had seen her before, or that her
+resemblance to someone he had known was more startling than he had
+thought.
+
+Then he heard Carrington speak to her.
+
+“Getting tired, Miss Harlan?” said Carrington. “Well, it will soon be
+ended, now. One more night on the train—and then Dawes.”
+
+The older man laughed, and touched the girl’s arm playfully. “You don’t
+mind it, do you, Marion?”
+
+The older man said more, but Taylor did not hear him. For at his mention
+of the girl’s given name, so soon after Carrington’s pronouncement of
+“Harlan,” Taylor’s eyes popped open, and he sat erect, staring straight
+at the girl.
+
+Whether her gaze had been drawn by his, or whether her woman’s curiosity
+had moved her to look at him, Taylor never knew. But she met his wide
+gaze fairly, and returned his stare with one equally wide. Only, he was
+certain, there was a glint of mocking accusation in her eyes—to remind
+him, he supposed, that she had caught him eavesdropping.
+
+And then she smiled, looking at Carrington.
+
+“One is recompensed for the inconveniences of travel by the interesting
+characters one chances to meet.”
+
+And she found opportunity, with Carrington looking full at her, to throw
+a swift, significant glance at Taylor.
+
+Taylor flushed scarlet. Not, however, because of any embarrassment he
+felt over her words, but because at that instant was borne
+overwhelmingly upon him the knowledge that the girl, and the man,
+Carrington, who accompanied her—even the older man—were persons with
+whom Fate had insisted that he play—or fight. They were to choose. And
+that they had chosen to fight was apparent by the girl’s glance, and by
+Carrington’s words, “We’ll own Dawes before we get through.”
+
+Taylor got up and went to the smoking-room, where he sat for a long
+time, staring out of the window, his eyes on the vast sea of sagebrush
+that stretched before him, his mental vision fixed on an earlier day and
+upon a tragedy that was linked with the three persons in the coach—who
+seemed desirous of antagonizing him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II—SLICK DUDS
+
+
+After a time Taylor’s lips wreathed into a smile. He searched in his
+pockets—he had transferred all his effects from the clothing in the
+suitcase to his present uncomfortable raiment—and produced a long,
+faded envelope in danger of imminent disintegration.
+
+The smile faded from his lips as he drew out the contents of the
+envelope, and a certain grim pity filled his eyes. He read:
+
+  Squint:
+
+  That rock falling on me has fixed me. There is no use in me trying
+  to fool myself. I’m going out. There’s things a man can’t say, even
+  to a friend like you. So I’m writing this. You won’t read it until
+  after I’m gone, and then you can’t tell me what you think of me for
+  shoving this responsibility on you. But you’ll accept, I know;
+  you’ll do it for me, won’t you?
+
+  I’ve had a lot of trouble—family trouble. It wouldn’t interest you.
+  But it made me come West. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know;
+  but it seemed best.
+
+  You’ve been a mighty persevering friend, and I know you from the
+  ground up. You never inquired about my past, but I know you’ve
+  wondered. Once I mentioned my daughter, and I saw you look sharp at
+  me. Yes, there is a daughter. Her name is Marion. There was a wife
+  and her brother, Elam Parsons. But only Marion counts. The others
+  were too selfish and sneaking.
+
+  You won’t be interested in that. But I want Marion taken care of.
+  She was fifteen when I saw her last. She looked just like me; thank
+  God for that! She won’t have any of the characteristics of the
+  others!
+
+  Squint, I want you to take care of her. You’ll find her in Westwood,
+  Illinois. You and me have talked of selling the mine. Sell it; take
+  my share and for it give Marion a half-interest in your ranch, the
+  Arrow. If there is any left, put it in land in Dawes—that town is
+  going to boom. Guard it for her, and marry her, Squint; she’ll make
+  you a good wife. Tell her I want her to marry you; she’ll do it, for
+  she always liked her “dad.”
+
+There was more, but Taylor read no further. He stuffed the envelope into
+a pocket and sat looking out of the window, regarding morosely the
+featureless landscape. After a time he grinned saturninely:
+
+“Looks to me like a long chance, Larry,” he mused. “Considered as a
+marrying proposition she don’t seem to be enthusiastic over me. Now what
+in thunder is she doing out here, and why is that man Carrington with
+her—and where did she pick him up?”
+
+There came no answer to these questions.
+
+Reluctant, after the girl’s mocking smile, to seem to intrude, Taylor
+sat in the smoking-compartment during the long afternoon, until the dusk
+began to descend—until through the curtains of the compartment he
+caught a glimpse of the girl and her companions returning from the
+dining-car. Then, after what he considered a decent interval, he emerged
+from the compartment, went to the diner, ate heartily, and returned to
+the smoking-room.
+
+He had met Larry Harlan about three years before. Harlan had appeared at
+the Arrow one morning, looking for a job. Taylor had hired him, not
+because he needed men, but because he thought Harlan needed work. A
+friendship had developed, and when one day Harlan had told Taylor about
+a mine he had discovered in the Sangre de Christo Mountains, some miles
+southwestward, offering Taylor a half-interest if the latter would help
+him get at the gold, Taylor had agreed.
+
+They had found the mine, worked it, and had taken considerable gold out
+of it, when one day a huge rock had fallen on Harlan. Taylor had done
+what he could, rigging up a drag with which to take Harlan to town and a
+doctor, but Harlan had died before town could be reached.
+
+That had been the extent of Taylor’s friendship for the man. But he had
+followed Harlan’s directions.
+
+Sitting in the smoking-compartment, he again drew out Harlan’s note to
+him and read further:
+
+  Marion will have considerable money, and I don’t want no sneak to
+  get hold of it—like the sneak that got hold of the money my wife
+  had, that I saved. There’s a lot of them around. If Marion is going
+  to fall in love with one of that kind, I’d rather she wouldn’t get
+  what I leave—the man would get it away from her.
+
+  Use your own judgment, and I’ll be satisfied.
+
+It was not difficult for Taylor to divine what had happened to Harlan,
+nor was it difficult to understand that the man’s distrust of other men
+amounted to an obsession. However, Taylor had no choice but to assume
+the trust and no course but to obey Harlan’s wishes in the matter.
+
+Taylor’s trip eastward to Kansas City had been for the purpose of
+attending to his own financial interests, and incidentally to conclude
+the deal for the sale of the mine. He had deposited the money in his own
+name, but he intended—or had intended—after returning to the Arrow to
+make arrangements for his absence, to go to Westwood to find Marion
+Harlan. The presence of the girl on the train and the certain conviction
+that she was bound for Dawes made the trip to Westwood unnecessary.
+
+For Taylor had no doubt that the girl was the daughter of Larry Harlan.
+That troublesome resemblance of hers to someone of his acquaintance
+bothered him no longer, for the girl was the living image of Larry
+Harlan.
+
+Taylor had not anticipated the coming of Carrington into his scheme of
+things. For the first time since Larry Harlan’s letter had come into his
+possession he realized that deep in his heart was a fugitive desire for
+the coming of the girl to the Arrow. He had liked Larry Harlan, and he
+had drawn mental pictures of what the daughter would be like; and,
+though she was not exactly as he had pictured her, she was near enough
+to the ideal he had visualized. He wanted, now more than ever, to
+faithfully fulfil his obligation to Larry Harlan.
+
+The presence of Carrington on the train, coupled with the inference that
+Carrington was a close friend of the girl’s, irritated Taylor. For at
+the first glance he had felt a subtle antagonism for the man. Yet he was
+more disturbed over the mockery in the girl’s eyes when she had looked
+directly at him when she had caught him listening to her talk with
+Carrington and the older man.
+
+Still, Taylor was not the type of man who permits the imminence of
+discord to disturb his mental equanimity, and he grinned into the
+growing darkness of the plains with a grimly humorous twist to his lips
+that promised interesting developments should Carrington oppose him.
+
+When he again looked out of the aperture in the curtains screening the
+smoking-compartment from the aisle he saw the porter pass, carrying
+bedclothing. Later he saw the porter returning, smilingly inspecting a
+bill. After an interval the porter stuck his head through the curtains
+and surveyed him with a flashing grin:
+
+“Is you ready to retiah, boss?” he asked.
+
+A quarter of an hour later Taylor was alone in his berth, gazing at his
+reflection in the glass while he undressed.
+
+“You wouldn’t have the nerve to think she is interested in you, would
+you—you homely son-of-a-gun?” he queried of his reflection. “Why, no,
+she ain’t, of course,” he added; “no woman could be interested in you.
+You’ve been all day looking like a half-baked dude—and no woman is
+interested in dudes!”
+
+Carefully removing the contents of the several pockets of the despised
+wearing apparel in which he had suffered for many days, he got into his
+nightclothes and rang for the porter. When the latter appeared with his
+huge grin, Taylor gave him the offensive clothing, bundled together to
+form a large ball.
+
+“George,” he said seriously, almost solemnly, “I’m tired of being a
+dude. Some day I may decide to be a dude; but not now. Take these duds
+and save them until I ask for them. If you offer them to me before I ask
+for them, I’ll perforate you sure as hell!”
+
+He produced a big Colt pistol from somewhere, and as the weapon glinted
+in the light the porter’s eyes bulged and he backed away, gingerly
+holding the bundle of clothing.
+
+“Yassir, boss—yassir! I shuah won’t mention it till you does, boss!”
+
+When the porter had gone, Taylor grinned into the glass.
+
+“I sure have felt just what I looked,” he said.
+
+Then he got into his berth and dreamed all night of a girl whose mocking
+eyes seemed to say:
+
+“Well, do you think you have profited by listening?”
+
+“Why, sure,” he retorted, in his dreams; “I’ve seen you, ain’t I?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III—THE SERPENT TRAIL
+
+
+Marion Harlan did not dream of Quinton Taylor, though her last waking
+thought was of him, and when she opened her eyes in the morning it was
+to see him as he had sat in the seat behind Carrington and her uncle,
+his eyes wide with interest, or astonishment—or some emotion that she
+could not define—looking directly at her.
+
+She had been certain then, and still was certain that he had been
+feigning sleep, that he had been listening to the talk carried on
+between her uncle and Carrington.
+
+Why had he listened?
+
+That interrogation absorbed her thoughts as she dressed.
+
+She had not meant to be interested in him, for she had, in her first
+glance at him, mentally decided that he was no more interesting than
+many another ill-dressed and uncouth westerner whom she had seen on the
+journey toward Dawes.
+
+To be sure, she had seen signs of strength in him, mental and physical,
+but that had been when she looked at him coming toward her down the
+aisle. But even then he had not interested her; her interest began when
+she noted his interest in the conversation of her traveling companions.
+And then she had noticed several things about him that had escaped her
+in other glances at him.
+
+For one thing, despite the astonishment in his eyes, she had observed
+the cold keenness of them, the odd squint at the corners, where little
+wrinkles, splaying outward, indicated either deliberate impudence or
+concealed mirth. She was rather inclined to believe it the latter,
+though she would not have been surprised to discover the wrinkles to
+mean the former.
+
+And then she had noted his mouth; his lips had been straight and firm;
+she had been sure they were set resolutely when she had surprised him
+looking at her. That had seemed to indicate that he had taken more than
+a passing interest in what he had overheard.
+
+She speculated long over the incident, finally deciding that much would
+depend upon what he had overheard. There was only one way to determine
+that, and at breakfast in the dining-car she interrogated Carrington.
+
+“Of course, you and uncle are going to Dawes on business, and I am
+merely tagging along to see if I can find any trace of my father. But
+have you any business secrets that might interest an eavesdropper? On a
+train, for instance—a train going toward Dawes?”
+
+“What do you mean?” Carrington’s eyes flashed as he leaned toward her.
+
+“Have you and uncle talked business within hearing distance of a
+stranger?”
+
+Carrington’s face flushed; he exchanged a swift glance with the other
+man.
+
+“You mean that clodhopper with the tight-fitting hand-me-down in the
+seat behind us—yesterday? He was asleep!”
+
+“Then you did talk business—business secrets,” smiled the girl. “I
+thought really big men commonly concealed their business secrets from
+the eager ears of outsiders.”
+
+She laughed aloud at Carrington’s scowl, and then went on:
+
+“I don’t think the clodhopper was asleep. In fact, I rather think he was
+very wide awake. I wouldn’t say for certain, but I _think_ he was awake.
+You see, when I came back to talk with you he was sitting very straight,
+and his eyes were wide open.
+
+“And I shall tell you something else,” she went on. “During all the time
+he sat behind you, when you were talking, I watched him, he was
+pretending to sleep, for at times he opened his eyes and looked at you,
+and I am sure he was not thinking pleasant thoughts. And I don’t believe
+he is a clodhopper. I think he amounts to something; and if you will
+look well at him you will see, too. When he was listening to you there
+was a look in his eyes that made me think of fighting.” And then, after
+a momentary pause, she added slowly, “there isn’t anything wrong about
+the business you are going to transact out here—is there?”
+
+“Wrong?” he laughed. “Oh, no! Business is business.” He leaned forward
+and gazed deliberately into her eyes, his own glowing significantly.
+“You don’t think, with me holding your good opinion—and always hoping
+to better it—that I would do anything to destroy it, Marion?”
+
+The girl’s cheeks were suffused with faint color.
+
+“You are assuming again, Mr. James J. Carrington. I don’t care for your
+subtle speeches. I like you best when you talk frankly; but I am not
+sure that I shall ever like you enough to marry you.”
+
+She smiled at the scowl in his eyes, then looked speculatively at him.
+It should have been apparent to him that she had spoken the truth
+regarding her feeling for him.
+
+The uncle knew she had spoken the truth, for she left them presently,
+and the car door had hardly closed behind her when Carrington said,
+smiling grimly:
+
+“She’s a thoroughbred, Parsons. That’s why I like her. I’ll have her,
+too!”
+
+“Careful,” grinned the other, smoothly. “If she ever discovers what a
+brute you are—” He made a gesture of finality.
+
+“Brute! Bah! Parsons, you make me sick! I’ll take her when I want her!
+Why do you suppose I told her that fairy tale about her father having
+been seen in this locality? To get her out here with me, of
+course—where there isn’t a hell of a lot of law, and a man’s will is
+the only thing that governs him. She won’t have me, eh? Well, we’ll
+see!”
+
+Parsons smirked at the other. “Then you lied about Lawrence Harlan
+having been seen in this country?”
+
+“Sure,” admitted Carrington. “Why not?”
+
+Parsons looked leeringly at Carrington. “Suppose I should tell her?”
+
+Carrington glared at the older man. “You won’t,” he declared. “In the
+first place, you don’t love her as an uncle should because she looks
+like Larry Harlan—and you hated Larry. Suppose I should tell her that
+you were the cause of the trouble between her parents; that you framed
+up on her mother, to get her to leave Larry? Why, you damned, two-faced
+gopher, she’d wither you!”
+
+He grinned at the other and got up, turning, when he reached his feet,
+to see Quinton Taylor, standing beside a chair at the next table, just
+ready to sit down, but delaying to hear the remainder of the
+extraordinary conversation carried on between the two men.
+
+Taylor had donned the garments he had discarded in Kansas City. A blue
+woolen shirt, open at the throat; corduroy trousers, the bottoms stuffed
+into the soft tops of high-heeled boots; a well-filled cartridge-belt,
+sagging at the right hip with the weight of a heavy pistol—and a
+broad-brimmed felt hat, which a smiling waiter held for him—completed
+his attire.
+
+Freshly shaved, his face glowed with the color that betokens perfect
+health; and just now his eyes were also glowing—but with frank disgust
+and dislike.
+
+Carrington flushed darkly and stepped close to Taylor. Carrington’s chin
+was thrust out belligerently; his eyes fairly danced with a rage that he
+could hardly restrain.
+
+“Listening again, eh?” he said hoarsely. “You had your ears trained on
+us yesterday, in the Pullman, and now you are at it again. I’ve a notion
+to knock your damned head off!”
+
+Taylor’s eyelids flickered once, the little wrinkles at the corners of
+his eyes deepening a trifle. But his gaze was steady, and the blue of
+his eyes grew a trifle more steely.
+
+“You’ve got a bigger notion not to, Mr. Man,” he grinned. “You run a
+whole lot to talk.”
+
+He sat down, twisted around in the chair and faced the table, casting a
+humorous eye at the black waiter, and ignoring Carrington.
+
+“I’ll want a passable breakfast this morning, George,” he said; “I’m
+powerful hungry.”
+
+He did not turn when Carrington went out, followed by Parsons.
+
+The waiter hovered near him, grinning widely.
+
+“I reckon you-all ain’t none scary, boss!” he said, admiringly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV—THE HOLD-UP
+
+
+After breakfast—leaving a widely grinning waiter, who watched him
+admiringly—Taylor reentered the Pullman.
+
+Stretching out in the upholstered seat, Taylor watched the flying
+landscape. But his thoughts were upon the two men he had overheard
+talking about the girl in the diner. Taylor made a grimace of disgust at
+the great world through which the train was speeding; and his feline
+grin when his thoughts dwelt definitely upon Carrington, indicated that
+the genial waiter had not erred greatly in saying Taylor was not
+“scary.”
+
+Upon entering, Taylor had flashed a rapid glance into the car. He had
+seen Carrington and Parsons sitting together in one of the seats and,
+farther down, the girl, leaning back, was looking out of the window. Her
+back was toward Taylor. She had not seen him enter the car—and he was
+certain she had not seen him leave it to go to the diner. He had
+thought—as he had glanced at her as he went into the smoking
+compartment—that, despite the girl’s seemingly affectionate manner
+toward Parsons, and her cordial treatment of the big man, her manner
+indicated the presence of a certain restraint. And as he looked toward
+her, he wondered if Parsons or the big man had told her anything of the
+conversation in the diner in which he himself figured.
+
+And now, looking out of the window, he decided that even if the men had
+told her, she would not betray her knowledge to him—unless it were to
+give him another scornful glance—the kind she threw at him when she saw
+him as he sat behind the two men when they had been talking of Dawes.
+Taylor reddened and gritted his teeth impotently; for he knew that if
+the two men had told her anything, they would have informed her, merely,
+that they had again caught him listening to them. And for that double
+offense, Taylor knew there would be no pardon from her.
+
+Half an hour later, while still thinking of the girl and the men, Taylor
+felt the train slowing down. Peering as far ahead as he could by
+pressing his face against the glass of the window, Taylor saw the train
+was entering a big cut between some hills. It was a wild section, with a
+heavy growth of timber skirting the hills—on Taylor’s side of the
+train—and running at a sharp angle toward the right-of-way came a small
+river.
+
+Taylor recognized the place as Toban’s Siding. He did not know how the
+spot had come by its name; nor did he know much about it except that
+there was a spur of track and a water-tank. And when the train began to
+slow down he supposed the engineer had decided to stop to take on water.
+He found himself wondering, though, why that should be necessary, for he
+was certain the train had stopped for water a few miles back, while he
+had been in the dining-car.
+
+The train was already late, and Taylor grinned as he settled farther
+back in the seat and drew a sigh of resignation. There was no accounting
+for the whims of an engineer, he supposed.
+
+He felt the train come to a jerking stop; and then fell a silence. An
+instant later the silence was broken by two sharp reports, a distinct
+interval between them. Taylor sat erect, the smile leaving his face, and
+his lips setting grimly as the word “Hold-up” came from between them.
+
+Marion Harlan also heard the two reports. Stories of train
+robberies—recollections of travelers’ tales recurred in her brain as
+she sat, for the first tense instant following the reports, listening
+for other sounds. Her face grew a little pale, and a tremor ran over
+her; but she did not feel a bit like screaming—though in all the
+stories she had ever read, women always yielded to the hysteria of that
+moment in which a train-robber makes his presence known.
+
+She was not frightened, though she was just a trifle nervous, and more
+than a trifle curious. So she pressed her cheek against the window-glass
+and looked forward.
+
+What she saw caused her to draw back again, her curiosity satisfied. For
+on the side of the cut near the engine, she had seen a man with a
+rifle—a masked man, tall and rough-looking—and it seemed to her that
+the weapon in his hands was menacing someone in the engine-cab.
+
+She stiffened, looking quickly around the car. None of the passengers
+had moved. Carrington and Parsons were still sitting together in the
+seat. They were sitting erect, though, and she saw they, too, were
+curious. More, she saw that both men were pale, and that Carrington, the
+instant she turned, became active—bending over, apparently trying to
+hide something under a seat. That movement on Carrington’s part was
+convincing, and the girl drew a deep breath.
+
+While she was debating the wisdom of permitting her curiosity to drive
+her to the door nearest her to determine what had happened, the door
+burst open and a masked man appeared in the opening!
+
+While she stared at him, he uttered the short, terse command:
+
+“Hands up!”
+
+She supposed that meant her, as well as the men in the car, and she
+complied, though with a resentful glare at the mask.
+
+Daringly she turned her head and glanced back. Carrington had his hands
+up, too; and Parsons—and the tourist, and the other man. She did not
+see Taylor—though she wondered, on the instant, if he, too, would obey
+the train-robber’s command.
+
+She decided he would—any other course would have been foolhardy; though
+she could not help remembering that queer gleam in Taylor’s eyes. That
+gleam, it had seemed to her, was a reflection of—not foolhardiness, but
+of sheer courage.
+
+However, she had little time to speculate. The masked man advanced, a
+heavy gun in his right hand, its muzzle moving from side to side,
+menacing them all.
+
+He halted when he had advanced to within a step of the girl.
+
+“You guys set tight!” he ordered gruffly—in the manner of the
+train-robber of romance. “If you go to lettin’ down your sky-hooks one
+little quiver, I bore you so fast an’ plenty that you’ll think you’re a
+colander!” Then he turned the mask toward the girl; she could feel his
+eyes burning through it.
+
+“Shell out, lady!” he commanded.
+
+She stared straight back at the eye-slits in the mask, defiance glinting
+her own eyes.
+
+“I haven’t any money—or anything of value—to give you,” she returned.
+
+“You’ve got a pocketbook there—in your hand!” he said. “Fork it over!”
+He removed his hat, held it in his left hand, and extended it toward
+her. “Toss it in there!”
+
+Hesitatingly, she obeyed, though not without a vindictive satisfaction
+in knowing that he would find little in the purse to compensate him for
+his trouble. She could see his eyes gleam greedily as he still looked at
+her.
+
+“Now that chain an’ locket you’ve got around your neck!” he ordered.
+“Quick!” he added, savagely, as she stiffened and glared at him.
+
+She did as she was bidden, though; for she had no doubt he would kill
+her—at least his manner indicated he would. And so she removed it, held
+it lingering in her hand for an instant, and then tossed it into the
+hat. She gulped as she did so, for the trinket had been given to her by
+her father before he left home to go on that pilgrimage from which he
+had never returned.
+
+“That’s all, eh?” snarled the man. “Well, I ain’t swallowin’ that! I’m
+goin’ to search you!”
+
+She believed she must have screamed at that. She knew she stood up,
+prepared to fight him if he attempted to carry out his threat; and once
+on her feet she looked backward.
+
+Neither Carrington nor Parsons had moved—they were palely silent,
+watching, not offering to interfere. As for that, she knew that any sign
+of interference on the part of her friends would result in their instant
+death. But she did not know what they _should_ do! Something must be
+done, for she could not permit the indignity the man threatened!
+
+Still looking backward, she saw Taylor standing at the end of the
+car—where the partition of the smoking-compartment extended outward. He
+held a gun in each hand. He had heard her scream, and on his face as the
+girl turned toward him, she saw a mirthless grin that made her shiver.
+She believed it must have been her gasp that caused the train-robber to
+look swiftly at Taylor.
+
+Whatever had caused the man to look toward the rear of the car, he saw
+Taylor; and the girl saw him stiffen as his pistol roared in her ears.
+Taylor’s pistols crashed at the same instant—twice—the reports almost
+together. Afterward she could not have told what surprised her the
+most—seeing the man at her side drop his pistol and lurch limply
+against a corner of the seat opposite her, and from there slide gently
+to the floor, grunting; or the spectacle of Taylor, arrayed in cowboy
+garb, emerging from the door of the smoking-compartment, the mirthless
+smile on his face, and his guns—he had used both—blazing forth death
+to the man who had threatened her.
+
+Nor could she—afterward—have related what followed the sudden
+termination of the incident in the car. Salient memories stood out—the
+vivid and tragic recollection of chief incidents that occurred
+immediately; but she could not have even guessed how they happened.
+
+She saw Taylor as he stood for an instant looking down at the man after
+he came running forward to where the other lay; and she saw Taylor leap
+for the front door of the car, vanish through it, and slam it after him.
+
+For an instant after that there was silence, during which she shuddered
+as she tried to keep her gaze from the thing that lay doubled oddly in
+the aisle.
+
+And then she heard more shooting. It came from the direction of the
+engine—the staccato crashing of pistols; the shouts of men, their
+voices raised in anger.
+
+Pressing her cheek against the window-pane, and looking forward toward
+the engine, she saw Taylor. With a gun in each hand, he was running down
+the little level between the track and the steep wall of the cut, toward
+her. She noted that his face still wore the mirthless grin that had been
+on it when he shot the train-robber in the car; though his eyes were
+alight with the lust of battle—that was all too plain—and she
+shivered. For Taylor, having killed one man, and grimly pursuing others,
+seemed to suggest the spirit of this grim, rugged country—the threat of
+death that seemed to linger on every hand.
+
+She saw him snap a shot as he ran, bending far over to send the bullet
+under the car; she heard a pistol crash from the other side of the car;
+and then she saw Taylor go to his knees.
+
+She gasped with horror and held to the window-sill, for she feared
+Taylor had been killed. But almost instantly she saw her error, for
+Taylor was on his hands and knees crawling when she could again
+concentrate her gaze; and she knew he was crawling under the car to
+catch the man who had shot from the other side.
+
+Then Taylor disappeared, and she did not see him for a time. She heard
+shots, though; many of them; and then, after a great while, a silence.
+And during the silence she sat very still, her face white and her lips
+stiff, waiting.
+
+The silence seemed to endure for an age; and then it was broken by the
+sound of voices, the opening of the door of the car, and the appearance
+of Taylor and some other men—several members of the train-crew; the
+express-messenger; the engineer, his right arm hanging limply—and two
+men, preceding the others, their hands bound, their faces sullen.
+
+On Taylor’s face was the grin that had been on it all along. The girl
+wondered at the man’s marvelous self-control—for certainly during those
+moments of excitement and danger he must have been aware of the terrible
+risk he had been running. And then the thought struck her—she had not
+considered that phase of the situation before—that she _must_ have
+screamed; that he had heard her, and had emerged from the smoking-room
+to protect her. She blushed, gratitude and a riot of other emotions
+overwhelming her, so that she leaned weakly back in the seat, succumbing
+to the inevitable reaction.
+
+She did not look at Taylor again; she did not even see him as he walked
+toward the rear of the car, followed by the train-crew, and preceded by
+the two train-robbers he had captured.
+
+But as the train-crew passed her, she heard one of them say:
+
+“That guy’s a whirlwind with a gun! Didn’t do no hesitatin’, did he?”
+
+And again:
+
+“Now, what do you suppose would make a guy jump in that way an’ run a
+chance of gettin’ plugged—plenty? Do you reckon he was just yearnin’
+fer trouble, or do you reckon they was somethin’ else behind it?”
+
+The girl might have answered, but she did not. She sat very still,
+comparing Carrington with this man who had plunged instantly into a
+desperate gun-fight to protect her. And she knew that Carrington would
+not have done as Taylor had done. And had Carrington seen her face just
+at that moment he would have understood that there was no possibility of
+him ever achieving the success of which he had dreamed.
+
+She heard one of the men say that the two men were to be placed in the
+baggage-car until they reached Dawes; and then Carrington and Parsons
+came to where she sat.
+
+They talked, but the girl did not hear them, for her thoughts were on
+the picture Taylor made when he appeared at the door of the
+smoking-compartment arrayed in his cowboy rigging, the grim smile on his
+face, his guns flaming death to the man who thought to take advantage of
+her helplessness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V—THE UNEXPECTED
+
+
+The train pulled out again presently, and the water-tank and the cut
+were rapidly left in the rear. Taylor returned to the smoking-room and
+resumed his seat, and while the girl looked out of the window, some men
+of the train-crew removed the body of the train-robber and obliterated
+all traces of the fight. And Carrington and Parsons, noting the girl’s
+abstractedness, again left her to herself.
+
+It had been the girl’s first glimpse of a man in cowboy raiment, and, as
+she reflected, she knew she might have known Taylor was an unusual man.
+However, she knew it now.
+
+Cursory glances at drawings she had seen made her familiar with the
+type, but the cowboys of those drawings had been magnificently arrayed
+in leather _chaparajos_, usually fringed with spangles; and with
+long-roweled spurs; magnificent wide brims—also bespangled, and various
+other articles of personal adornment, bewildering and awe inspiring.
+
+But this man, though undoubtedly a cow-puncher, was minus the
+magnificent raiment of the drawings. And, paradoxical as it may seem,
+the absence of any magnificent trappings made _him_ seem magnificent.
+
+But she was not so sure that it was the lack of those things that gave
+her that impression. He did not _bulge_ in his cowboy clothing; it
+fitted him perfectly. She was sure it was he who gave magnificence to
+the clothing. Anyway, she was certain he was magnificent, and her eyes
+glowed. She knew, now that she had seen him in clothing to which he was
+accustomed, and which he knew how to wear, that she would have been more
+interested in him yesterday had he appeared before her arrayed as he was
+at this moment.
+
+He had shown himself capable, self-reliant, confident. She would have
+given him her entire admiration had it not been for the knowledge that
+she had caught him eavesdropping. That action had almost damned him in
+her estimation—it would have completely and irrevocably condemned him
+had it not been for her recollection of the stern, almost savage
+interest she had seen in his eyes while he had been listening to
+Carrington and Parsons.
+
+She knew because of that expression that Carrington and Parsons had been
+discussing something in which he took a personal interest. She had not
+said so much to Carrington, but her instinct told her, warned her, gave
+her a presentiment of impending trouble. That was what she had meant
+when she had told Carrington she had seen _fighting_ in Taylor’s eyes.
+
+Taylor confined himself to the smoking-compartment. The negro porter,
+with pleasing memories of generous tips and a grimmer memory to exact
+his worship, hung around him, eager to serve him, and to engage him in
+conversation; once he grinningly mentioned the incident of the cast-off
+clothing of the night before.
+
+“I ain’t mentionin’ it, boss—not at all! I ain’t givin’ you them duds
+till you ast for them. You done took me by s’prise, boss—you shuah did.
+I might’ near caved when you shoved that gun under ma nose—I shuah did,
+boss. I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with your gun, boss—I shuah
+don’t. She’d go ‘pop,’ an’ I wouldn’t be heah no more!
+
+“I didn’t reco’nize you in them heathen clo’s you had on yesterday,
+boss; but I minds you with them duds on. I knows you; you’re ‘Squint’
+Taylor, of Dawes. I’ve seen you on that big black hoss of yourn, a
+prancin’ an’ a prancin’ through town—more’n once I’ve seen you. But I
+didn’t know you in them heathen clo’s yesterday, boss—’deed I didn’t!”
+
+Later the porter slipped into the compartment. For a minute or two he
+fussed around the room, setting things to order, meanwhile chuckling to
+himself. Occasionally he would cease his activities long enough to slap
+a knee with the palm of a hand, with which movement he would seem to be
+convulsed with merriment, and then he would resume work, chuckling
+audibly.
+
+For a time Taylor took no notice of his antics, but they assailed his
+consciousness presently, and finally he asked:
+
+“What’s eating you, George?”
+
+The query was evidently just what “George” had been waiting for. For now
+he turned and looked at Taylor, his face solemn, but a white gleam of
+mirth in his eyes belying the solemnity.
+
+“Tips is comin’ easy for George this mornin’,” he said; “they shuah is.
+No trouble at all. If a man wants to get tips all he has to be is a
+dictionary—he, he, he!”
+
+“So you’re a dictionary, eh? Well, explain the meaning of this.” And he
+tossed a silver dollar to the other.
+
+The dollar in hand, George tilted his head sidewise at Taylor.
+
+“How on earth you know I got somethin’ to tell you?”
+
+“How do I know I’ve got two hands?”
+
+“By lookin’ at them, boss.”
+
+“Well, that’s how I know you’ve got something to tell me—by looking at
+you.”
+
+The porter chuckled. “I reckon it’s worth a dollar to have a young lady
+interested in you,” he told himself in a confidential voice, without
+looking at Taylor; “yassir, it’s sure worth a dollar.” He slapped his
+knee delightedly. “That young lady a heap interested in you, ’pears
+like. While ago she pens me in a corner of the platform. ‘Porter, who’s
+that man in the smoking-compartment—that cowboy? What’s his name, an’
+where does he live?’ I hesitates, ’cause I didn’t want to betray no
+secrets—an’ scratch my haid. Then she pop half a dollar in my hand, an’
+I tole her you are Squint Taylor, an’ that you own the Arrow ranch, not
+far from Dawes. An’ she thank me an’ go away, grinnin’.”
+
+“And the young lady, George; do you know her name?”
+
+“Them men she’s travelin’ with calls her Marion, boss.”
+
+He peered intently at Taylor for signs of interest. He saw no such
+signs, and after a while, noting that Taylor seemed preoccupied, and was
+evidently no longer aware of his presence, he slipped out noiselessly.
+
+At nine thirty, Taylor, looking out of the car window, noted that the
+country was growing familiar. Fifteen minutes later the porter stuck his
+head in between the curtains, saw that Taylor was still absorbed, and
+withdrew. At nine fifty-five the porter entered the compartment.
+
+“We’ll be in Dawes in five minutes, boss,” he said. “I’ve toted your
+baggage to the door.”
+
+The porter withdrew, and a little later Taylor got up and went out into
+the aisle. At the far end of the car, near the door, he saw Marion
+Harlan, Parsons, and Carrington.
+
+He did not want to meet them again after what had occurred in the diner,
+and he cast a glance toward the door behind him, hoping that the porter
+had carried his baggage to that end of the car. But the platform was
+empty—his suitcase was at the other end.
+
+He slipped into a seat on the side of the train that would presently
+disclose to him a view of Dawes’s depot, and of Dawes itself, leaned an
+elbow on the window-sill, and waited. Apparently the three persons at
+the other end of the car paid no attention to him, but glancing sidelong
+once he saw the girl throw an interested glance at him.
+
+And then the air-brakes hissed; he felt the train slowing down, and he
+got up and walked slowly toward the girl and her companions. At about
+the same instant she and the others began to move toward the door; so
+that when the train came to a stop they were on the car platform by the
+time Taylor reached the door. And by the time he stepped out upon the
+car platform the girl and her friends were on the station platform,
+their baggage piled at their feet.
+
+Dawes’s depot was merely a roofless platform; and there was no shelter
+from the glaring white sun that flooded it. The change from the subdued
+light of the coach to the shimmering, blinding glare of the sun on the
+wooden planks of the platform affected Taylor’s eyes, and he was forced
+to look downward as he alighted. And then, not looking up, he went to
+the baggage-car and pulled his two prisoners out.
+
+Looking up as he walked down the platform with the two men, he saw a
+transformed Dawes.
+
+The little, frame station building had been a red, dingy blot beside the
+glistening rails that paralleled the town. It was now gaily draped with
+bunting—red, white, and blue—which he recognized as having been used
+on the occasion of the town’s anniversary celebration.
+
+A big American flag topped the ridge of the station; other flags
+projected from various angles of the frame.
+
+Most of the town’s other buildings were replicas of the station in the
+matter of decorations—festoons of bunting ran here and there from
+building to building; broad bands of it were stretched across the fronts
+of other buildings; gay loops of it crossed the street, suspended to
+form triumphal arches; flags, wreaths of laurel, Japanese lanterns, and
+other paraphernalia of the decorator’s art were everywhere.
+
+Down the street near the Castle Hotel, Taylor saw transparencies, but he
+could not make out the words on them.
+
+He grinned, for certainly the victor of yesterday’s election was
+outdoing himself.
+
+He looked into the face of a man who stood near him on the platform—who
+answered his grin.
+
+“Our new mayor is celebrating in style, eh?” he said.
+
+“Right!” declared the man.
+
+He was about to ask the man which candidate had been victorious—though
+he was certain it was Neil Norton—when he saw Marion Harlan, standing a
+little distance from him, smiling at him.
+
+It was a broad, impersonal smile, such as one citizen of a town might
+exchange with another when both are confronted with the visible
+evidences of political victory; and Taylor responded to it with one
+equally impersonal. Whereat the girl’s smile faded, and her gaze, still
+upon Taylor, became speculative. Its quality told Taylor that he should
+not presume upon the smile.
+
+Taylor had no intention of presuming anything. Not even the porter’s
+story of the girl’s interest in him had affected him to the extent of
+fatuous imaginings. A woman’s curiosity, he supposed, had led her to
+inquire about him. He expected she rarely saw men arrayed as he was—and
+as he had been arrayed the day before.
+
+The girl’s gaze went from Taylor to the street in the immediate vicinity
+of the station, and for the first time since alighting on the platform
+Taylor saw a mass of people near him.
+
+Looking sharply at them, he saw many faces in the mass that he knew.
+They all seemed to be looking at him and, with the suddenness of a
+stroke came to him the consciousness that there was no sound—that
+silence, deep and unusual, reigned in Dawes. The train, usually merely
+stopping at the station and then resuming its trip, was still standing
+motionless behind him. With a sidelong glance he saw the train-crew
+standing near the steps of the cars, looking at him. The porter and the
+waiter with whose faces he was familiar, were grinning at him.
+
+Taylor felt that his own grin, as he gazed around at the faces that were
+all turned toward him, was vacuous and foolish. He _felt_ foolish. For
+he knew something had attracted the attention of all these people to
+him, and he had not the slightest idea what it was. For an instant he
+feared that through some mental lapse he had forgotten to remove his
+“dude” clothing; and he looked down at his trousers and felt of his
+shirt, to reassure himself. And he gravely and intently looked at his
+prisoners, wondering if by any chance some practical joker of the town
+had arranged the train robbery for his special benefit. If that were the
+explanation it had been grim hoax—for two men had been killed in the
+fight.
+
+Looking up again, he saw that the grins on the faces of the people
+around him had grown broader—and several loud guffaws of laughter
+reached his ears. He looked at Marion Harlan, and saw a puzzled
+expression on her face. Carrington, too, was looking at him, and
+Parsons, whose smile was a smirk of perplexity.
+
+Taylor reddened with embarrassment. A resentment that grew swiftly to an
+angry intolerance, seized him. He straightened, squared his shoulders,
+thrust out his chin, and shoving his prisoners before him, took several
+long strides across the station platform.
+
+This movement brought him close to Marion Harlan and her friends, and
+his further progress was barred by a man who placed a hand against his
+chest.
+
+This man, too, was grinning. He seized Taylor’s shoulders with both
+hands and looked into his face, the grin on his own broad and expanding.
+
+“Welcome home—you old son-of-a-gun!” said the man.
+
+His grin was infectious and Taylor answered it, dropping his suitcase
+and looking the other straight in the eyes.
+
+“Norton,” he said, “what in hell is the cause of all this staring at me?
+Can’t a man leave town for a few days and come back without everybody
+looking at him as though he were a curiosity?”
+
+Norton—a tall, slender, sinewy man with broad shoulders—laughed aloud
+and deliberately winked at several interested citizens who had followed
+Taylor’s progress across the platform, and who now stood near him,
+grinning.
+
+“You are a curiosity, man. You’re the first mayor of this man’s town!
+Lordy,” he said to the surrounding faces, “he hasn’t tumbled to it yet!”
+
+The color left Taylor’s face; he stared hard at Norton; he gazed in
+bewilderment at the faces near him.
+
+“Mayor?” he said. “Why, good Lord, man, I wasn’t here yesterday!”
+
+“But your friends were!” yelped the delighted Norton. He raised his
+voice, so that it reached far into the crowd on the street:
+
+“He’s sort of fussed up, boys; this honor being conferred on him so
+sudden; but give him time and he’ll talk your heads off!” He leaned over
+to Taylor and whispered in his ear.
+
+“Grin, man, for God’s sake! Don’t stand there like a wooden man; they’ll
+think you don’t appreciate it! It’s the first time I ever saw you lose
+your nerve. Buck up, man; why, they simply swamped Danforth; wiped him
+clean off the map!”
+
+Norton was whispering more into Taylor’s ear, but Taylor could not
+follow the sequence of it, nor get a coherent meaning out of it. He even
+doubted that he heard Norton. He straightened, and looked around at the
+crowd that now was pressing in on him, and for the first time in his
+life he knew the mental panic and the physical sickness that overtakes
+the man who for the first time faces an audience whose eyes are focused
+on him.
+
+For a bag of gold as big as the mountains that loomed over the distant
+southern horizon he could not have said a word to the crowd. But he did
+succeed in grinning at the faces around him, and at that the crowd
+yelled.
+
+And just before the crowd closed in on him and he began to shake hands
+with his delighted supporters, he glanced at Marion Harlan. She was
+looking at him with a certain sober interest, though he was sure that
+back in her eyes was a sort of humorous malice—which had, however, a
+softening quality of admiration and, perhaps, gratitude.
+
+His gaze went from her to Carrington. The big man was watching him with
+a veiled sneer which, when he met Taylor’s eyes, grew open and
+unmistakable.
+
+Taylor grinned broadly at him, for now it occurred to him that he would
+be able to thwart Carrington’s designs of “getting hold of the reins.”
+His grin at Carrington was a silent challenge, and so the other
+interpreted it, for his sneer grew positively venomous.
+
+The girl caught the exchange of glances between them, for Taylor heard
+her say to Parsons, just before the noise of the crowd drowned her
+voice:
+
+“Now I _know_ he overheard you!”
+
+Meanwhile, the two prisoners were standing near Taylor. Taylor had
+almost forgotten them. He was reminded of their presence when he saw
+Keats, the sheriff, standing near him. At just the instant Taylor looked
+at Keats, the latter was critically watching the prisoners.
+
+Keats and Taylor had had many differences of opinion, for the sheriff’s
+official actions had not merited nor received Taylor’s approval.
+Taylor’s attitude toward the man had always been that of good-natured
+banter, despite the disgust he felt for the man. And now, pursuing his
+customary attitude, Taylor called to him:
+
+“Specimens, eh! Picked them up at Toban’s this morning. They yearned to
+hold up the train. There were four, all together, but we had to put two
+out of business. I came pretty near forgetting them. If I hadn’t seen
+you just now, maybe I would have walked right off and left them here.
+Take them to jail, Keats.”
+
+Keats advanced. He met Taylor’s eyes and his lips curved with a sneer:
+
+“Pullin’ off a little grand-stand play, eh! Well, it’s a mighty clever
+idea. First you get elected mayor, an’ then you come in here, draggin’
+along a couple of mean-lookin’ hombres, an’ say they’ve tried to hold up
+the train at Toban’s. It sounds mighty fishy to me!”
+
+Taylor laughed. He heard a chuckle behind him, and he turned, to see
+Carrington grinning significantly at Keats. Taylor’s eyes chilled as his
+gaze went from one man to the other, for the exchange of glances told
+him that between the men there was a common interest, which would link
+them together against him. And in the dead silence that followed Keats’s
+words, Taylor drawled, grinning coldly:
+
+“Meaning that I’m a liar, Keats?”
+
+His voice was gentle, and his shoulders seemed to droop a little as
+though in his mind was a desire to placate Keats. But there were men in
+Dawes who had seen Taylor work his guns, and these held their breath and
+began to shove backward. That slow, drooping of Taylor’s shoulders was a
+danger signal, a silent warning that Taylor was ready for action, swift
+and violent.
+
+And faces around Taylor whitened as the man stood there facing Keats,
+his shoulders drooping still lower, the smile on his face becoming one
+of cold, grim mockery.
+
+The discomfiture of Keats was apparent. Indecision and fear were in the
+set of his head—bowed a little; and a dread reluctance was in his
+shifting eyes and the pasty-white color of his face. It was plain that
+Keats had overplayed; he had not intended to arouse the latent tiger in
+Taylor; he had meant merely to embarrass him.
+
+“Meaning that I’m a liar, Keats?”
+
+Again Taylor’s voice was gentle, though this time it carried a subtle
+taunt.
+
+Desperately harried, Keats licked his hot lips and cast a sullen glance
+around at the crowd. Then his gaze went to Taylor’s face, and he drew a
+slow breath.
+
+“I reckon I wasn’t meanin’ just that,” he said.
+
+“Of course,” smiled Taylor; “that’s no way for a sheriff to act. Take
+them in, Keats,” he added, waving a hand at the prisoners; “it’s been so
+long since the sheriff of this county arrested a man that the jail’s
+gettin’ tired, yawning for somebody to get into it.”
+
+He turned his back on Keats and looked straight at Carrington:
+
+“Have you got any ideas along the sheriff’s line?” he asked.
+
+Carrington flushed and his lips went into a sullen pout. He did not
+speak, merely shaking his head, negatively.
+
+Keats’s glance at Taylor was malignant with hate; and Carrington’s
+sullen, venomous look was not unnoticed by the crowd. Keats stepped
+forward and seized the two prisoners, hustling them away, muttering
+profanely.
+
+And then Taylor was led away by Norton and a committee of citizens,
+leaving Carrington, the girl and Parsons alone on the platform.
+
+“Looks like we’re going to have trouble lining things up,” remarked
+Parsons. “Danforth——”
+
+“You shut up!” snapped Carrington. “Danforth’s an ass and so are you!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI—A MAN MAKES PLANS
+
+
+Within an hour after his arrival in Dawes, Carrington was sitting in the
+big front room of his suite in the Castle Hotel, inspecting the town.
+
+A bay window projected over the sidewalk, and from a big leather chair
+placed almost in the center of the bay between two windows and facing a
+third, at the front, Carrington had a remarkably good view of the town.
+
+Dawes was a thriving center of activity, with reasons for its
+prosperity. Walking toward the Castle from the railroad station,
+Carrington had caught a glimpse of the big dam blocking the constricted
+neck of a wide basin west of the town—and farther westward stretched a
+vast agricultural section, level as a floor, with a carpet of green
+slumbering in the white sunlight, and dotted with young trees that
+seemed almost ready to bear.
+
+There were many small buildings on the big level, some tenthouses, and
+straight through the level was a wide, sparkling stream of water, with
+other and smaller streams intersecting it. These streams were irrigation
+ditches, and the moisture in them was giving life to a vast section of
+country that had previously been arid and dead.
+
+But Carrington’s interest had not been so much for the land as for the
+method of irrigation. To be sure, he had not stopped long to look, but
+he had comprehended the system at a glance. There were locks and flumes
+and water-gates, and plenty of water. But the irrigation company had not
+completed its system. Carrington intended to complete it.
+
+Dawes was two years old, and it had the appearance of having been
+hastily constructed. Its buildings were mostly of frame—even the
+Castle, large and pretentious, and the town’s aristocrat of hostelries,
+was of frame. Carrington smiled, for later, when he had got himself
+established, he intended to introduce an innovation in building
+material.
+
+The courthouse was a frame structure. It was directly across the street
+from the Castle, and Carrington could look into its windows and see some
+men at work inside at desks. He had no interest in the post office, for
+that was of the national government—and yet, perhaps, after a while he
+might take some interest in that.
+
+For Carrington’s vision, though selfish, was broad. A multitude of men
+of the Carrington type have taken bold positions in the eternal battle
+for progress, and all have contributed something toward the ultimate
+ideal. And not all have been scoundrels.
+
+Carrington’s vision, however, was blurred by the mote of greed. Dawes
+was flourishing; he intended to modernize it, but in the process of
+modernization he intended to be the chief recipient of the material
+profits.
+
+Carrington had washed, shaved himself, and changed his clothes; and as
+he sat in the big leather chair in the bay, overlooking the street, he
+looked smooth, sleek, and capable.
+
+He had seemed massive in the Pullman, wearing a traveling suit of some
+light material, and his corpulent waist-line had been somewhat
+accentuated.
+
+The blue serge suit he wore now made a startling change in his
+appearance. It made his shoulders seem broader; it made the wide,
+swelling arch of his chest more pronounced, and in inverse ratio it
+contracted the corpulent waist-line—almost eliminating it.
+
+Carrington looked to be what he was—a big, virile, magnetic giant of a
+man in perfect health.
+
+He had not been sitting in the leather chair for more than fifteen
+minutes when there came a knock on a door behind him.
+
+“Come!” he commanded.
+
+A tall man entered, closed the door behind him and with hat in hand
+stood looking at Carrington with a half-smile which might have been
+slightly diffident, or impudent or defiant—it was puzzling.
+
+Carrington had twisted in his chair to get a glimpse of his visitor; he
+now grunted, resumed his former position and said, gruffly:
+
+“Hello, Danforth!”
+
+Danforth stepped over to the bay, and without invitation drew up a chair
+and seated himself near Carrington.
+
+Danforth was slender, big-framed, and sinewy. His shoulders were broad
+and his waist slim. There was a stubborn thrust to his chin; his nose
+was a trifle too long to perfectly fit his face; his mouth a little too
+big, and the lips too thin. The nose had a slight droop that made one
+think of selfishness and greed, and the thin lips, with a downward
+swerve at the corners, suggested cruelty.
+
+These defects, however, were not prominent, for they were offset by a
+really distinguished head with a mass of short, curly hair that ruffled
+attractively under the brim of the felt hat he wore.
+
+The hat was in his right hand, now, but it had left its impress on his
+hair, and as he sat down he ran his free hand through it. Danforth knew
+where his attractions were.
+
+He grinned shallowly at Carrington when the latter turned and looked at
+him.
+
+He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve heard about it?”
+
+“I couldn’t help hearing.” Carrington scowled at the other. “What in
+hell was wrong? We send you out here, give you more than a year’s time
+and all the money you want—which has been plenty—and then you lose.
+What in the devil was the matter?”
+
+“Too much Taylor,” smirked the other.
+
+“But what else?”
+
+“Nothing else—just Taylor.”
+
+Carrington exclaimed profanely.
+
+“Why, the man didn’t even know he was a candidate! He was on the train I
+came in on!”
+
+“It was Neil Norton’s scheme,” explained Danforth. “I had _him_ beaten
+to a frazzle. I suppose he knew it. Two days before election he suddenly
+withdrew his name and substituted Taylor’s. You know what happened. He
+licked me two to one. He was too popular for me—damn him!
+
+“Norton owns a newspaper here—the only one in the county—the _Eagle_.”
+
+“Why didn’t you buy him?”
+
+Danforth grinned sarcastically: “I didn’t feel that reckless.”
+
+“Honest, eh?”
+
+Carrington rested his chin in the palm of his right hand and scowled
+into the street. He was convinced that Danforth had done everything he
+could to win the election, and he was bitterly chagrined over the
+result. But that result was not the dominating thought in his mind. He
+kept seeing Taylor as the latter had stood on the station platform,
+stunned with surprise over the knowledge that he had been so signally
+honored by the people of Dawes.
+
+And Carrington had seen Marion Harlan’s glances at the man; he had been
+aware of the admiring smile she had given Taylor; and bitter passion
+gripped Carrington at the recollection of the smile.
+
+More—he had seen Taylor’s face when the girl had smiled. The smile had
+thrilled Taylor—it had held promise for him, and Carrington knew it.
+
+Carrington continued to stare out into the street. Danforth watched him
+furtively, in silence.
+
+At last, not opening his lips, Carrington spoke:
+
+“Tell me about this man, Taylor.”
+
+“Taylor owns the Arrow ranch, in the basin south of here. His ranch
+covers about twenty thousand acres. He has a clear title.
+
+“According to report, he employs about thirty men. They are holy
+terrors—that is, they are what is called ‘hard cases,’ though they are
+not outlaws by any means. Just a devil-may-care bunch that raises hell
+when it strikes town. They swear by Taylor.”
+
+So far as Carrington could see, everybody in Dawes swore by Taylor.
+Carrington grimaced.
+
+“That isn’t what I want to know,” he flared. “How long has he been here;
+what kind of a fellow is he?”
+
+“Taylor owned the Arrow before Dawes was founded. When the railroad came
+through it brought with it some land-sharks that tried to frame up on
+the ranch-owners in the vicinity. It was a slick scheme, they tell me.
+They had clouded every title, and figured to grab the whole county, it
+seems.
+
+“Taylor went after them. People I’ve talked with here say it was a dandy
+shindy while it lasted. The land-grabbers brought the courts in, and a
+crooked judge. Taylor fought them, crooked judge and all, to a
+bite-the-dust finish. Toward the end it was a free-for-all—and the
+land-grabbers were chased out of the county.
+
+“Naturally, the folks around here think a lot of Taylor for the part he
+played in the deal. Besides that, he’s a man that makes friends
+quickly—and holds them.”
+
+“Has Taylor any interests besides his ranch?”
+
+“A share in the water company, I believe. He owns some land in town; and
+he is usually on all the public committees here.”
+
+“About thirty, isn’t he?”
+
+“Twenty-eight.”
+
+Carrington looked at the other with a sidelong, sneering grin:
+
+“Have any ladies come into his young life?”
+
+Danforth snickered. “You’ve got me—I hadn’t inquired. He doesn’t seem
+to be much of a ladies’ man, though, I take it. Doesn’t seem to have
+time to monkey with them.”
+
+“H-m!” Carrington’s lips went into a pout as he stared straight ahead of
+him.
+
+Danforth at last broke a long silence with:
+
+“Well, we got licked, all right. What’s going to happen now? Are you
+going to quit?”
+
+“Quit?” Carrington snapped the word at the other, his eyes flaming with
+rage. Then he laughed, mirthlessly, resuming: “This defeat was
+unexpected; I wasn’t set for it. But it won’t alter things—very much.
+I’ll have to shake a leg, that’s all. What time does the next train
+leave here for the capital?”
+
+“At two o’clock this afternoon.” Danforth’s eyes widened as he looked at
+Carrington. The curiosity in his glance caused Carrington to laugh
+shortly.
+
+“You don’t mean that the governor is in this thing?” said Danforth.
+
+“Why not?” demanded Carrington. “Bah! Do you think I came in with my
+eyes closed!”
+
+There was a new light in Danforth’s eyes—the flame of renewed hope.
+
+“Then we’ve still got a chance,” he declared.
+
+Carrington laughed. “A too-popular mayor is not a good thing for a
+town,” he said significantly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII—THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
+
+
+Marion Harlan and her uncle, Elam Parsons, did not accompany Carrington
+to the Castle Hotel. By telegraph, through Danforth, Carrington had
+bought a house near Dawes, and shortly after Quinton Taylor left the
+station platform accompanied by his friends and admirers, Marion and her
+uncle were in a buckboard riding toward the place that, henceforth, was
+to be their home.
+
+For that question had been settled before the party left Westwood.
+Parsons had declared his future activities were to be centered in Dawes,
+that he had no further interests to keep him in Westwood, and that he
+intended to make his home in Dawes.
+
+Certainly Marion had few interests in the town that had been the scene
+of the domestic tragedy that had left her parentless. She was glad to
+get away. For though she had not been to blame for what had happened,
+she was painfully conscious of the stares that followed her everywhere,
+and aware of the morbid curiosity with which her neighbors regarded her.
+Also—through the medium of certain of her “friends,” she had become
+cognizant of speculative whisperings, such as: “To think of being
+brought up like that? Do you think she will be like her mother?”
+Or—“What’s bred in the bone, _et cetera_.”
+
+Perhaps these good people did not mean to be unkind; certainly the
+crimson stains that colored the girl’s cheeks when she passed them
+should have won their charity and their silence.
+
+There was nothing in Westwood for her; and so she was glad to get away.
+And the trip westward toward Dawes opened a new vista of life to her.
+She was leaving the old and the tragic and adventuring into the new and
+promising, where she could face life without the onus of a shame that
+had not been hers.
+
+Before she was half way to Dawes she had forgotten Westwood and its
+wagging tongues. She alone, of all the passengers in the Pullman, had
+not been aware of the heat and the discomfort. She had loved every foot
+of the great prairie land that, green and beautiful, had flashed past
+the car window; she had gazed with eager, interested eyes into the far
+reaches of the desert through which she had passed, filling her soul
+with the mystic beauty of this new world, reveling in its vastness and
+in the atmosphere of calm that seemed to engulf it.
+
+Dawes had not disappointed her; on the contrary, she loved it at first
+sight. For though Dawes was new and crude, it looked rugged and
+honest—and rather too busy to hesitate for the purpose of indulging in
+gossip—idle or otherwise. Dawes, she was certain, was occupying itself
+with progress—a thing that, long since, Westwood had forgotten.
+
+Five minutes after she had entered the buckboard, the spirit of this new
+world had seized upon the girl and she was athrob and atingle with the
+joy of it. It filled her veins; it made her cheeks flame and her eyes
+dance. And the strange aroma—the pungent breath of the sage, borne to
+her on the slight breeze—she drew into her lungs with great long
+breaths that seemed to intoxicate her.
+
+“Oh,” she exclaimed delightedly, “isn’t it great! Oh, I love it!”
+
+Elam Parsons grinned at her—the habitual smirk with which he recognized
+all emotion not his own.
+
+“It _does_ look like a good field for business,” he conceded.
+
+The girl looked at him quickly, divined the sordidness of his thoughts,
+and puckered her brows in a frown. And thereafter she enjoyed the
+esthetic beauties of her world without seeking confirmation from her
+uncle.
+
+Her delight grew as the journey to the new home progressed. She saw the
+fertile farming country stretching far in the big section of country
+beyond the water-filled basin; her eyes glowed as the irrigation
+ditches, with their locks and gates, came under her observation; and she
+sat silent, awed by the mightiness of it all—the tall, majestic
+mountains looming somberly many miles distant behind a glowing
+mist—like a rose veil or a gauze curtain lowered to partly conceal the
+mystic beauty of them.
+
+Intervening were hills and flats and draws and valleys, and miles and
+miles of level grass land, green and peaceful in the shimmering sunlight
+that came from somewhere near the center of the big, pale-blue inverted
+bowl of sky; she caught the silvery glitter of a river that wound its
+way through the country like a monstrous serpent; she saw dark blotches,
+miles long, which she knew were forests, for she could see the spires of
+trees thrusting upward. But from where she rode the trees seemed to be
+no larger than bushes.
+
+Looking backward, she could see Dawes. Already the buckboard had
+traveled two or three miles, but the town seemed near, and she had quite
+a shock when she looked back at it and saw the buildings, mere huddled
+shanties, spoiling the beauty of her picture.
+
+A mile or so farther—four miles altogether, Parsons told her—and they
+came in sight of a house. She had difficulty restraining her delight
+when they climbed out of the buckboard and Parsons told her the place
+was to be their permanent home. For it was such a house as she had
+longed to live in all the days of her life.
+
+The first impression it gave her was that of spaciousness. For though
+only one story in height, the house contained many rooms. Those,
+however, she saw later.
+
+The exterior was what intrigued her interest at first glance. So far as
+she knew, it was the only brick building in the country. She had seen
+none such in Dawes.
+
+There was a big porch across the front; the windows were large; there
+were vines and plants thriving in the shade from some big cottonwood
+trees near by—in fact, the house seemed to have been built in a grove
+of the giant trees; there were several outhouses, one of which had
+chickens in an enclosure near it; there was a garden, well-kept; and the
+girl saw that back of the house ran a little stream which flowed sharply
+downward, later to tumble into the big basin far below the irrigation
+dam.
+
+While Parsons was superintending the unloading of the buckboard, Marion
+explored the house. It was completely furnished, and her eyes glowed
+with pleasure as she inspected it. And when Parsons and the driver were
+carrying the baggage in she was outside the house, standing at the edge
+of a butte whose precipitous walls descended sharply to the floor of the
+irrigation basin, two or three hundred feet below. She could no longer
+see the cultivated level, with its irrigation ditches, but she could see
+the big dam, a mile or so up the valley toward Dawes, with the water
+creeping over it, and the big valley itself, slumbering in the pure,
+white light of the morning.
+
+She went inside, slightly awed, and Parsons, noting her excitement,
+smirked at her. She left him and went to her room. Emerging later she
+discovered that Parsons was not in the house. She saw him, however, at a
+distance, looking out into the valley.
+
+And then, in the kitchen, Marion came upon the housekeeper, a negro
+woman of uncertain age. Parsons had not told her there was to be a
+housekeeper.
+
+The negro woman grinned broadly at her astonishment.
+
+“Lawsey, ma’am; you jes’ got to have a housekeeper, I reckon! How you
+ever git along without a housekeeper? You’re too fine an’ dainty to keep
+house you’self!”
+
+The woman’s name, the latter told her, was Martha, and there was honest
+delight—and, it seemed to Marion, downright relief in her eyes when she
+looked at the new mistress.
+
+“You ain’t got no ‘past,’ that’s certain, honey,” she declared, with a
+delighted smile. “The woman that lived here befo’ had a past, honey. A
+man named Huggins lived in this house, an’ she said she’s his wife.
+Wife! Lawsey! No man has a wife like that! She had a past, that woman,
+an’ mebbe a present, too—he, he, he!
+
+“He was the man what put the railroad through here, honey. I done hear
+the woman say—her name was Blanche, honey—that Huggins was one of them
+ultra rich. But whatever it was that ailed him, honey, didn’t help his
+looks none. Pig-eye, I used to call him, when I’se mad at him—which was
+mostly all the time—he, he, he!”
+
+The girl’s face whitened. Was she never to escape the atmosphere she
+loathed? She shuddered and Martha patted her sympathetically on the
+shoulder.
+
+“There, there, honey; you ain’t ’sponsible for other folks’ affairs.
+Jes’ you hold you’ head up an’ go about you’ business. Nobody say
+anything to you because you’ livin’ here.”
+
+But Martha’s words neither comforted nor consoled the girl. She went
+again to her room and sat for a long time, looking out of a window. For
+now all the cheer had gone out of the house; the rooms looked dull and
+dreary—and empty, as of something gone out of them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII—CONCERNING “SQUINT”
+
+
+Marion Harlan had responded eagerly to Carrington’s fabrication
+regarding the rumor of Lawrence Harlan’s presence in Dawes. Carrington’s
+reference to her father’s sojourn in the town had been vague—he merely
+told her that a rumor had reached him—a man’s word, without
+details—and she had accepted it at its face value. She was impatient to
+run the rumor down, to personally satisfy herself, and she believed
+Carrington.
+
+But she spent a fruitless week interrogating people in Dawes. She had
+gone to the courthouse, there to pass long hours searching the
+records—and had found nothing. Then, systematically, she had gone from
+store to store—making small purchases and quizzing everyone she came in
+contact with. None had known a man named Harlan; it seemed that not one
+person in Dawes had ever heard of him.
+
+Parsons had returned to town in the buckboard shortly after noon on the
+day of their arrival at the new house, and she had not seen him again
+until the following morning. Then he had told her that Carrington had
+gone away—he did not know where. Carrington would not return for a week
+or two, he inferred.
+
+Parsons had bought some horses. A little bay, short-coupled but wiry,
+belonged to her, Parsons said—it was a present from Carrington.
+
+She hesitated to accept the horse; but the little animal won her regard
+by his affectionate mannerisms, and at the end of a day of doubt and
+indecision she accepted him.
+
+She had ridden horses in Westwood—bareback when no one had been
+looking, and with a side-saddle at other times—but she discovered no
+side-saddle in Dawes. However, she did encounter no difficulty in
+unearthing a riding-habit with a divided skirt, and though she got into
+that with a pulse of trepidation and embarrassment, she soon discovered
+it to be most comfortable and convenient.
+
+And Dawes did not stare at her because she rode “straddle.” At first she
+was fearful, and watched Dawes’s citizens furtively; but when she saw
+that she attracted no attention other than would be attracted by any
+good-looking young woman in more conventional attire, she felt more at
+ease. But she could not help thinking about the sanctimonious
+inhabitants of Westwood. Would they not have declared their kindly
+predictions vindicated had they been permitted to see her? She could
+almost hear the chorus of “I-told-you-so’s”—they rang in her ears over
+a distance of many hundreds of miles!
+
+But the spirit of the young, unfettered country had got into her soul,
+and she went her way unmindful of Westwood’s opinions.
+
+For three days she continued her search for tidings of her father, eager
+and hopeful; and then for the remainder of the week she did her
+searching mechanically, doggedly, with a presentiment of failure to
+harass her.
+
+And then one morning, when she was standing beside her horse near the
+stable door, ready to mount and fully determined to pursue the
+Carrington rumor to the end, the word she sought was brought to her.
+
+She saw a horseman coming toward her from the direction of Dawes. He was
+not Parsons—for the rider was short and broad; and besides, Parsons was
+spending most of his time in Dawes.
+
+The girl watched the rider, assured, as he came nearer, that he was a
+stranger; and when he turned his horse toward her, and she saw he _was_
+a stranger, she leaned close and whispered to her own animal:
+
+“Oh, Billy; what if it _should_ be!”
+
+An instant later she was watching the stranger dismount within a few
+feet of where she was standing.
+
+He was short and stocky, and undeniably Irish. He was far past middle
+age, as his gray hair and seamed wrinkles of his face indicated; but
+there was the light of a youthful spirit and good-nature in his eyes
+that squinted at the girl with a quizzical interest.
+
+With the bridle-rein in the crook of his elbow and his hat in his hand,
+he bowed elaborately to the girl.
+
+“Would ye be Miss Harlan, ma’am?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” she breathed, her face alight with eagerness, for now since the
+man had spoken her name the presentiment of news grew stronger.
+
+The man’s face flashed into a wide, delighted grin and he reached out a
+hand, into which she placed one of hers, hardly knowing that she did it.
+
+“Me name’s Ben Mullarky, ma’am. I’ve got a little shack down on the
+Rabbit-Ear—which is a crick, for all the name some locoed ignoramus
+give it. You c’ud see the shack from here, ma’am—if ye’d look sharp.”
+
+He pointed out a spot to her—a wooded section far out in the big level
+country southward, beside the river—and she saw the roof of a building
+near the edge of the timber.
+
+“That’s me shack,” offered Mullarky. “Me ol’ woman an’ meself owns
+her—an’ a quarter-section—all proved. We call it seven miles from the
+shack to Dawes. That’d make it about three from here.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said the girl eagerly.
+
+He grinned at her. “Comin’ in to town this mornin’ for some knickknacks
+for me ol’ woman, I hear from Coleman—who keeps a store—that there’s a
+fine-lookin’ girl named Harlan searchin’ the country for news of her
+father, Larry Harlan. I knowed him, ma’am.”
+
+“You did? Oh, how wonderful!” She stood erect, breathing fast, her eyes
+glowing with mingled joy and impatience. She had not caught the
+significance of Mullarky’s picturesque past tense, “knowed;” but when he
+repeated it, with just a slight emphasis:
+
+“I _knowed_ him, ma’am,” she drew a quick, full breath and her face
+whitened.
+
+“You knew him,” she said slowly. “Does that mean——”
+
+Mullarky scratched his head and looked downward, not meeting her eyes.
+
+“Squint Taylor would tell you the story, ma’am,” he said. “You see,
+ma’am, he worked for Squint, an’ Squint was with him when it happened.”
+
+“He’s dead, then?” She stood rigid, tense, searching Mullarky’s face
+with wide, dreading eyes, and when she saw his gaze shift under hers she
+drew a deep sigh and leaned against Billy, covering her face with her
+hands.
+
+Mullarky did not attempt to disturb her; he stood, looking glumly at
+her, reproaching himself for his awkwardness in breaking the news to
+her.
+
+It was some minutes before she faced him again, and then she was pale
+and composed, except for the haunting sadness that had come into her
+eyes.
+
+“Thank you,” she said. “Can you tell me where I can find Mr.
+Taylor—‘Squint,’ you called him? Is that the Taylor who was elected
+mayor—last week?”
+
+“The same, ma’am.” He turned and pointed southward, into the big, level
+country that she admired so much.
+
+“Do you see that big timber grove ’way off there—where the crick
+doubles to the north—with that big green patch beyond?” She nodded.
+“That’s Taylor’s ranch—the Arrow. You’ll find him there. He’s a mighty
+fine man, ma’am. Larry Harlan would tell you that if he was here. Taylor
+was the best friend that Larry Harlan ever had—out here.” He looked at
+her pityingly. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to be the bearer of ill news; but when
+I heard you was in town, lookin’ for your father, I couldn’t help comin’
+to see you.”
+
+She asked some questions about her father—which Mullarky answered;
+though he could tell her nothing that would acquaint her with the
+details of her father’s life between the time he had left Westwood and
+the day of his appearance in this section of the world.
+
+“Mebbe Taylor will know, ma’am,” he repeated again and again. And then,
+when she thanked him once more and mounted her horse, he said:
+
+“You’ll be goin’ to see Squint right away, ma’am, I suppose. You can
+ease your horse right down the slope, here, an’ strike the level. You’ll
+find a trail right down there. You’ll follow it along the crick, an’
+it’ll take you into the Arrow ranchhouse. It’ll take you past me own
+shack, too; an’ if you’ll stop in an’ tell the ol’ woman who you are,
+she’ll be tickled to give you a snack an’ a cup of tea. She liked Larry
+herself.”
+
+The girl watched Mullarky ride away. He turned in the saddle, at
+intervals, to grin at her.
+
+Then, when Mullarky had gone she leaned against Billy and stood for a
+long time, her shoulders quivering.
+
+At last, though, she mounted the little animal and sent him down the
+slope.
+
+She found the trail about which Mullarky had spoken, and rode it
+steadily; though she saw little of the wild, virgin country through
+which she passed, because her brimming eyes blurred it all.
+
+She came at last to Mullarky’s shack, and a stout, motherly woman, with
+an ample bosom and a kindly face, welcomed her.
+
+“So you’re Larry Harlan’s daughter,” said Mrs. Mullarky, when her
+insistence had brought the girl inside the cabin; “you poor darlin’. An’
+Ben told you—the blunderin’ idiot. He’ll have a piece of my mind when
+he comes back! An’ you’re stoppin’ at the old Huggins house, eh?” She
+looked sharply at the girl, and the latter’s face reddened. Whereat Mrs.
+Mullarky patted her shoulder and murmured:
+
+“It ain’t your fault that there’s indacint women in the world; an’ no
+taint of them will ever reach you. But the fools in this world is always
+waggin’ their tongues, associatin’ what’s happened with what they think
+will happen. An’ mebbe they’ll wonder about you. It’s your uncle that’s
+there with you, you say? Well, then, don’t you worry. You run right
+along to see Squint Taylor, now, an’ find out what he knows about your
+father. Taylor’s a mighty fine man, darlin’.”
+
+And so Marion went on her way again, grateful for Mrs. Mullarky’s
+kindness, but depressed over the knowledge that the atmosphere of
+suspicion, which had enveloped her in Westwood, had followed her into
+this new country which, she had hoped, would have been more friendly.
+
+She came in sight of the Arrow ranchhouse presently, and gazed at it
+admiringly. It was a big building, of adobe brick, with a wide porch—or
+gallery—entirely surrounding it. It was in the center of a big space,
+with timber flanking it on three sides, and at the north was a green
+stretch of level that reached to the sloping banks of a river.
+
+There were several smaller buildings; a big, fenced enclosure—the
+corrals, she supposed; a pasture, and a garden. Everything was in
+perfect order, and had it not been for the aroma of the sage that
+assailed her nostrils, the awe-inspiring bigness of it all, the sight of
+thousands of cattle—which she could see through the trees beyond the
+clearing, she could have likened the place to a big eastern farmhouse of
+the better class, isolated and prosperous.
+
+She dismounted from her horse at a corner of the house, near a door that
+opened upon the wide porch, and stood, pale and hesitant, looking at the
+door, which was closed.
+
+And as she stared at the door, it swung inward and Quinton Taylor
+appeared in the opening.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX—A MAN LIES
+
+
+Taylor was arrayed as Marion had mentally pictured him that day when, in
+the Pullman, she had associated him with ranches and ranges. Evidently
+he was ready to ride, for leather chaps incased his legs. The chaps were
+plain, not even adorned with the spangles of the drawings she had seen;
+and they were well-worn and shiny in spots. A pair of big, Mexican spurs
+were on the heels of his boots; the inevitable cartridge-belt about his
+middle, sagging with the heavy pistol; a quirt dangled from his left
+hand. Assuredly he belonged in this environment—he even seemed to
+dominate it.
+
+She had wondered how he would greet her; but his greeting was not at all
+what she had feared it would be. For he did not presume upon their
+meeting on the train; he gave no sign that he had ever seen her before;
+there was not even a glint in his eyes to tell her that he remembered
+the scornful look she had given him when she discovered him listening to
+the conversation carried on between her uncle and Carrington. His manner
+indicated that if _she_ did not care to mention the matter _he_ would
+not. His face was grave as he stepped across the porch and stood before
+her. And he said merely:
+
+“Are you looking for someone, ma’am?”
+
+“I came to see you, Mr. Taylor,” she said. (And then he knew that the
+negro porter on the train had not lied when he said the girl had paid
+him for certain information.)
+
+But Taylor’s face was still grave, for he thought he knew what she had
+come for. He had overheard a great deal of the conversation between
+Parsons and Carrington in the dining-car, and he remembered such phrases
+as: “That fairy tale about her father having been seen in this locality;
+To get her out here, where there isn’t a hell of a lot of law, and a
+man’s will is the only thing that governs him;” and, “Then you lied
+about Lawrence Harlan having been seen in this country.” Also, he
+remembered distinctly another phrase, uttered by Carrington: “That you
+framed up on her mother, to get her to leave Larry.”
+
+All of that conversation was vivid in Taylor’s mind, and mingled with
+the recollection of it now was a grim pity for the girl, for the
+hypocritical character of her supposed friends.
+
+To be sure, the girl did not know that Parsons had lied about her father
+having been seen in the vicinity of Dawes; but that did not alter the
+fact that Larry Harlan had really been here; and Taylor surmised that
+she had made inquiries, thus discovering that there was truth in
+Carrington’s statement.
+
+He got a chair for her and seated himself on the porch railing.
+
+“You came to see me?” he said, encouragingly.
+
+“I am Marion Harlan, the daughter of Lawrence Harlan,” began the girl.
+And then she paused to note the effect of her words on Taylor.
+
+So far as she could see, there was no sign of emotion on Taylor’s face.
+He nodded, looking steadily at her.
+
+“And you are seeking news of your father,” he said. “Who told you to
+come to me?”
+
+“A man named Ben Mullarky. He said my father had worked for you—that
+you had been his best friend.”
+
+She saw his lips come together in straight lines.
+
+“Poor Larry. You knew he died, Miss Harlan?”
+
+“Mullarky told me.” The girl’s eyes moistened. “And I should like to
+know something about him—how he lived after—after he left home;
+whether he was happy—all about him. You see, Mr. Taylor, I loved him!”
+
+“And Larry Harlan loved his daughter,” said Taylor softly.
+
+He began to tell her of her father; how several years before Harlan had
+come to him, seeking employment; how Larry and himself had formed a
+friendship; how they had gone together in search of the gold that Larry
+claimed to have discovered in the Sangre de Christo Mountains; of the
+injury Larry had suffered, and how the man had died while he himself had
+been taking him toward civilization and assistance.
+
+During the recital, however, one thought dominated him, reddening his
+face with visible evidence of the sense of guilt that had seized him. He
+must deliberately lie to the daughter of the man who had been his
+friend.
+
+In his pocket at this instant was Larry’s note to him, in which the man
+had expressed his fear of fortune-hunters. Taylor remembered the exact
+words:
+
+  Marion will have considerable money and I don’t want no sneak to get
+  hold of it—like the sneak that got hold of the money my wife had,
+  that I saved. There’s a lot of them around. If Marion is going to
+  fall in with one of that kind, I’d rather she wouldn’t get what I
+  leave; the man would get it away from her. Use your own judgment and
+  I’ll be satisfied.
+
+And Taylor’s judgment was that Carrington and Parsons were
+fortune-hunters; that if they discovered the girl to be entitled to a
+share of the money that had been received from the sale of the mine,
+they would endeavor to convert it to their own use. And Taylor was
+determined they should not have it.
+
+The conversation he had overheard in the dining-car had convinced him of
+their utter hypocrisy and selfishness; it had aroused in him a feeling
+of savage resentment and disgust that would not permit him to transfer a
+cent of the money to the girl as long as they held the slightest
+influence over her.
+
+Again he mentally quoted from Larry’s note to him:
+
+  The others were too selfish and sneaking. (That meant Parsons—and
+  one other.) Squint, I want you to take care of her.... Sell—the
+  mine—take my share and for it give Marion a half-interest in your
+  ranch, the Arrow. If there is any left, put it in land in
+  Dawes—that town is going to boom. Guard it for her, and marry her,
+  Squint; she’ll make you a good wife.
+
+Since the first meeting with the girl on the train Taylor had felt an
+entire sympathy with Larry Harlan in his expressed desire to have Taylor
+marry the girl; in fact, she was the first girl that Taylor had ever
+wanted to marry, and the passion in his heart for her had already passed
+the wistful stage—he was determined to have her. But that passion did
+not lessen his sense of obligation to Larry Harlan. Nor would it—if he
+could not have the girl himself—prevent him doing what he could to keep
+her from forming any sort of an alliance with the sort of man Larry had
+wished to save her from, as expressed in this passage of the note: “If
+Marion is going to fall in with one of that kind, I’d rather she
+wouldn’t get what I leave.”
+
+Therefore, since Taylor distrusted Carrington and Parsons, he had
+decided he would not tell the girl of the money her father had left—the
+share of the proceeds of the mine. He would hold it for her, as a sacred
+trust, until the time came—if it ever came—when she would have
+discovered their faithlessness—or until she needed the money. More, he
+was determined to expose the men.
+
+He knew, thanks to his eavesdropping on the train, at least something
+regarding the motives that had brought them to Dawes; Carrington’s
+words, “When we get hold of the reins,” had convinced him that they and
+the interests behind them were to endeavor to rob the people of Dawes.
+That was indicated by their attempt to have David Danforth elected mayor
+of the town.
+
+Taylor had already decided that he could not permit Marion to see the
+note her father had left, for he did not want her to feel that she was
+under any obligation—parental or otherwise—to marry him. If he won her
+at all, he wanted to win her on his merits.
+
+As a matter of fact, since he had decided to lie about the money, he was
+determined to say nothing about the note at all. He would keep silent,
+making whatever explanations that seemed to be necessary, trusting to
+time and the logical sequence of events for the desired outcome.
+
+He was forced to begin to lie at once. When he had finished the story of
+Larry’s untimely death, the girl looked straight at him.
+
+“Then you were with him when he died. Did—did he mention anyone—my
+mother—or me?”
+
+“He said: ‘Squint, there is a daughter’”—Taylor was quoting from the
+note—“‘she was fifteen when I saw her last. She looked just like
+me—thank God for that!’” Taylor blushed when he saw the girl’s face
+redden, for he knew what her thoughts were. He should not have quoted
+that sentence. He resolved to be more careful; and went on: “He told me
+I was to take care of you, to offer you a home at the Arrow—after I
+found you. I was to go to Westwood, Illinois, to find you. I suppose he
+wanted me to bring you here.”
+
+The speech was entirely unworthy, and Taylor knew it, and he eased his
+conscience by adding: “He thought, I suppose, that you would like to be
+where he had been. I’ve not touched the room he had. All his effects are
+there—everything he owned, just as he left them. I had given him a room
+in the house because I liked him (that was the truth), and I wanted him
+where I could talk to him.”
+
+“I cannot thank you enough for that!” she said earnestly. And then
+Taylor was forced to lie again, for she immediately asked: “And the
+mine? It proved to be worthless, I suppose. For,” she added, “that would
+be just father’s luck.”
+
+“The mine wasn’t what we thought it would be,” said Taylor. He was
+looking at his boots when he spoke, and he wondered if his face was as
+red as it felt.
+
+“I am not surprised.” There was no disappointment in her voice, and
+therefore Taylor knew she was not avaricious—though he knew he had not
+expected her to be. “Then he left nothing but his personal belongings?”
+she added.
+
+Taylor nodded.
+
+The girl sat for a long time, looking out over the river into the vast
+level that stretched away from it.
+
+“He has ridden there, I suppose,” she said wistfully. “He was here for
+nearly three years, you said. Then he must have been everywhere around
+here.” And she got up, gazing about her, as though she would firmly fix
+the locality for future reminiscent dreams. Then suddenly she said:
+
+“I should like to see his room—may I?”
+
+“You sure can!”
+
+She followed him into the house, and he stood in the open doorway,
+watching her as she went from place to place, looking at Larry’s
+effects.
+
+Taylor did not remain long at the door; he went out upon the porch
+again, leaving her in the room, and after a long time she joined him,
+her eyes moist, but a smile on her lips.
+
+“You’ll leave his things there—a little longer, won’t you? I should
+like to have them, and I shall come for them, some day.”
+
+“Sure,” he said. “But, look here, Miss Harlan. Why should you take his
+things? Leave them here—and come yourself. That room is yours, if you
+say the word. And a half-interest in the ranch. I was going to offer
+your father an interest in it—if he had lived——”
+
+He realized his mistake when he saw her eyes widen incredulously. And
+there was a change in her voice—it was full of doubt, of distrust
+almost.
+
+“What had father done to deserve an interest in your ranch?” she
+demanded.
+
+“Why,” he answered hesitatingly, “it’s rather hard to say. But he helped
+me much; he suggested improvements that made the place more valuable; he
+was a good man, and he took a great deal of the work off my mind—and I
+liked him,” he finished lamely.
+
+“And do you think I could do his share of the work?” she interrogated,
+looking at him with an odd smile, the meaning of which Taylor could not
+fathom.
+
+“I couldn’t expect that, of course,” he said boldly; “but I owe Harlan
+something for what he did for me, and I thought——”
+
+“You thought you would be charitable to the daughter,” she finished for
+him, with a smile in which there was gratitude and understanding.
+
+“I am sure I can’t thank you enough for feeling that way toward my
+father and myself. But I can’t accept, you know.”
+
+Taylor did know, of course. A desperate desire to make amends for his
+lying, to force upon her gratuitously what he had illegally robbed her
+of, had been the motive underlying his offer. And he would have been
+disappointed had she accepted, for that would have revealed a lack of
+spirit which he had hoped she possessed.
+
+And yet Taylor felt decidedly uncomfortable over the refusal. He wanted
+her to have what belonged to her, for he divined from the note her
+father had left that she would have need of it.
+
+He discovered by judicious questioning, by inference, and through crafty
+suggestion, that she was entirely dependent upon her uncle; that her
+uncle had bought the Huggins house, and that Carrington had made her a
+present of the horse she rode.
+
+This last bit of information, volunteered by Marion, provoked Taylor to
+a rage that made him grit his teeth.
+
+A little while longer they talked, and when the girl mounted her horse
+to ride away, they had entered into an agreement under which on Tuesdays
+and Fridays—the first Tuesday falling on the following day—Taylor was
+to be absent from the ranch. And during his absence the girl was to come
+and stay at the ranchhouse, there to occupy her father’s room and, if
+she desired, to enter the other rooms at will.
+
+As a concession to propriety, she was to bring Martha, the Huggins
+housekeeper, with her.
+
+But Taylor, after the girl had left, stood for an hour on the porch,
+watching the dust-cloud that followed the girl’s progress through the
+big basin, his face red, his soul filled with loathing for the part his
+judgment was forcing him to play. But arrayed against the loathing was a
+complacent satisfaction aroused over the thought that Carrington would
+never get the money that Larry Harlan had left to the girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X—THE FRAME-UP
+
+
+James J. Carrington was unscrupulous, but even his most devout enemy
+could not have said that he lacked vision and thoroughness. And, while
+he had been listening to Danforth in his apartment in the Castle Hotel,
+he had discovered that Neil Norton had made a technical blunder in
+electing Quinton Taylor mayor of Dawes. Perhaps that was why Carrington
+had not seemed to be very greatly disturbed over the knowledge that
+Danforth had been defeated; certainly it was why Carrington had taken
+the first train to the capital.
+
+Carrington was tingling with elation when he reached the capital; but on
+making inquiries he found that the governor had left the city the day
+before, and that he was not expected to return for several days.
+
+Carrington passed the interval renewing some acquaintances, and fuming
+with impatience in the barroom, the billiard-room, and the lobby of his
+hotel.
+
+But he was the first visitor admitted to the governor’s office when the
+latter returned.
+
+The governor was a big man, flaccid and portly, and he received
+Carrington with a big Stetson set rakishly on the back of his head and
+an enormous black cigar in his mouth. That he was not a statesman but a
+professional politician was quite as apparent from his appearance as was
+his huge, welcoming smile, a certain indication that he was on terms of
+intimate friendship with Carrington. Formerly an eastern political
+worker, and a power in the councils of his party, his appointment as
+governor of the Territory had come, not because of his ability to fill
+the position, but as a reward for the delivery of certain votes which
+had helped to make his party successful at the polls. He would be the
+last carpetbag governor of the Territory, for the Territory had at last
+been admitted to the Union; the new Legislature was even then in
+session; charters were already being issued to municipalities that
+desired self-government—and the governor, soon to quit his position as
+temporary chief, had no real interest in the new régime, and no desire
+to aid in eliminating the inevitable confusion.
+
+“Take a seat, Jim,” he invited, “and have a cigar. My secretary tells me
+you’ve been buzzing around here like a bee lost from the hive, for the
+past week.” He grinned hugely at Carrington, poking the latter playfully
+in the ribs as Carrington essayed to light the cigar that had been given
+him.
+
+“Worried about that man Taylor, in Dawes, eh?” he went on, as Carrington
+smoked. “Well, it _was_ too bad that Danforth didn’t trim him, wasn’t
+it? But”—and his eyes narrowed—“I’m still governor, and Taylor isn’t
+mayor yet—and never will be!”
+
+Carrington smiled. “You saw the mistake, too, eh?”
+
+“Saw it!” boomed the governor. “I’ve been watching that town as a cat
+watches a mouse. Itching for the clean-up, Jim,” he whispered. “Why,
+I’ve got the papers all made out—ousting him and appointing Danforth
+mayor. Right here they are.” He reached into a pigeon-hole and drew out
+some legal papers. “You can serve them yourself. Just hand them to Judge
+Littlefield—he’ll do the rest. It’s likely—if Taylor starts a fuss,
+that you’ll have to help Littlefield handle the case—arranging for
+deputies, and such. If you need any more help, just wire me. I don’t
+pack my carpetbag for a year yet, and we can do a lot of work in that
+time.”
+
+Carrington and the governor talked for an hour or more, and when
+Carrington left for the office he was grinning with pleasurable
+anticipation. For a municipality, already sovereign according to the
+laws of the people, had been delivered into his hands.
+
+Just at dusk on Tuesday evening Carrington alighted from the train at
+Dawes. He went to his rooms in the Castle, removed the stains of travel,
+descended the stairs to the dining-room, and ate heartily; then,
+stopping at the cigar-counter to light a cigar, he inquired of the clerk
+where he could find Judge Littlefield.
+
+“He’s got a house right next to the courthouse—on your left, from
+here,” the clerk told him.
+
+A few minutes later Carrington was seated opposite Judge Littlefield,
+with a table between them, in the front room of the judge’s residence.
+
+“My name is Carrington—James J.,” was Carrington’s introduction of
+himself. “I have just left the governor, and he gave me these, to hand
+over to you.” He shoved over the papers the governor had given him,
+smiling slightly at the other.
+
+The judge answered the smile with a beaming smirk.
+
+“I’ve heard of you,” he said; “the governor has often spoken of you.” He
+glanced hastily over the papers, and his smirk widened. “The good people
+of Dawes will be rather shocked over this decision, I suppose. But
+laymen _will_ confuse things—won’t they? Now, if Norton and his friends
+had come to _me_ before they decided to enter Taylor’s name, this thing
+would not have happened.”
+
+“I’m glad it _did_ happen,” laughed Carrington. “The chances are that
+even Norton would have beaten Danforth, and then the governor could not
+have interfered.”
+
+Carrington’s gaze became grim as he looked at the judge. “You are
+prepared to go the limit in this case, I suppose?” he interrogated.
+“There is a chance that Taylor and his friends will attempt to make
+trouble. But any trouble is to be handled firmly, you understand. There
+is to be no monkey business. If they accept the law’s mandates, as all
+law-abiding citizens should accept it, all well and good. And if they
+don’t—and they want trouble, we’ll give them that! Understand?”
+
+“Perfectly,” smiled the judge. “The law is not to be assailed.”
+
+Smilingly he bowed Carrington out.
+
+Carrington took a turn down the street, walking until his cigar burned
+itself out; then he entered the hotel and sat for a time in the lobby.
+Then he went to bed, satisfied that he had done a good week’s work, and
+conscious that he had launched a heavy blow at the man for whom he had
+conceived a great and bitter hatred.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI—“NO FUN FOOLING HER”
+
+
+Accompanied by Martha, who rode one of the horses Parsons had bought,
+Marion Harlan began her trip to the Arrow shortly after dawn.
+
+The girl had said nothing to Parsons regarding her meeting with Taylor
+the previous day, nor of her intention to pass the day at the Arrow. For
+she feared that Parsons might make some objection—and she wanted to go.
+
+That she feared her uncle’s deterrent influence argued that she was
+aware that she was doing wrong in going to the Arrow—even with Martha
+as chaperon; but that was, perhaps, the very reason the thought of going
+engaged her interest.
+
+She wondered many times, as she rode, with the negro woman trailing her,
+if there was not inherent in her some of those undesirable traits
+concerning which the good people of Westwood had entertained fears.
+
+The thought crimsoned her cheeks and brightened her eyes; but she knew
+she had no vicious thoughts—that she was going to the Arrow, not
+because she wanted to see Taylor again, but because she wanted to sit in
+the room that had been occupied by her father. She wanted to look again
+at his belongings, to feel his former presence—as she had felt it while
+gazing out over the vast level beyond the river, where he had ridden
+many times.
+
+She looked in on Mrs. Mullarky as they passed the Mullarky cabin, and
+when the good woman learned of her proposed visit to the Arrow, she gave
+her entire approval.
+
+“I don’t blame you, darlin’,” declared Mrs. Mullarky. “Let the world
+jabber—if it wants to. If it was me father that had been over there,
+I’d stay there, takin’ Squint Taylor at his word—an’ divvle a bit I’d
+care what the world would say about it!”
+
+So Marion rode on, slightly relieved. But the crimson stain was still on
+her cheeks when she and Martha dismounted at the porch, and she looked
+fearfully around, half-expecting that Taylor would appear from
+somewhere, having tricked her.
+
+But Taylor was nowhere in sight. A fat man appeared from somewhere in
+the vicinity of the stable, doffed his hat politely, informed her that
+he was the “stable boss” and would care for the horses; he having been
+delegated by Taylor to perform whatever service Miss Harlan desired; and
+ambled off, leading the horses, leaving the girl and Martha standing
+near the edge of the porch.
+
+Marion entered the house with a strange feeling of guilt and shame.
+Standing in the open doorway—where she had seen Taylor standing when
+she had dismounted the day before—she was afflicted with regret and
+mortification over her coming. It wasn’t right for a girl to do as she
+was doing; and for an instant she hesitated on the verge of flight.
+
+But Martha’s voice directly behind her, reassured her.
+
+“They ain’t a soul here, honey—not a soul. You’ve got the whole house
+to yo’self. This am a lark—shuah enough. He, he, he!”
+
+It was the voice of the temptress—and Marion heeded it. With a defiant
+toss of her head she entered the room, took off her hat, laid it on a
+convenient table, calmly telling Martha to do the same. Then she went
+boldly from one room to another, finally coming to a halt in the doorway
+of the room that had been occupied by her father.
+
+For her that room seemed to hallow the place. It was as though her
+father were here with her; as though there were no need of Martha being
+here with her. The thought of it removed any stigma that might have been
+attached to her coming; it made her heedless of the opinion of the world
+and its gossip-mongers.
+
+She forgot the world in her interest, and for more than an hour, with
+Martha sitting in a chair sympathetically watching her, she reveled in
+the visible proofs of her father’s occupancy of the room.
+
+Later she and Martha went out on the porch, where, seated in
+rocking-chairs—that had not been on the porch the day before—she
+filled her mental vision with pictures of her father’s life at the
+Arrow. Those pictures were imaginary, but they were intensely satisfying
+to the girl who had loved her father, for she could almost see him
+moving about her.
+
+“You shuah does look soft an’ dreamy, honey,” Martha told her once. “You
+looks jes’ like a delicate ghost. A while ago, lookin’ at you, I shuah
+was scared you was goin’ to blow away!”
+
+But Marion was not the ethereal wraith that Martha thought her. She
+proved that a little later, when, with the negro woman abetting her, she
+went into the house and prepared dinner. For she ate so heartily that
+Martha was forced to amend her former statement.
+
+“For a ghost you shuah does eat plenty, honey,” she said.
+
+Later they were out on the porch again. The big level on the other side
+of the river was flooded with a slumberous sunshine, with the glowing,
+rose haze of early afternoon enveloping it, and the girl was enjoying it
+when there came an interruption.
+
+A cowboy emerged from a building down near the corral—Marion learned
+later that the building was the bunkhouse, which meant that it was used
+as sleeping-quarters for the Arrow outfit—and walked, with the rolling
+stride so peculiar to his kind, toward the porch.
+
+He was a tall young man, red of face, and just now affected with a
+mighty embarrassment, which was revealed in the awkward manner in which
+he removed his hat and shuffled his feet as he came to a halt within a
+few feet of Marion.
+
+“The boss wants to know how you are gettin’ along, ma’am, an’ if there’s
+anything you’re wantin’?”
+
+“We are enjoying ourselves immensely, thank you; and there is nothing we
+want—particularly.”
+
+The puncher had turned to go before the girl thought of the significance
+of the “boss.”
+
+Her face was a trifle pale as she called to the puncher.
+
+“Who is your boss—if you please?” she asked.
+
+The puncher wheeled, a slow grin on his face.
+
+“Why, Squint Taylor, ma’am.”
+
+She sat erect. “Do you mean that Mr. Taylor is here?”
+
+“He’s in the bunkhouse, ma’am.”
+
+She got up, and, holding her head very erect, began to walk toward the
+room in which she had left her hat.
+
+But half-way across the porch the puncher’s voice halted her:
+
+“Squint was sayin’ you didn’t expect him to be here, an’ that I’d have
+to do the explainin’. He couldn’t come, you see.”
+
+“Ashamed, I suppose,” she said coldly.
+
+She was facing the puncher now, and she saw him grin.
+
+“Why, no, ma’am; I don’t reckon he’s a heap ashamed. But it’d be mighty
+inconvenient for him. You see, ma’am, this mornin’, when he was gittin’
+ready to ride to the south line, his cayuse got an ornery streak an’
+throwed him, sprainin’ Squint’s ankle.”
+
+The girl’s emotions suddenly reacted; the resentment she had yielded to
+became self-reproach. For she had judged hastily, and she had always
+felt that one had no right to judge hastily.
+
+And Taylor had been remarkably considerate; for he had not even
+permitted her to know of the accident until after noon. That indicated
+that he had no intention of forcing himself on her.
+
+She hesitated, saw Martha grinning into a hand, looked at the puncher’s
+expressionless face, and felt that she had been rather prudish. Her
+cheeks flushed with color.
+
+Taylor had actually been a martyr on a small scale in confining himself
+to the bunkhouse, when he could have enjoyed the comforts and
+spaciousness of the ranchhouse if it had not been for her own presence.
+
+“Is—is his ankle badly sprained?” she hesitatingly asked the now
+sober-faced puncher.
+
+“Kind of bad, ma’am; he ain’t been able to do no walkin’ on it. Been
+hobblin’ an’ swearin’, mostly, ma’am. It’s sure a trial to be near him.”
+
+“And it is warm here; it must be terribly hot in that little place!”
+
+She was at the edge of the porch now, her face radiating sympathy.
+
+“I am not surprised that he should swear!” she told the puncher, who
+grinned and muttered:
+
+“He’s sure first class at it, ma’am.”
+
+“Why,” she said, paying no attention to the puncher’s compliment of his
+employer, “he is hurt, and I have been depriving him of his house. You
+tell him to come right out of that stuffy place! Help him to come here!”
+
+And without waiting to watch the puncher depart, she darted into the
+house, pulled a big rocker out on the porch, got a pillow and arranged
+it so that it would form a resting-place for the injured man’s
+head—providing he decided to occupy the chair, which she doubted—and
+then stood on the edge of the porch, awaiting his appearance.
+
+Inside the bunkhouse the puncher was grinning at Taylor, who, with his
+right foot swathed in bandages, was sitting on a bench, anxiously
+awaiting the delivery of the puncher’s message.
+
+“Well, talk, you damned grinning inquisitor!” was Taylor’s greeting to
+the puncher. “What did she say?”
+
+“At first she didn’t seem to be a heap overjoyed to know that you was in
+this country,” said the other; “but when she heard you’d been hurt she
+sort of stampeded, invitin’ you to come an’ set on the porch with her.”
+
+Taylor got up and started for the door, the bandaged foot dragging
+clumsily.
+
+“Shucks,” drawled the puncher; “if you go to _runnin’_ to her she’ll
+have suspicions. Accordin’ to my notion, she expects you to come a
+hobblin’, same as though your leg was broke. ‘Help him to come,’ she
+told me. An’ you’re goin’ that way—you hear me! I’ll bust your ankle
+with a club before I’ll have her think I’m a liar!”
+
+“Maybe I _was_ a little eager,” grinned Taylor.
+
+An instant later he stepped out of the bunkhouse door, leaning heavily
+on the puncher’s shoulder.
+
+The two made slow progress to the porch; and Taylor’s ascent to the
+porch and his final achievement of the rocking-chair were accomplished
+slowly, with the assistance of Miss Harlan.
+
+Then, with a face almost the color of the scarlet neckerchief he wore,
+Taylor watched the retreat of the puncher.
+
+His face became redder when Miss Harlan drew another rocker close to his
+and demanded to be told the story of the accident.
+
+“My own fault,” declared Taylor. “I was in a hurry. Accidents always
+happen that way, don’t they? Slipped trying to swing on my horse, with
+him running. Missed the stirrup. Clumsy, wasn’t it?”
+
+Eager to keep his word, of course, Marion reasoned. She had insisted
+that he be gone when she arrived, and he had injured himself hurrying.
+
+She watched him as he talked of the accident. And now for the first time
+she understood why he had acquired the nickname Squint.
+
+His eyes were deep-set, though not small. He did not really squint, for
+there was plenty of room between the eyelids—which, by the way, were
+fringed with lashes that might have been the envy of any woman; but
+there were many little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which spread
+fanwise toward cheek and brow, and these created the illusion of
+squinting.
+
+Also, he had a habit of partially closing his eyes when looking directly
+at one; and at such times they held a twinkling glint that caused one to
+speculate over their meaning.
+
+Miss Harlan was certain the twinkle meant humor. But other persons had
+been equally sure the twinkle meant other emotions, or passion. Looking
+into Taylor’s eyes in the dining-car, Carrington had decided they were
+filled with cold, implacable hostility, with the promise of violence, to
+himself. And yet the squint had not been absent.
+
+Whatever had been expressed in the eyes had been sufficient to deter
+Carrington from his announced purpose to “knock hell out of” their
+owner.
+
+The girl was aware that Taylor was not handsome; that his attractions
+were not of a surface character. Something about him struck deeper than
+that. A subtle magnetism gripped her—the magnetism of strength, moral
+and mental. In his eyes she could see the signs of it; in the lines of
+his jaw and the set of his lips were suggestions of indomitability and
+force.
+
+All the visible signs were, however, glossed over with the deep, slow
+humor that radiated from him, that glowed in his eyes.
+
+It all made her conscious of a great similarity between them; for
+despite the doubts and suspicions of the people of Westwood, she had
+been able to survive—and humor had been the grace that had saved her
+from disappointment and pessimism. Those other traits in Taylor—visible
+to one who studied him—she knew for her own; and her spirits now
+responded to his.
+
+Her cheeks were glowing as she looked at him, and her eyes, half veiled
+by the drooping lashes, were dancing with mischief.
+
+“You were in that hot bunkhouse all morning,” she said. “Why didn’t you
+send word before?”
+
+“You were careful to tell me that you didn’t want me around when you
+came.”
+
+There was a gleam of reproach in his eyes.
+
+“But you were injured!”
+
+“Look how things go in the world,” he invited, narrowing his eyes at
+her. “It’s almost enough to make a man let go all holds and just drift
+along. Maybe a man would be just as well off.
+
+“Early this morning I knew I had to light out for the day, and I didn’t
+want to go any more than a gopher wants to go into a rattlesnake’s den.
+But I had to keep my word. Then Spotted Tail gets notions——”
+
+“Spotted Tail?” she interrupted.
+
+“My horse,” he grinned at her. “He gets notions. Maybe he wants to get
+away as much as I want to stay. Anyhow, he was in a hurry; and things
+shape up so that I’ve got to stay.
+
+“And then, when I hang around the bunkhouse all morning, worrying
+because I’m afraid you’ll find out that I didn’t keep my word, and that
+I’m still here, you send word that you’ll not object to me coming on the
+porch with you. I’d call that a misjudgment all around—on my part.”
+
+“Yes—it was that,” she told him. “You certainly are entitled to the
+comforts of your own house—especially when you are hurt. But are you
+sure you _worried_ because you were afraid I would discover you were
+here?”
+
+“I expect you can prove that by looking at me, Miss Harlan—noticing
+that I’ve got thin and pale-looking since you saw me last?”
+
+She threw a demure glance at him. “I am afraid you are in great danger;
+you do not look nearly as well as when I saw you, the first time, on the
+train.”
+
+He looked gravely at her.
+
+“The porter threw them out of the window,” he said. “That is, I gave him
+orders to.”
+
+“What?” she said, perplexed. “I don’t understand. What did the porter
+throw out of the window?”
+
+“My dude clothes,” he said.
+
+So he _had_ observed the ridicule in her eyes.
+
+She met his gaze, and both laughed.
+
+He had been curious about her all along, and he artfully questioned her
+about Westwood, gradually drawing from her the rather unexciting details
+of her life. Yet these details were chiefly volunteered, Taylor noticed,
+and did not result entirely from his questions.
+
+Carrington’s name came into the discussion, also, and Parsons. Taylor
+discovered that Carrington and Parsons had been partners in many
+business deals, and that they had come to Dawes because the town offered
+many possibilities. The girl quoted Carrington’s words; Taylor was
+convinced that she knew nothing of the character of the business the men
+had come to Dawes to transact.
+
+Their talk strayed to minor subjects and to those of great importance,
+ranging from a discussion of prairie hens to sage comment upon certain
+abstruse philosophy. Always, however, the personal note was dominant and
+the personal interest acute.
+
+That atmosphere—the deep interest of each for the other—made their
+conversation animated. For half the time the girl paid no attention to
+Taylor’s words. She watched him when he talked, noting the various
+shades of expression of his eyes, the curve of his lips, wondering at
+the deep music of his voice. She marveled that at first she had thought
+him uninteresting and plain.
+
+For she had discovered that he was rather good-looking; that he was
+endowed with a natural instinct to reach accurate and logical
+conclusions; that he was quiet-mannered and polite—and a gentleman. Her
+first impressions of him had not been correct, for during their talk she
+discovered through casual remarks, that Taylor had been educated with
+some care, that his ancestors were of that sturdy American stock which
+had made the settling of the eastern New-World wilderness possible, and
+that there was in his manner the unmistakable gentleness of good
+breeding.
+
+However, Taylor’s first impressions of the girl had endured without
+amendations. At a glance he had yielded to the spell of her, and the
+intimate and informal conversation carried on between them; the flashes
+of personality he caught merely served to convince him of her
+desirability.
+
+Twice during their talk Martha cleared her throat significantly and
+loudly, trying to attract their attention.
+
+The efforts bore no fruit, and Martha might have been entirely forgotten
+if she had not finally got to her feet and laid a hand on Marion’s
+shoulder.
+
+“I’s gwine to lie down a spell, honey,” she said. “You-all don’t need no
+third party to entertain you. An’ I’s powerful tiahd.” And over the
+girl’s shoulder she smiled broadly and sympathetically at Taylor.
+
+The sun was filling the western level with a glowing, golden haze when
+Miss Harlan got to her feet and announced that she was going home.
+
+“It’s the first day I have really enjoyed,” she told Taylor as she sat
+in the saddle, looking at him. He had got up and was standing at the
+porch edge. “That is, it is the first enjoyable day I have passed since
+I have been here,” she added.
+
+“I wouldn’t say that I’ve been exactly bored myself,” he grinned at her.
+“But I’m not so sure about Friday; for if you come Friday the chances
+are that my ankle will be well again, and I’ll have to make myself
+scarce. You see, my excuse will be gone.”
+
+Martha was sitting on her horse close by, and her eyes were dancing.
+
+“Don’ you go an’ bust your haid, Mr. Taylor!” she warned. “I knows
+somebuddy that would be powerful sorry if that would happen to you!”
+
+“Martha!” said Marion severely. But her eyes were eloquent as they met
+Taylor’s twinkling ones; and she saw a deep color come into Taylor’s
+cheeks.
+
+Taylor watched her until she grew dim in the distance; then he turned
+and faced the tall young puncher, who had stepped upon the porch and had
+been standing near.
+
+The puncher grinned. “Takin’ ’em off now, boss?” he asked.
+
+He pointed to the bandages on Taylor’s right foot. In one of the young
+puncher’s hands was Taylor’s right boot.
+
+“Yes,” returned Taylor.
+
+He sat down in the rocker he had occupied all afternoon, and the young
+puncher removed the bandages, revealing Taylor’s bare foot and ankle,
+with no bruise or swelling to mar the white skin.
+
+Taylor drew on the sock which the puncher drew from the boot; then he
+pulled on the boot and stood up.
+
+The puncher was grinning hugely, but no smile was on Taylor’s face.
+
+“It worked, boss,” said the puncher; “she didn’t tumble. I thought I’d
+laff my head off when I seen her fixin’ the pillow for you—an’ your
+foot not hurt more than mine. You ought to be plumb tickled, pullin’ off
+a trick like that!”
+
+“I ain’t a heap tickled,” declared Taylor glumly. “There’s no fun in
+fooling _her_!”
+
+Which indicated that Taylor’s thoughts were now serious.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII—LIFTING THE MASK
+
+
+Elam Parsons awoke early in the morning following that on which Marion
+Harlan’s visit to the Arrow occurred. He lay for a long time smiling at
+the ceiling, with a feeling that something pleasurable was in store for
+him, but not able to determine what that something was.
+
+It was not long, however, before Parsons remembered.
+
+When he had got out of bed the previous morning he had discovered the
+absence of Marion and Martha. Also, he found that two of the horses were
+missing—Marion’s, and one of the others he had personally bought.
+
+Parsons spent the day in Dawes. Shortly before dusk he got on his horse
+and rode homeward. Dismounting at the stable, he noted that the two
+absent horses had not come in. He grinned disagreeably and went into the
+house. He emerged almost instantly, for Marion and Martha had not
+returned.
+
+Later he saw them, Marion leading, coming up the slope that led to the
+level upon which the house stood.
+
+Marion had retired early, and after she had gone to her room Parsons had
+questioned Martha.
+
+Twice while getting into his clothes this morning Parsons chuckled
+audibly. There was malicious amusement in the sound.
+
+Once he caught himself saying aloud:
+
+“I knew it would come, sooner or later. And she’s picked out the
+clodhopper! This will tickle Carrington!”
+
+Again he laughed—such a laugh as the good people of Westwood might have
+used had they known what Parsons knew—that Marion Harlan had visited a
+stranger at his ranchhouse—a lonely place, far from prying eyes.
+
+Parsons hated the girl as heartily as he had hated her father. He hated
+her because of her close resemblance to her parent; and he had hated
+Larry Harlan ever since their first meeting.
+
+Parsons likewise had no affection for Carrington. They had been business
+associates for many years, and their association had been profitable for
+both; but there was none of that respect and admiration which marks many
+partnerships.
+
+On several occasions Carrington had betrayed greediness in the division
+of the spoils of their ventures. But Carrington was the strong man,
+ruthless and determined, and Parsons was forced to nurse his resentment
+in silence. He meant some day, however, to repay Carrington, and he lost
+no opportunity to harass him. And yet it had been Parsons who had
+brought Carrington to Westwood two years before. He knew Carrington; he
+knew something of the big man’s way with women, of his merciless
+treatment of them. And he had invited Carrington to Westwood, hoping
+that the big man would add Marion Harlan to his list of victims.
+
+So far, Carrington had made little progress. This fact, contrary to
+Parsons’ principles, had afforded the man secret enjoyment. He liked to
+see Carrington squirm under disappointment. He anticipated much pleasure
+in watching Carrington’s face when he should tell him where Marion had
+been the day before.
+
+He breakfasted alone—early—chuckling his joy. And shortly after he
+left the table he was on a horse, riding toward Dawes.
+
+He reached town about eight and went directly to Carrington’s rooms in
+the Castle.
+
+Carrington had shaved and washed, and was sitting at a front window,
+coatless, his hair uncombed, when Parsons knocked on the door.
+
+“You’re back, eh?” said Parsons as he took a chair near the window.
+“Danforth was telling me you went to see the governor. Did you fix it?”
+
+Carrington grinned. “Taylor was to take the oath today. He won’t take
+it—at least, not the sort of oath he expected.”
+
+“It’s lucky you knew the governor.”
+
+“H-m.” The grim grunt indicated that, governor or no governor,
+Carrington would not be denied.
+
+Parsons smirked. But Carrington detected an unusual quality in the
+smirk—something more than satisfaction over the success of the visit to
+the governor. There was malicious amusement in the smirk, and
+anticipation. Parsons’ expressed satisfaction was not over what _had_
+happened, but over what was _going_ to happen.
+
+Carrington knew Parsons, and therefore Carrington gave no sign of what
+he had seen in Parsons’ face. He talked of Dawes and of their own
+prospects. But once, when Carrington mentioned Marion Harlan, quite
+casually, he noted that Parsons’ eyes widened.
+
+But Parsons said nothing on the subject which had brought him until he
+had talked for half an hour. Then, noting that his manner had aroused
+Carrington’s interest, he said softly:
+
+“This man, Taylor, seems destined to get in your way, doesn’t he?”
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Carrington shortly.
+
+“Do you remember telling me—on the train, with this man, Taylor,
+listening—that your story to Marion, of her father having been seen in
+this locality, was a fairy tale—without foundation?”
+
+At Carrington’s nod Parsons continued:
+
+“Well, it seems it was not a fairy tale, after all. For Larry Harlan was
+in his section for two or three years!”
+
+“Who told you that?” Carrington slid forward in his chair and was
+looking hard at Parsons.
+
+Parsons was enjoying the other’s astonishment, and Parsons was not to be
+hurried—he wanted to _taste_ the flavor of his news; it was as good to
+his palate as a choice morsel of food to the palate of a disciple of
+Epicurus.
+
+“It came in a sort of roundabout way, I understand,” said Parsons. “It
+seems that during your absence Marion made a number of inquiries about
+her father. Then a man named Ben Mullarky rode over to the house and
+told her that Larry had been in this country—that he had worked for the
+Arrow.”
+
+“That’s Taylor’s ranch,” said Carrington. A deep scowl furrowed his
+forehead; his lips extended in a sullen pout.
+
+Parsons was enjoying him. “Taylor again, eh?” he said softly. “First, he
+appears on the train, where he gets an earful of something we don’t want
+him to hear; then he is elected mayor, which is detrimental to our
+interests; then we discover that Larry Harlan worked for him. _You’ll_
+be interested to know that Marion went right over to the Arrow—in fact,
+she spent part of Monday there, and practically _all_ of yesterday.
+More, Taylor has invited her to come whenever she wants to.”
+
+“She went alone?” demanded Carrington.
+
+“With Martha, my negro housekeeper. But that—” Parsons made a gesture
+of derision and went on: “Martha says Taylor was there with her, and
+that the two of them—with Martha asleep in the house—spent the entire
+afternoon on the porch, talking rather intimately.”
+
+To Parsons’ surprise Carrington did not betray the perturbation Parsons
+expected. The scowl was still furrowing his forehead, his lips were
+still in the sullen pout; but he said nothing, looking steadily at
+Parsons.
+
+At last his lips moved slightly; Parsons could see the clenched teeth
+between them.
+
+“Where’s Larry Harlan now?”
+
+Parsons related the story told him by Martha—which had been imparted to
+the negro woman by Marion in confidence—that Larry Harlan had been
+accidentally killed, searching for a mine.
+
+When Parsons finished Carrington got up. There was a grin on his face as
+he stepped to where Parsons sat and placed his two hands heavily on the
+other’s shoulders.
+
+There was a grin on his face, but his eyes were agleam with a slumbering
+passion that made Parsons catch his breath with a gasp. And his voice,
+low, and freighted with menace, caused Parsons to quake with terror.
+
+“Parsons,” he said, “I want you to understand this: I am going to be the
+law out here. I’ll run things to suit myself. I’ll have no half-hearted
+loyalty, and I’ll destroy any man who opposes me! Those who are not with
+me to the last gasp are against me!” He laughed, and Parsons felt the
+man’s hot breath on his face—so close was it to his own.
+
+“I was born a thousand years too late, Parsons!” he went on. “I am a
+robber baron brought down to date—modernized. I believe that in me
+flows the blood of a pirate, a savage, or an ancient king; I have all
+the instincts of a tribal chief whose principles are to rule or ruin!
+I’ll have no law out here but my own desires; and hypocrisy—in
+others—doesn’t appeal to me!
+
+“You’ve told me a tale that interested me, but in the telling of it you
+made one mistake—you enjoyed the discomfiture you thought it would give
+me. You tingled with malice. Just to show you that I’ll not tolerate
+disloyalty from you—even in thought—I’m going to punish you.”
+
+He dropped his big hands to Parsons’ throat, shutting off the incipient
+scream that issued from between the man’s lips. Parsons fought with all
+his strength to escape the grip of the iron fingers at his throat,
+twisting and squirming frenziedly in the chair. But the fingers
+tightened their grip, and when the man’s face began to turn blue-black,
+Carrington released him and looked down at his victim, laughing
+vibrantly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII—THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE
+
+
+Elam recovered slowly, for Carrington had choked him into
+unconsciousness. Out of the blank, dark coma Parsons came, his brain
+reeling, his body racked with agonizing pains. His hands went to his
+throat before he could open his eyes; he pulled at the flesh to ease the
+constriction that still existed there; he caught his breath in great
+gasps that shrilled through the room. And when at last he succeeded in
+getting his breath to come regularly, he opened his eyes and saw
+Carrington seated in a chair near him, watching him with a cold,
+speculative smile.
+
+He heard Carrington’s voice saying: “Pretty close, wasn’t it, Parsons?”
+But he did not answer; his vocal cords were still partially paralyzed.
+
+He closed his eyes again and stretched out in the chair. Carrington
+thought he had fainted, but Parsons was merely resting—and thinking.
+
+His thoughts were not pleasant. Many times during the years of their
+association he had seen the beast in Carrington’s eyes, but this was the
+first time Carrington had even shown it in his presence, naked and ugly.
+Carrington had told him many times that were he not hemmed in with laws
+and courts he would tramp ruthlessly over every obstacle that got in his
+way; and Parsons knew now that the man had meant what he said. The beast
+in him was rampant; his passions were to have free rein; he had thrown
+off the shackles of civilization and was prepared to do murder to attain
+his aims.
+
+Parsons realized his own precarious predicament. Carrington controlled
+every cent Parsons owned—it was in the common pool, which was in
+Carrington’s charge. Parsons might leave Dawes, but his money must
+stay—Carrington would never give it up. More, Parsons was now afraid to
+ask for an accounting or a division, for fear Carrington would kill him.
+
+Parsons knew he must stay in Dawes, and that from now on he must play
+lackey to the master who, at last in an environment that suited him, had
+so ruthlessly demonstrated his principles.
+
+In a spirit of abject surrender Parsons again opened his eyes and sat
+up. Carrington rose and again stood over him.
+
+“You understand now, Parsons, I’m running things. You stay in the
+background. If you interfere with me I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you if you
+laugh at me again. Your job out here is to take care of Marion Harlan.
+You’re to keep her here. If she gets away I’ll manhandle you! Now get
+out of here!”
+
+An hour later Parsons was sitting on the front porch of the big house,
+staring vacantly out into the big level below him, his heart full of
+hatred and impotent resentment; his brain, formerly full of craft and
+guile, now temporarily atrophied through its attempts to comprehend the
+new character of the man who had throttled him.
+
+In Dawes, Carrington was getting into his clothing. He was smiling, his
+eyes glowing with grim satisfaction. At nine o’clock Carrington
+descended the stairs, stopped in the hotel lobby to light a cigar; then
+crossed the street and went into the courthouse, where he was greeted
+effusively by Judge Littlefield. Quinton Taylor, too, was going to the
+courthouse.
+
+This morning at ten o’clock, according to information received from Neil
+Norton—sent to Taylor by messenger the night before—Taylor was to take
+the oath of office.
+
+Taylor was conscious of the honor bestowed upon him by the people of
+Dawes, though at first he had demurred, pointing out that he was not
+actually a resident of the town—the Arrow lying seven miles southward.
+But this objection had been met and dismissed by his friends, who had
+insisted that he was a resident of the town by virtue of his large
+interests there, and from the fact that he occupied an apartment above
+the Dawes bank, and that he spent more time in it than he spent in the
+Arrow ranchhouse.
+
+But on the ride to Dawes—on Spotted Tail—(this morning wonderfully
+docile despite Tuesday’s slander by his master)—Taylor’s thoughts dwelt
+not upon the honor that was to be his, but upon the questionable trick
+he had played on Marion Harlan, with the able assistance of the tall
+young puncher, Bud Hemmingway.
+
+He looked down at the foot, now unbandaged, with a frown. The girl’s
+complete and matter-of-fact belief in the story of his injury; her
+sympathy and deep concern; the self-accusation in her eyes; the instant
+pardon she had granted him for staying at the ranchhouse when he should
+not have stayed—all these he arrayed against the bald fact that he had
+tricked her. And he felt decidedly guilty.
+
+And yet somehow there was some justification for the trick. It was the
+justification of desire. The things a man wants are not to be denied by
+the narrow standards of custom. Does a man miss an opportunity to
+establish acquaintance with a girl he has fallen in love with, merely
+because custom has decreed that she shall not come unattended—save by a
+negro woman—to his house?
+
+Taylor made desire his justification, and his sense of guilt was
+dispelled by half.
+
+Nor was the guilt so poignant that it rested heavily on his conscience
+since he had done no harm to the girl.
+
+What harm had been done had been done to Taylor himself. He kept seeing
+Marion as she sat on the porch, and the spell of her had seized him so
+firmly that last night, after she had left, the ranchhouse had seemed to
+be nothing more than four walls out of which all the life had gone. He
+felt lonesome this morning, and was in the grip of a nameless longing.
+
+All the humor had departed from him. For the first time in all his days
+a conception of the meaning of life assailed him, revealing to him a
+glimpse of the difficulties of a man in love. For a man may love a girl:
+his difficulties begin when the girl seems to become unattainable.
+
+Looming large in Taylor’s thoughts this morning was Carrington. Having
+overheard Carrington talking of her on the train, Taylor thought he knew
+what Carrington wanted; but he was in doubt regarding the state of the
+girl’s feelings toward the man. Had she yielded to the man’s intense
+personal magnetism?
+
+Carrington was handsome; there was no doubt that almost any girl would
+be flattered by his attentions. And had Carrington been worthy of
+Marion, Taylor would have entertained no hope of success—he would not
+even have thought of it.
+
+But he had overheard Carrington; he knew the man’s nature was vile and
+bestial; and already he hated him with a fervor that made his blood riot
+when he thought of him.
+
+When he reached Dawes he found himself hoping that Marion would not be
+in town to see that his ankle was unbandaged. But he might have saved
+himself that throb of perturbation, for at that minute Marion was
+standing in the front room of the big house, looking out of one of the
+windows at Parsons, wondering what had happened to make him seem so glum
+and abstracted.
+
+When Taylor dismounted in front of the courthouse there were several men
+grouped on the sidewalk near the door.
+
+Neil Norton was in the group, and he came forward, smiling.
+
+“We’re here to witness the ceremony,” he told Taylor.
+
+Taylor’s greeting to the other men was not that of the professional
+politician. He merely grinned at them and returned a short: “Well, let’s
+get it over with,” to Norton’s remark. Then, followed by his friends, he
+entered the courthouse.
+
+Taylor knew Judge Littlefield. He had no admiration for the man, and yet
+his greeting was polite and courteous—it was the greeting of an
+American citizen to an official.
+
+Taylor’s first quick glance about the interior of the courthouse showed
+him Carrington. The latter was sitting in an armchair near a window
+toward the rear of the room. He smiled as Taylor’s glance swept him, but
+Taylor might not have seen the smile. For Taylor was deeply interested
+in other things.
+
+A conception of the serious responsibility that he was to accept
+assailed him. Until now the thing had been entirely personal; his
+thoughts had centered upon the honor that was to be his—his friends had
+selected him for an important position. And yet Taylor was not vain.
+
+Now, however, ready to accept the oath of office, he realized that he
+was to become the servant of the municipality; that these friends of his
+had elected him not merely to honor him but because they trusted him,
+because they were convinced that he would administer the affairs of the
+young town capably and in a fair and impartial manner. They depended
+upon him for justice, advice, and guidance.
+
+All these things, to be sure, Taylor would give them to the best of his
+ability. They must have known that or they would not have elected him.
+
+These thoughts sobered him as he walked to the little wooden railing in
+front of the judge’s desk; and his face was grave as he looked at the
+other.
+
+“I am ready to take the oath, Judge Littlefield,” he gravely announced.
+
+Glancing sidewise, Taylor saw that a great many men had come into the
+room. He did not turn to look at them, however, for he saw a gleam in
+Judge Littlefield’s eyes that held his attention.
+
+“That will not be necessary, Mr. Taylor,” he heard the judge say. “The
+governor, through the attorney-general, has ruled you were not legally
+elected to the office you aspire to. Only last night I was notified of
+the decision. It was late, or I should have taken steps to apprise you
+of the situation.”
+
+Taylor straightened. He heard exclamations from many men in the room; he
+was conscious of a tension that had come into the atmosphere. Some men
+scuffled their feet; and then there was a deep silence.
+
+Taylor smiled without mirth. His dominant emotion was curiosity.
+
+“Not legally elected?” he said. “Why?”
+
+The judge passed a paper to Taylor; it was one of those that had been
+delivered to the judge by Carrington.
+
+The judge did not meet Taylor’s eyes.
+
+“You’ll find a full statement of the case, there,” he said. “Briefly,
+however, the governor finds that your name did not appear on the
+ballots.”
+
+Norton, who had been standing at Taylor’s side all along, now shoved his
+way to the railing and leaned over it, his face white with wrath.
+
+“There’s something wrong here, Judge Littlefield!” he charged. “Taylor’s
+name was on every ballot that was counted for him. I personally examined
+every ballot!”
+
+The judge smiled tolerantly, almost benignantly.
+
+“Of course—to be sure,” he said. “Mr. Taylor’s name appeared on a good
+many ballots; his friends _wrote_ it, with pencil, and otherwise. But
+the law expressly states that a candidate’s name must be _printed_.
+Therefore, obeying the letter of the law, the governor has ruled that
+Mr. Taylor was not elected.” There was malicious satisfaction in Judge
+Littlefield’s eyes as they met Taylor’s. Taylor could see that the judge
+was in entire sympathy with the influences that were opposing him,
+though the judge tried, with a grave smile, to create an impression of
+impartiality.
+
+“Under the governor’s ruling, therefore,” he continued, “and acting
+under explicit directions from the attorney-general, I am empowered to
+administer the oath of office to the legally elected candidate, David
+Danforth. Now, if Mr. Danforth is in the courtroom, and will come
+forward, we shall conclude.”
+
+Mr. Danforth was in the courtroom; he was sitting near Carrington; and
+he came forward, his face slightly flushed, with the gaze of every
+person in the room on him.
+
+He smiled apologetically at Taylor as he reached the railing, extending
+a hand.
+
+“I’m damned sorry, Taylor,” he declared. “This is all a surprise to me.
+I hadn’t any doubt that they would swear you in. No hard feelings?”
+
+Taylor had been conscious of the humiliation of his position. He knew
+that his friends would expect him to fight. And yet he felt more like
+gracefully yielding to the forces which had barred him from office upon
+the basis of so slight a technicality. And despite the knowledge that he
+had been robbed of the office, he would have taken Danforth’s hand, had
+he not at that instant chanced to glance at Carrington.
+
+The latter’s eyes were aglow with a vindictive triumph; as his gaze met
+Taylor’s, his lips curved with a sneer.
+
+A dark passion seized Taylor—the bitter, savage rage of jealousy. The
+antagonism he had felt for Carrington that day on the train when he had
+heard Carrington’s voice for the first time was suddenly intensified. It
+had been growing slowly, provoked by his knowledge of the man’s evil
+designs on Marion Harlan. But now there had come into the first
+antagonism a gripping lust to injure the other, a determination to balk
+him, to defeat him, to meet him on his own ground and crush him.
+
+For Carrington’s sneer had caused the differences between them to become
+sharply personal; it would make the fight that was brewing between the
+two men not a political fight, but a fight of the spirit.
+
+Taylor interpreted the sneer as a challenge, and he accepted it. His
+eyes gleamed with hatred unmistakable as they held Carrington’s; and the
+grin on his lips was the cold, unhumorous grin of the fighter who is not
+dismayed by odds. His voice was low and sharp, and it carried to every
+person in the room:
+
+“We won’t shake, Danforth; you are not particular enough about the
+character of your friends!”
+
+The look was significant, and it compelled the eyes of all of Taylor’s
+friends, so that Carrington instantly found himself the center of
+interest.
+
+However, he did not change color; on his face a bland smile testified to
+his entire indifference to what Taylor or Taylor’s friends thought of
+him.
+
+Taylor grinned mirthlessly at the judge, spoke shortly to Norton, and
+led the way out through the front door, followed by a number of his
+friends.
+
+Norton took Taylor into his office, adjoining the courthouse, and threw
+himself into a chair, grumbling profanely. Outside they could see the
+crowd filing down the street, voicing its opinion of the startling
+proceeding.
+
+“An election is an election,” they heard one man say—a Taylor
+sympathizer. “What difference does it make that Taylor’s name wasn’t
+_printed_? It’s a dawg-gone frame-up, that’s what it is!”
+
+But Danforth’s adherents were not lacking; and there were arguments in
+loud, vigorous language among men who passed the door of the _Eagle_
+office.
+
+“I could have printed the damned ballots, myself—if I had thought it
+necessary,” mourned Norton. “And now we’re skinned out of it!”
+
+Norton’s disgust was complete and bitter; he had slid down in the chair,
+his chin on his chest, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his
+trousers.
+
+Yet his dejection had not infected Taylor; the latter’s lips were curved
+in a faint smile, ironic and saturnine. It was plain to Norton that
+whatever humor there was in the situation was making its appeal to
+Taylor. The thought angered Norton, and he sat up, demanding sharply:
+“Well, what in hell are you going to do about it?”
+
+Taylor grinned at the other. “Nothing, now,” he said. “We might appeal
+to the courts, but if the law specifies that a candidate’s name must be
+printed, the courts would sustain the governor. It looks to me, Norton,
+as though Carrington and Danforth have the cards stacked.”
+
+Norton groaned and again slid down into his chair. He heard Taylor go
+out, but he did not change his position. He sat there with his eyes
+closed, profanely accusing himself, for he alone was to blame for the
+complete defeat that had descended upon his candidate; and he could not
+expect Taylor to fight a law which, though unjust and arbitrary, was the
+only law in the Territory.
+
+Taylor had not gone far. He stepped into the door of the courthouse, to
+meet Carrington, who was coming out. Danforth and Judge Littlefield were
+talking animatedly in the rear of the room. They ceased talking when
+they saw Taylor, and faced toward him, looking at him wonderingly.
+
+Carrington halted just inside the threshold of the doorway, and he, too,
+watched Taylor curiously, though there was a bland, sneering smile on
+his face.
+
+Taylor’s smile as he looked at the men was still faintly ironic, and his
+eyes were agleam with a light that baffled the other men—they could not
+determine just what emotion they reflected.
+
+And Taylor’s manner was as quietly deliberate and nonchalant as though
+he had merely stepped into the room for a social visit. His gaze swept
+the three men.
+
+“Framing up—again, eh?” he said, with drawling emphasis. “You sure did
+a good job for a starter. I just stepped in to say a few words to
+you—all of you. To you first, Littlefield.” And now his eyes held the
+judge—they seemed to squint genially at the man.
+
+“I happen to know that our big, sleek four-flusher here”—nodding toward
+Carrington—“came here to loot Dawes. Quite accidentally, I overheard
+him boasting of his intentions. Danforth was sent here by Carrington
+more than a year ago to line things up, politically. I don’t know how
+many are in the game—and I don’t care. You are in it, Littlefield. I
+saw that by the delight you took in informing me of the decision of the
+attorney-general. I just stepped in to tell you that I know what is
+going on, and to warn you that you can’t do it! You had better pull out
+before you make an ass of yourself, Littlefield!”
+
+The judge’s face was crimson. “This is an outrage, Taylor!” he
+sputtered. “I’ll have you jailed for contempt of court!”
+
+“Not you!” gibed Taylor, calmly. “You haven’t the nerve! I’d like
+nothing better than to have you do it. You’re a little fuzzy dog that
+doesn’t crawl out of its kennel until it hears the snap of its master’s
+fingers! That’s all for you!”
+
+He grinned at Danforth, felinely, and the man flushed under the odd
+gleam in the eyes that held his.
+
+“I can classify you with one word, Dave,” he declared; “you’re a crook!
+That lets you out; you do what you are told!”
+
+He now ignored the others and faced Carrington.
+
+His grin faded quickly, the lips stiffening. But still there was a hint
+of cold humor in his manner that created the impression that he was
+completely in earnest; that he was keenly enjoying himself and that he
+did not feel at all tragic. And yet, underlying the mask of humor,
+Carrington saw the passionate hatred Taylor felt for him.
+
+Carrington sneered. He attempted to smile, but the malevolent bitterness
+of his passions turned the smile into a hideous smirk. He had hated
+Taylor at first sight; and now, with the jealousy provoked by the
+knowledge that Taylor had turned his eyes toward Marion Harlan, the
+hatred had become a lust to destroy the other.
+
+Before Taylor could speak, Carrington stepped toward him, thrusting his
+face close to Taylor’s. The man was in the grip of a mighty rage that
+bloated his face, that made his breath come in great labored gasps. He
+had not meant to so boldly betray his hatred, but the violence of his
+passions drove him on.
+
+He knew that Taylor was baiting him, mocking him, taunting him; that
+Taylor’s words to the judge and to Danforth had been uttered with the
+grimly humorous purpose of arousing the men to some unwise and
+precipitate action; he knew that Taylor was enjoying the confusion he
+had brought.
+
+But Carrington had lost his self-control.
+
+Without a word, but with a smothered imprecation that issued gutturally
+from between his clenched teeth, he swung a fist with bitter malignance
+at Taylor’s face.
+
+The blow did not land, for Taylor, self-possessed and alert, had been
+expecting it. He slipped his head sidewise slightly, evading the fist by
+a narrow margin, and, tensed, his muscles taut, he drove his own right
+fist upward, heavily.
+
+Carrington, reeling forward under the impetus of the force he had
+expended, ran fairly into the fist. It crashed to the point of his jaw
+and he was unconscious, rigid, and upright on his feet in the instant
+before he sagged and tumbled headlong out through the open doorway into
+the street.
+
+With a bound, his face set in a mirthless grin, Taylor was after him,
+landing beyond him in the windrowed dust at the edge of the sidewalk,
+ready and willing to administer further punishment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV—THE FACE OF A FIGHTER
+
+
+Slouching in his chair, in an attitude of complete dejection, Neil
+Norton was glumly digesting the dregs of defeat.
+
+The _Eagle_ office adjoined the courthouse. Both were one-story frame
+structures, flimsy, with one thin wall between them; and to Norton’s
+ears as he sat with his unpleasant thoughts, came the sound of voices,
+muffled, but resonant. Someone was speaking with force and insistence.
+Norton attuned his ears to the voice. It was then he discovered there
+was only one voice, and that Taylor’s.
+
+He sat erect, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. Then he got up,
+walked to the front door of the _Eagle_ office, and looked out. He was
+just in time to see Carrington tumble out through the door of the
+courthouse and land heavily on the sidewalk in front of the building.
+Immediately afterward he saw Taylor follow.
+
+Norton exclaimed his astonishment, and he saw Taylor turn toward him, a
+broad, mirthless grin on his face.
+
+“Good Heavens!” breathed Norton, “he’s started a ruckus!”
+
+Taylor had not moved. He was looking at Norton when a man leaped from
+the door of the courthouse, straight at him. It was Danforth, his face
+hideous with rage.
+
+Taylor sensed the movement, wheeled, stumbled, and lost his balance just
+as Danforth crashed against him. The two men went down in a heap into
+the deep dust of the street, rolling over and over.
+
+Danforth’s impetus had given him the initial advantage, and he was
+making the most of it. His fists were working into Taylor’s face as they
+rolled in the dust, his arms swinging like flails. Taylor, caught almost
+unprepared, could not get into a position to defend himself. He shielded
+his face somewhat by holding his chin close to his chest and hunching
+his shoulders up; but Danforth landed some blows.
+
+There came an instant, however, when Taylor’s surprise over the assault
+changed to resentment over the punishment he was receiving. He had
+struck Carrington in self-defense, and he had not expected the attack by
+Danforth.
+
+Norton, also surprised, saw that his friend was at a disadvantage, and
+he was running forward to help him when he saw Taylor roll on top of
+Danforth.
+
+To Norton’s astonishment, Taylor did not seem to be in a vicious humor,
+despite the blows Danforth had landed on him. Taylor came out of the
+smother with a grin on his face, wide and exultant, and distinctly
+visible to Norton in spite of the streaks of dust that covered it.
+Taylor shook his head, his hair erupting a heavy cloud. Then he got up,
+permitting Danforth to do likewise.
+
+Regaining his feet, Danforth threw himself headlong toward Taylor,
+cursing, his face working with malignant rage. When Taylor hit him the
+dust flew from Danforth’s clothes as it rolls from a dirty carpet flayed
+with a beater. Danforth halted, his knees sagged, his head wabbled. But
+Taylor gave him a slight respite, and he came on again.
+
+This time Taylor met him with a smother of sharp, deadening uppercuts
+that threw the man backward, his mouth open, his eyes closed. He fell,
+sagging backward, his knees unjointed, without a sound.
+
+And now Norton was not the only spectator. Far up the street a man had
+emerged from a doorway. He saw the erupting volcanoes of dust in the
+street, and he ran back, shouting, “Fight! Fight!”
+
+Dawes had seen many fights, and had grown accustomed to them. But there
+is always novelty in another, and long before Danforth had received the
+blows that had rendered him inactive, nearly all the doors of Dawes’s
+buildings were vomiting men. They came, seemingly, in endless streams,
+in groups, in twos and singly, eager, excited, all the streams
+converging at the street in front of the courthouse.
+
+Mindful of the ethics in an affair of this kind, the crowd kept
+considerately at a distance, permitting the fighting men to continue at
+their work without interference, with plenty of room for their energetic
+movements.
+
+Word ran from lip to lip that Taylor, stung by the knowledge that he had
+been robbed of the office to which he had been elected, had attacked
+Carrington and Danforth with the grim purpose of punishing them
+personally for their misdeeds.
+
+Taylor was aware of the gathering crowd. When he had delivered the blows
+that had finished his political rival, he saw the dense mass of men in
+the street around him; and he felt that all Dawes had assembled.
+
+There was still no rancor in Taylor’s heart; the same savage humor which
+had driven him into the courthouse to acquaint Carrington and the others
+with his knowledge of their designs, still gripped him. He had not meant
+to force a fight, but neither had he any intention of permitting
+Carrington and Danforth to inflict physical punishment upon him.
+
+But a malicious devil had seized him. He knew that what he had done
+would be magnified and distorted by Carrington, Danforth, and the judge;
+that they would charge him with the blame for it; that he faced the
+probability of a jail sentence for defending himself. And he was
+determined to complete the work he had started.
+
+Therefore, having disposed of Danforth, he grinned at the eager, excited
+faces that hemmed him about, and wheeled toward Carrington.
+
+He was just in time. For Carrington, not badly hurt by Taylor’s blow,
+which had catapulted him out of the door of the courthouse, had been
+standing back a little, awaiting an opportunity. The swiftness of
+Taylor’s movements had prevented interference by Carrington; but now,
+with Danforth down, Carrington saw his chance.
+
+Without a word, Carrington lunged forward. They met with a shock that
+caused the dry dust to splay and spume upward and outward in thin,
+minute streaks like the leaping, spraying waters of a fountain. They
+were lost, momentarily, in a haze, as the dust fell and enveloped them.
+
+They emerged from the blot presently, Carrington staggering, his chin on
+his chest, his eyes glazed—Taylor crowding him closely. For while they
+had been lost in the smother of dust, Taylor had landed a deadening
+uppercut on the big man’s chin.
+
+The big man’s brain was befogged; and yet he still retained presence of
+mind enough to shield his chin from another of those terrific blows. He
+had crossed his arms over the lower part of his face, fending off
+Taylor’s fists with his elbows.
+
+A Danforth man in the crowd called on Carrington to “wallop” Taylor, and
+the big man’s answering grin indicated that he was not as badly hurt as
+he seemed.
+
+Almost instantly he demonstrated that, for when Taylor, still following
+him, momentarily left an opening, Carrington stepped quickly forward and
+struck—his big arm flashing out with amazing rapidity.
+
+The heavy fist landed high on Taylor’s head above the ear. It was not a
+blow that would have finished the fight, even had it landed lower, but
+it served to warn Taylor that his antagonist was still strong, and he
+went in more warily.
+
+The advantage of the fight was all with Taylor. For Taylor was cool and
+deliberate, while Carrington, raging over the blows he had received, and
+in the clutch of a bitter desire to destroy his enemy, wasted much
+energy in swinging wildly.
+
+The inaccuracy of Carrington’s hitting amused Taylor; the men in the
+crowd about him could see his lips writhing in a vicious smile at
+Carrington’s efforts.
+
+Carrington landed some blows. But he had lived luxuriously during the
+later years of his life; his muscles had deteriorated, and though he was
+still strong, his strength was not to be compared with that of the
+out-of-door man whose clean and simple habits had toughened his muscles
+until they were equal to any emergency.
+
+And so the battle went slowly but surely against Carrington. Fighting
+desperately, and showing by the expression of his face that he knew his
+chances were small, he tried to work at close quarters. He kept coming
+in stubbornly, blocking some blows, taking others; and finally he
+succeeded in getting his arms around Taylor.
+
+The crowd had by this time become intensely partisan. At first it had
+been silent, but now it became clamorous. There were some Danforth men,
+and knowing Danforth to be aligned with Carrington—because, it seemed
+to them, Carrington was taking Danforth’s end of the fight—they howled
+for the big man to “give it to him!” And they grew bitter when they saw
+that despite Carrington’s best efforts, and their own verbal support of
+him, Carrington was doomed to defeat.
+
+Taylor’s admirers vastly outnumbered Carrington’s. They did not find it
+necessary to shout advice to their champion; but they shouted and roared
+with approval as Taylor, driving forward, the grin still on his face,
+striking heavily and blocking deftly, kept his enemy retreating before
+him.
+
+Carrington, locking his arms around Taylor, hugged him desperately for
+some seconds—until he recovered his breath, and until his head cleared,
+and he could fix objects firmly in his vision; and then he heaved
+mightily, swung Taylor from his feet and tried to throw him. Taylor’s
+feet could get no leverage, but his arms were still free, and with both
+of them he hammered the big man’s head until Carrington, in insane rage,
+threw Taylor from him.
+
+Taylor landed a little off balance, and before he could set himself,
+Carrington threw himself forward. He swung malignantly, the blow landing
+glancingly on Taylor’s head, staggering him. His feet struck an
+obstruction and he went to one knee, Carrington striking at him as he
+tried to rise.
+
+The blow missed, Carrington turning clear around from the force of the
+blow and tumbling headlong into the dust near Taylor.
+
+They clambered to their feet at the same instant, and in the next they
+came together with a shock that made them both reel backward. And then,
+still grinning, Taylor stepped lightly forward. Paying no attention to
+Carrington’s blows, he shot in several short, terrific, deadening
+uppercuts that landed fairly on the big man’s chin. Carrington’s hands
+dropped to his sides, his knees doubled and he fell limply forward into
+the dust of the street where he lay, huddled and unconscious, while
+turmoil raged over him.
+
+For the Danforth men in the crowd had yielded to rage over the defeat of
+their favorites. They had seen Danforth go down under the terrific
+punishment meted out to him by Taylor; they had seen Carrington suffer
+the same fate. Several of them drove forward, muttering profane threats.
+
+Norton, pale and watchful, fearing just such a contingency, shoved
+forward to the center, shouting:
+
+“Hold on, men! None of that! It’s a fair fight! Keep off, there—do you
+hear?”
+
+A score of Taylor men surged forward to Norton’s side; the crowd split,
+forming two sections—one group of men massing near Norton, the other
+congregating around a tall man who seemed to be the leader of their
+faction. A number of other men—the cautious and faint-hearted element
+which had no personal animus to spur it to participation in what seemed
+to threaten to develop into a riot—retreated a short distance up the
+street and stood watching, morbidly curious.
+
+But though violence, concerted and deadly, was imminent, it was delayed.
+For Taylor had not yet finished, and the crowd was curiously following
+his movements.
+
+Taylor was a picturesquely ludicrous figure. He was covered with dust
+from head to foot; his face was streaked with it; his hair was full of
+it; it had been ground into his cheeks, and where blood from a cut on
+his forehead had trickled to his right temple, the dust was matted until
+it resembled crimson mud.
+
+And yet the man was still smiling. It was not a smile at which most men
+care to look when its owner’s attention is definitely centered upon
+them; it was a smile full of grimly humorous malice and determination;
+the smile of the fighting man who cares nothing for consequences.
+
+The concerted action which had threatened was, by the tacit consent of
+the prospective belligerents, postponed for the instant. The gaze of
+every partisan—and of all the non-partisans—was directed at Taylor.
+
+He had not yet finished. For an instant he stood looking down at
+Carrington and Danforth—both now beginning to recover from their
+chastisement, and sitting up in the dust gazing dizzily about them—then
+with a chuckle, grim and malicious, Taylor dove toward the door of the
+courthouse, where Littlefield was standing.
+
+The judge had been stunned by the ferocity of the action he had
+witnessed. Whatever judicial dignity had been his had been whelmed by
+the paralyzing fear that had gripped him, and he stood, holding to the
+door-jambs, nerveless, motionless.
+
+He saw Taylor start toward him; he saw a certain light leaping in the
+man’s eyes, and he cringed and cried out in dread.
+
+But he had not the power to retreat from the menace that was approaching
+him. He threw out his hands impotently as Taylor reached him, as though
+to protest physically. But Taylor ignored the movement, reaching upward,
+a dusty finger and thumb closing on the judge’s right ear.
+
+There was a jerk, a shrill cry of pain from the judge, and then he was
+led into the street, near where Carrington and Danforth had fallen, and
+twisted ungently around until he faced the crowd.
+
+“Men,” said Taylor, in the silence that greeted him as he stood erect,
+his finger and thumb still gripping the judge’s ear, “Judge Littlefield
+is going to say a few words to you. He’s going to tell you who started
+this ruckus—so there won’t be any nonsense about actions in contempt of
+court. Deals like this are pulled off better when the court takes the
+public into its confidence. Who started this thing, judge? Did I?”
+
+“No—o,” was Littlefield’s hesitating reply.
+
+“Who did start it?”
+
+“Mr. Carrington.”
+
+“You saw him?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What did he do?”
+
+“He—er—struck at you.”
+
+“And Danforth?”
+
+“He attacked you while you were in the street.”
+
+“And I’m not to blame?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Taylor grinned and released the judge’s ear. “That’s all, gentlemen,” he
+said; “court is dismissed!”
+
+The judge said nothing as he walked toward the door of the courthouse.
+Nor did Carrington and Danforth speak as they followed the judge. Both
+Carrington and Danforth seemed to have had enough fighting for one day.
+
+The victor looked around at the faces in the crowd that were turned to
+his, and his grin grew eloquent.
+
+“Looks like we’re going to have a mighty peaceable administration,
+boys!” he said. His grin included Norton, at whom he deliberately
+winked. Then he turned, mounted his horse—which had stood docilely near
+by during the excitement, and which whinnied as he approached it—and
+rode down the street to the Dawes bank, before which he dismounted. Then
+he went to his rooms on the floor above, washed and changed his clothes,
+and attended to the bruises on his face. Later, looking out of the
+window, he saw the crowd slowly dispersing; and still later he opened
+the door on Neil Norton, who came in, deep concern on his face.
+
+“You’ve started something, Squint. After you left I went into the
+_Eagle_ office. The partition is thin, and I could hear Carrington
+raising hell in there. You look out; he’ll try to play some dog’s trick
+on you now! There’s going to be the devil to pay in this man’s town!”
+
+Taylor laughed. “How long does it take for a sprained ankle to mend,
+Norton?”
+
+Norton looked sharply at Taylor’s feet.
+
+“You sprain one of yours?” he asked.
+
+“Lord, no!” denied Taylor. “I was just wondering. How long?” he
+insisted.
+
+“About two weeks. Say, Squint, your brain wasn’t injured in that ruckus,
+was it?” he asked solicitously.
+
+“It’s as good as it ever was.”
+
+“I don’t believe it!” declared Norton. “Here you’ve started something
+serious, and you go to rambling about sprained ankles.”
+
+“Norton,” said Taylor slowly, “a sprained ankle is a mighty serious
+thing—when you’ve forgotten which one it was!”
+
+“What in——”
+
+“And,” resumed Taylor, “when you don’t know but that she took particular
+pains to make a mental note of it. If I’d wrap the left one up, now, and
+she knew it was the right one that had been hurt—or if I’d wrap up the
+right one, and she knew it was the wrong one, why she’d likely——”
+
+_“She?”_ groaned Norton, looking at his friend with bulging eyes that
+were haunted by a fear that Taylor’s brain _had_ cracked under the
+strain of the excitement he had undergone. He remembered now, that
+Taylor _had_ acted in a peculiar manner during the fight; that he had
+grinned all through it when he should have been in deadly earnest.
+
+“Plumb loco!” he muttered.
+
+And then he saw Taylor grinning broadly at him; and he was suddenly
+struck with the conviction that Taylor was not insane; that he was in
+possession of some secret that he was trying to confide to his friend,
+and that he had begun obliquely. Norton drew a deep breath of relief.
+
+“Lord!” he sighed, “you sure had me going. And you don’t know which
+ankle you sprained?”
+
+“I’ve clean forgot. And now she’ll find out that I’ve lied to her.”
+
+“_She?_” said Norton significantly.
+
+“Marion Harlan,” grinned Taylor.
+
+Norton caught his breath with a gasp. “You mean you’ve fallen in love
+with her? And that you’ve made her—Oh, Lord! What a situation! Don’t
+you know her uncle and Carrington are in cahoots in this deal?”
+
+“It’s my recollection that I told you about that the day I got back,”
+Taylor reminded him. And then Taylor told him the story of the bandaged
+ankle.
+
+When Taylor concluded, Norton lay back in his chair and regarded his
+friend blankly.
+
+“And you mean to tell me that all the time you were fighting Carrington
+and Danforth you were thinking about that ankle?”
+
+“Mostly all the time,” Taylor admitted.
+
+Norton made a gesture of impotence. “Well,” he said, “if a man can keep
+his mind on a girl while two men are trying to knock hell out of him,
+he’s sure got a bad case. And all I’ve got to say is that you’re going
+to have a lovely ruckus!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV—GLOOM—AND PLANS
+
+
+Elam Parsons sat all day on the wide porch of the big house nursing his
+resentment. He was hunched up in the chair, his shoulders were slouched
+forward, his chin resting on the wings of his high, starched collar, his
+lips in a pout, his eyes sullen and gleaming with malevolence.
+
+Parsons was beginning to recover from his astonishment over the attack
+Carrington had made on him. He saw now that he should have known
+Carrington was the kind of man he had shown himself to be; for now that
+Parsons reflected, he remembered little things that Carrington had done
+which should have warned him.
+
+Carrington had never been a real friend. Carrington had used him—that
+was it; Carrington had made him think he was an important member of the
+partnership, and he had thought so himself. Now he understood
+Carrington. Carrington was selfish and cruel—more, Carrington was a
+beast and an ingrate. For it had been Parsons who had made it possible
+for Carrington to succeed—for he had used Parsons’ money all
+along—having had very little himself.
+
+So Parsons reflected, knowing, however, that he had not the courage to
+oppose Carrington. He feared Carrington; he had always feared him, but
+now his fear had become terror—and hate. For Parsons could still feel
+the man’s fingers at his throat; and as he sat there on the porch his
+own fingers stroked the spot, while in his heart flamed a great yearning
+for vengeance.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Marion Harlan had got up this morning feeling rather more interested in
+the big house than she had felt the day before—or upon any day that she
+had occupied it. She, like Parsons, had awakened with a presentiment of
+impending pleasure. But, unlike Parsons, she found it impossible to
+definitely select an outstanding incident or memory upon which to base
+her expectations.
+
+Her anticipations seemed to be broad and inclusive—like a clear,
+unobstructed sunset, with an effulgent glow that seemed to embrace the
+whole world, warming it, bringing a great peace.
+
+For upon this morning, suddenly awakening to the pure, white light that
+shone into her window, she was conscious of a feeling of satisfaction
+with life that was strange and foreign—a thing that she had never
+before experienced. Always there had been a shadow of the past to darken
+her vision of the future, but this morning that shadow seemed to have
+vanished.
+
+For a long time she could not understand, and she snuggled up in bed,
+her brow thoughtfully furrowed, trying to solve the mystery. It was not
+until she got up and was looking out of the window at the mighty basin
+in which—like a dot of brown in a lake of emerald green—clustered the
+buildings of the Arrow ranch, that knowledge in an overwhelming flood
+assailed her. Then a crimson flush stained her cheeks, her eyes glowed
+with happiness, and she clasped her hands and stood rigid for a long
+time.
+
+She knew now. A name sprang to her lips, and she murmured it aloud,
+softly: “Quinton Taylor.”
+
+Later she appeared to Martha—a vision that made the negro woman gasp
+with amazement.
+
+“What happen to you, honey? You-all git good news? You look light an’
+airy—like you’s goin’ to fly!”
+
+“I’ve decided to like this place—after all, Martha. I—I thought at
+first that I wouldn’t, but I have changed my mind.”
+
+Martha looked sharply at her, a sidelong glance that had quite a little
+subtle knowledge in it.
+
+“I reckon that ‘Squint’ Taylor make a good many girls change their mind,
+honey—he, he, he!”
+
+“Martha!”
+
+“Doan you git ’sturbed, now, honey. Martha shuah knows the signs. I done
+discover the signs a long while ago—when I fall in love with a worfless
+nigger in St. Louis. He shuah did captivate me, honey. I done try to
+wiggle out of it—but ’tain’t no use. Face the fac’s, Martha, face the
+fac’s, I tell myself—an’ I done it. Ain’t no use for to try an’ fool
+the fac’s, honey—not one bit of use! The ol’ fac’ he look at you an’
+say: ‘Doan you try to wiggle ’way from me; I’s heah, an’ heah I’s goin’
+to stay!’ That Squint man ain’t no lady-killer, honey, but he’s shuah a
+he-man from the groun’ up!”
+
+Marion escaped Martha as quickly as she could; and after breakfast began
+systematically to rearrange the furniture to suit her artistic ideals.
+
+Martha helped, but not again did Martha refer to Quinton
+Taylor—something in Marion’s manner warned her that she could trespass
+too far in that direction.
+
+Some time during the morning Marion saw Parsons ride up and dismount at
+the stable door; and later she heard him cross the porch. She looked out
+of one of the front windows and saw him huddled in a big rocking-chair,
+and she wondered at the depression that sat so heavily upon him.
+
+The girl did not pause in her work long enough to partake of the lunch
+that Martha set for her—so interested was she; and therefore she did
+not know whether or not Parsons came into the house. But along about
+four o’clock in the afternoon, wearied of her task, Marion entered the
+kitchen. From Martha she learned that Parsons had not stirred from the
+chair on the porch during the entire day.
+
+Concerned, Marion went out to him.
+
+Parsons did not hear her; he was still moodily and resentfully reviewing
+the incident of the morning.
+
+He started when the girl placed a gentle hand on one of his shoulders,
+seeming to cringe from her touch; then he looked up at her suddenly.
+
+“What do you want?” he demanded.
+
+“Don’t you feel well, Uncle Elam?” she inquired. Her hand rose from his
+shoulder to his head, and her fingers ran through his hair with a light,
+gentle touch that made him shiver with repugnance. There were times when
+Parsons hated this living image of his brother-in-law with a fervor that
+seemed to sear his heart. Now, however, pity for himself had rather
+dulled the edge of his hatred. A calamity had befallen him; he was
+crushed under it; and the sympathy of one whom he hated was not entirely
+undesirable.
+
+No sense of guilt assailed the man. He had never betrayed his hate to
+her, and he would not do so now. That wasn’t his way. He had always
+masked it from her, making her think he felt an affection for her which
+was rather the equal of that which custom required a man should feel for
+a niece. Yet he had always hated her.
+
+“I’m not exactly well,” he muttered. “It’s the damned atmosphere, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Martha tells me that it _does_ affect some persons,” said the girl.
+“And lack of appetite seems to be one of the first symptoms—in your
+case. For Martha tells me you have not eaten.”
+
+The girl’s soft voice irritated Parsons.
+
+“Go away!” he ordered crossly; “I want to think!”
+
+It was not the first time the girl had endured his moods. She smiled
+tolerantly, and softly withdrew, busying herself inside the house.
+
+Parsons did not eat supper; he slunk off to bed and lay for hours in his
+room brooding over the thing that had happened to him.
+
+He got up early the next morning, mounted his horse and left the house
+before Marion could get a glimpse of him. It was still rather early when
+he reached Dawes. There, in a saloon, he overheard the story of the
+fight in the street in front of the courthouse, and with tingling
+eagerness and venomous satisfaction he listened to a man telling another
+of the terrible punishment inflicted upon Carrington by Quinton Taylor.
+
+Parsons did not go to see Carrington, for he feared a repetition of
+Carrington’s savage rage, should he permit the latter to observe his
+satisfaction over the incident of yesterday. He knew he could not face
+Carrington and conceal the gloating triumph that gripped him.
+
+So he returned to the big house. And for the greater part of the day he
+sat in the rocker on the porch, his soul filled with a vindictive joy.
+
+He ate heartily, too; and his manner indicated that he had quite
+recovered from the indisposition that had affected him the previous day.
+He even smiled at Marion when she told him he was “looking better.”
+
+But his bitter yearning for vengeance had not been satisfied by the
+knowledge that Taylor had thrashed Carrington. He knew, now that
+Carrington had ruthlessly cast him aside, that he was no longer to
+figure importantly in the scheme to loot the town; he knew that it was
+Carrington’s intention to rob him of every dollar he had entrusted to
+the man. He knew, too, that Carrington would not hesitate to murder him
+should he offer the slightest objection, or should he make any visible
+resistance to Carrington’s plans.
+
+But Parsons was determined to be revenged upon Carrington, and he was
+convinced that he could secure his revenge without boldly announcing his
+plans.
+
+As for that, he had no plans. But while sitting in the rocker on the
+porch during the long afternoon, the vindictive light in his eyes
+suddenly deepened, and he grinned evilly.
+
+That night after supper he exerted himself to be agreeable to Marion.
+During the interval between sunset and darkness he walked with the girl
+along the edge of the butte above the big valley which held the
+irrigation dam. And while standing in a timber grove at the edge of the
+butte, he questioned her deftly about the news she had received of her
+father, and she told him of her visits to the Arrow.
+
+He had watched her narrowly, and he saw the flush that came into her
+cheeks each time Taylor was mentioned.
+
+“He is a remarkably forceful man,” he observed once, when he mentioned
+Taylor. “And if I am not mistaken, Carrington is going to have his hands
+full with him.”
+
+“What do you mean? Do you mean that Mr. Taylor is not in sympathy with
+Carrington’s plans concerning Dawes?”
+
+“I mean just that. And if you had happened to be in Dawes yesterday you
+might have witnessed a demonstration of Taylor’s lack of sympathy with
+Carrington’s plans. For”—and now Parsons’ eyes gleamed
+maliciously—“after Judge Littlefield, acting under instructions from
+the governor, had refused to administer the oath of office to
+Taylor—inducting his rival, Danforth, into the position instead——”
+
+Here the girl interrupted, and Parsons was forced to relate the tale in
+its entirety.
+
+“Uncle Elam,” she said when Parsons paused, “are you certain that
+Carrington’s intentions toward Dawes are honorable?”
+
+Parsons smiled crookedly behind a palm, and then uncertainly at the
+girl.
+
+“I don’t know, Marion. Carrington is a rather hard man to gauge. He has
+always been mighty uncommunicative and headstrong. He is getting
+ruthless and domineering, too. I am rather afraid—that is, my dear, I
+am beginning to believe we made a mistake in Carrington. He doesn’t seem
+to be the sort of man we thought him to be. If he were like that man
+Taylor, now——” He paused and glanced covertly at the girl, noting the
+glow in her eyes.
+
+“Yes,” he resumed, “Taylor _is_ a man. My dear,” he added
+confidentially, “there is going to be trouble in Dawes—I am convinced
+of that; trouble between Carrington and Taylor. Taylor thrashed
+Carrington yesterday, but Carrington isn’t the kind to give up. I have
+withdrawn from active participation in the affairs that brought me here.
+I am not going to take sides. I don’t care who wins. That may sound
+disloyal to you—but look here!” He showed her several black and blue
+marks on his throat. “Carrington did that—the day before yesterday.
+Choked me.” His voice quavered with self-pity, whereat the girl caught
+her breath in quick sympathy and bent to examine the marks. When she
+stood erect again Parsons saw her eyes flashing with indignation, and he
+knew that whatever respect the girl had had for Carrington had been
+forever destroyed.
+
+“Oh!” she said, “why did he choke you?”
+
+“Because I frankly told him I did not approve of his methods,” lied
+Parsons, smirking virtuously. “He showed his hand, unmistakably, and his
+methods mean evil to Dawes.”
+
+The girl stiffened. “I shall go directly to Dawes and tell Carrington
+what I think of him!” she declared.
+
+“No—for God’s sake!” protested Parsons. “He would kill me! He would
+know, instantly, that I had been talking. My life would not be worth a
+snap of your fingers! Don’t let on that I have said _anything_ to you!
+Let him come here, and treat him as you have always treated him. But
+warn Taylor. Taylor may know something—it is certain he suspects
+something—but Taylor will not know everything. Make a friend of Taylor,
+my dear. Go to him—visit his ranch—as much as you like. But if
+Carrington says anything to you about going there, tell him I opposed
+it. That will mislead him.”
+
+When Parsons and the girl reached the house, Parsons stood near the
+kitchen door and watched her enter. He did not go in, himself; he walked
+around to the front and sat on the edge of the porch, grinning
+maliciously. For he knew something of the tortures of jealousy, and he
+was convinced that he had added something to the antagonism that already
+had been the cause of one clash between Carrington and Taylor. And
+Parsons was convinced that both he and Carrington had made a mistake in
+planning to loot Dawes; that despite the connivance of the governor and
+Judge Littlefield, Quinton Taylor would defeat them.
+
+Parsons might lose his money; but the point was that Carrington would
+also lose. And if Parsons was wise and cautious—and did not antagonize
+Taylor—there was a chance that he might gain more through his
+friendship—a professed friendship—for Taylor, than he would have won
+had he been loyal to Carrington. At the least, he would have the
+satisfaction of working against Carrington in the dark. And to a man of
+Parsons’ character that was a satisfaction not to be lightly considered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI—A MAN BECOMES A BRUTE
+
+
+During the days that Parsons had passed nursing his resentment,
+Carrington had been busy. Despite the bruises that marked his face
+(which, by the way, a clever barber had disguised until they were hardly
+visible) Carrington appeared in public as though nothing had happened.
+
+The fight at the courthouse had aroused the big man to the point of
+volcanic action. The lust for power that had seized him; the implacable
+resolution to rule, to win, to have his own way in all things; his
+passionate hatred of Taylor; his determination to destroy anyone who got
+in his path—these were the forces that drove him.
+
+Taylor had brought matters to a sudden and unexpected crisis. Carrington
+had planned to begin his campaign differently, to insinuate himself into
+the political life of Dawes; and he had gone to the courthouse intending
+to keep in the background, but Taylor had forced him into the open.
+
+Therefore, Carrington had no choice, and he instantly accepted Taylor’s
+challenge. After reentering the courthouse, following the departure of
+Taylor, Carrington had insisted that Judge Littlefield have Taylor taken
+into custody on a contempt of court charge. Littlefield had flatly
+refused, and the resulting argument had been what Neil Norton had
+overheard. But Littlefield had not yielded to Carrington’s insistence.
+
+“That would be ridiculous, after what has happened,” the judge declared.
+“The whole country would be laughing at us. More, you can see that
+public sentiment is with Taylor. And he forced me to publicly admit that
+you were to blame. I simply won’t do it!”
+
+“All right,” grinned Carrington, darkly; “I’ll find another way to get
+him!”
+
+And so for the instant Carrington dismissed Taylor from his thoughts,
+devoting his attention to the task of organizing his forces for the
+campaign he was to make against the town.
+
+He held many conferences with Danforth and with three of five men who
+had been elected to the new city council—that political body having
+also been provided under the new charter. Three of the
+members—Cartwright, Ellis, and Warden—were Danforth men, cogs of that
+secret machine which for more than a year Danforth had been perfecting
+at Carrington’s orders.
+
+Some officials were appointed by Mayor Danforth—at Carrington’s
+direction; a chief of police, a municipal judge, a town clerk, a
+treasurer—and a host of other office-holders inevitable to a system of
+government which permits the practice.
+
+Carrington dominated every conference; he made it plain that he was to
+rule Dawes—that Danforth and all the others were subject to his orders.
+
+Only one day was required to perfect Carrington’s organization, and on
+Thursday evening, with everything running smoothly, Carrington appeared
+in the palm-decorated foyer of the Castle, a smugly complacent smile on
+his face. For he had won the first battle in the war he was to wage. To
+be sure, he had been worsted in a physical encounter with Taylor, as the
+bruises still on his face indicated, but he intended to repay Taylor for
+that thrashing—and his lips went into an ugly pout when his thoughts
+dwelt upon the man.
+
+He had almost forgotten Parsons; he did not think of the other until
+about eight o’clock in the evening, when, with Danforth in the barroom
+of the Castle, Danforth mentioned his name. Then Carrington remembered
+that he had not seen Parsons since he had throttled the man. He ordered
+another drink, not permitting Danforth to see his eyes, which were
+glowing with a flame that would have betrayed him.
+
+“This is good-night,” he said to Danforth as he raised his glass. “I’ve
+got to see Parsons tonight.”
+
+Yet it was not Parsons who was uppermost in his mind when he left the
+Castle, mounted on his horse; the face of Marion Harlan was in the
+mental picture he drew as he rode toward the Huggins house, and there
+ran in his brain a reckless thought—which had been uttered to Parsons
+at the instant before his fingers had closed around the latter’s throat
+a few days before:
+
+“I was born a thousand years too late, Parsons! I am a robber baron
+brought down to date—modernized. I believe that in me flows the blood
+of a pirate, a savage, or an ancient king. I have all the instincts of a
+tribal chief whose principles are to rule or ruin! I’ll have no law out
+here but my own desires!”
+
+And tonight Carrington’s desires were for the girl who had accompanied
+him to Dawes; the girl who had stirred his passions as no woman had ever
+stirred them, and who—now that he had seized the town’s government—was
+to be as much his vassal as Parsons, Danforth—or any of them. He
+grinned as he rode toward the Huggins house—a grin that grew to a laugh
+as he rode up the drive toward the house; low, vibrant, hideous with its
+threat of unrestrained passion.
+
+The night had been too beautiful for Marion Harlan to remain indoors,
+and so, after darkness had swathed the big valley back of the house, she
+had slipped out, noting that her uncle had gone again to the chair on
+the front porch. She had walked with Parsons along the butte above the
+valley, but she wanted to be alone now, to view the beauties without
+danger of interruption. Above all, she wanted to think.
+
+For the news that Parsons had communicated to her had affected her
+strangely; she felt that her uncle’s revelations of Carrington’s
+character amounted to a vindication of her own secret opinion of the
+man.
+
+He had been a volcanic wooer, and she had distrusted him all along. She
+had never permitted that distrust to appear on the surface, however, out
+of respect for her uncle—for she had always thought he and Carrington
+were firm friends. She saw now, though, that she had always suspected
+Carrington of being just what her uncle’s revelation had proved him to
+be—a ruthless, selfish, domineering brute of a man, who would have no
+mercy upon any person who got in his way.
+
+Reflecting upon his actions during the days she had known him in
+Westwood—and upon his glances when sometimes she had caught him looking
+at her, and at other times when his gaze—bold, and flaming with naked
+passion—had been fixed upon her, she shuddered, comparing him with
+Quinton Taylor, quiet, polite, and considerate.
+
+Loyally, she hated Carrington now for the things he had done to Parsons.
+She mentally vowed that the next time she saw Carrington she would tell
+him exactly what she thought of him, regardless of the effect her frank
+opinion might have on her uncle’s fortunes.
+
+But still she had not come to the edge of the butte for the purpose of
+devoting her entire thoughts to Carrington; there was another face that
+obtruded insistently in the mental pictures she drew—Quinton Taylor’s.
+And she found a grass knoll at the edge of the butte, twisted around so
+that she could look over the edge of the butte and into the big basin
+that slumbered somberly in the mysterious darkness, staring intently
+until she discovered a pin-point of light gleaming out of it. That
+light, she knew, came from one of the windows of the Arrow ranchhouse,
+and she watched it long, wondering what Taylor would be doing about now.
+
+For she was keeping no secrets from herself tonight. She knew that she
+liked Taylor better than she had ever liked any man of her acquaintance.
+
+At first she had told herself that her liking for the man had been
+aroused merely because he had been good to her father. But she knew now
+that she liked Taylor for himself. There was no mistaking the nameless
+longing that had taken possession of her; the insistent and yearning
+desire to be near him; the regret that had affected her when she had
+left the Arrow at the end of her last visit. Taylor would never know how
+near she had come to accepting his invitation to share the Arrow with
+him. Had it not been for propriety—the same propriety which had
+inseparably linked itself with all her actions—which she must observe
+punctiliously despite the fact that girls of her acquaintance had
+violated it openly without hurt or damage to their reputations; had it
+not been that she must bend to its mandates, because of the shadow that
+had always lurked near her, she would have gone to live at the Arrow.
+
+For she knew that she could have stayed at the Arrow without danger.
+Taylor was a gentleman—she knew—and Taylor would never offend her in
+the manner the world affected to dread—and suspect. But she could not
+do the things other girls could do—that was why she had refused
+Taylor’s invitation.
+
+She had thought she had conquered her aversion for the big house—the
+aversion that had been aroused because of the story Martha had told her
+regarding its former inhabitants, but that aversion recurred to her with
+disquieting insistence as she sat there on the edge of the butte.
+
+It seemed to her that the serpent of immorality which had dragged its
+trail across hers so many times was never to leave her, and she found
+herself wondering about the house and about Carrington and her uncle.
+
+Carrington had bought the horse for her—Billy; and she had accepted it
+after some consideration. But what if Carrington had bought the house?
+That would mean—why, the people of Dawes, if they discovered it—if
+Carrington had bought it—might place their own interpretation upon the
+fact that she was living in it. And the interpretation of the people of
+Dawes would be no more charitable than that of the people of Westwood!
+They would think——
+
+She got up quickly, her face pale, and started toward the house,
+determined to ask her uncle.
+
+Walking swiftly toward the front porch, where she had seen Parsons go,
+she remembered that Parsons had told her he had arranged for the house,
+but that might not mean that he had personally bought it.
+
+She meant to find out, and if Carrington owned the house, she would not
+stay in it another night—not even tonight.
+
+She was walking fast when she reached the edge of the porch—almost
+running; and when she got to the nearest corner, she saw that the porch
+was quite vacant; Parsons must have gone in.
+
+She stood for an instant at the porch-edge, a beam of silvery moonlight
+streaming upon her through a break in the trees overhead, convinced that
+Parsons had gone to bed; and convinced, likewise, that, were she to
+disturb him now to ask the question that was in her mind, he would laugh
+at her.
+
+She decided she would wait until the morning, and she was about to
+return to the edge of the butte, when she realized that it had grown
+rather late. She had not noticed how quickly the time had fled.
+
+She turned, intending to enter the house from one of the rear doors
+through which she had emerged, when a sound reached her ears—the rapid
+drumming of a horse’s hoofs. She wheeled, facing the direction from
+which the sound came—and saw Carrington riding toward her, not more
+than fifty feet distant.
+
+He saw her at the instant her gaze rested on him—an instant before, she
+surmised, for there was a huge grin on his face as she turned to him.
+
+He was at her side before she could obey a sudden impulse to run—for
+she did not wish to talk to him tonight—and in another instant he had
+dismounted and was standing close to her.
+
+“All alone, eh?” he laughed. “And enjoying the moon? Do you know that
+you made a ravishing picture, standing there with the light shining on
+you? I saw you as you started to turn, and I shall remember the picture
+all my life! You are more beautiful than ever, girl!”
+
+Carrington was breathing fast. The girl thought he had been riding hard.
+But, despite that explanation for the repressed excitement under which
+he seemed to be laboring, the girl thought she detected the presence of
+restrained passion in his eyes, and she shrank back a little.
+
+She had often seen passion in his eyes, identical with what glowed in
+them now, but she had always felt a certain immunity, a masterfulness
+over him that had permitted her to feel that she could repulse him at
+will. Now, however, she felt a sudden, cringing dread of him. The dread,
+no doubt, was provoked by her uncle’s revelation of the man’s character;
+and, for the first time during her acquaintance with Carrington, she
+felt a fear of him, and became aware of the overpowering force and
+virility of the man.
+
+Her voice was a little tremulous when she answered:
+
+“I was looking for Uncle Elam. He must have gone in.”
+
+His face was not very distinct to her, for he was standing in a shadow
+cast by a near-by tree, and she could not see the bruises that marred
+the flesh, but it seemed to her that his face had never seemed so
+repulsive. And the significance of his grin made her gasp.
+
+“That’s good. I’m glad he did go in; I did not come to see Parsons.”
+
+She had meant to take him to task for what he had done to her uncle, but
+there was something in his voice that made thoughts of defending Parsons
+seem futile—a need gone in the necessity to conserve her voice and
+strength for an imminent crisis.
+
+For Carrington’s voice, thick and vibrant, smote her with a presentiment
+of danger to herself. She looked sharply at him, saw that his face was
+red and bloated with passion and, taking a backward step, she said
+shortly:
+
+“I must go in. I—I promised Martha——”
+
+His voice interrupted her; she felt one of his hands on her arm, the
+fingers gripping it tightly.
+
+“No, you don’t,” he said, hoarsely; “I came here to have a talk with
+you, and I mean to have it!”
+
+“What do you mean?” she asked. She was rigid and erect, but she could
+not keep the quaver out of her voice.
+
+“Playing the innocent, eh?” he mocked, his voice dry and light. “You’ve
+played innocent ever since I saw you the first time. It doesn’t go
+anymore. You’re going to face the music.” He thrust his face close to
+hers and the expression of his eyes thrilled her with horror.
+
+“What do you suppose I brought you here for?” he demanded. “I’ll tell
+you. I bought the house for you. Parsons knows why—Dawes knows
+why—everybody knows. You ought to know—you shall know.” He laughed,
+sneeringly. “Westwood could tell you, or the woman who lived in the
+Huggins house before you came. Martha could tell you—she lived
+here——”
+
+He heard her draw her breath sharply and he mocked her, gloating:
+
+“Ah, Martha has told you! Well, you’ve got to face the music, I tell
+you! I’ve got things going my way here—the way I’ve wanted things to go
+since I’ve been old enough to realize what life is. I’ve got the
+governor, the mayor, the judges—everything—with me, and I’m going to
+rule. I’m going to rule, my way! If you are sensible, you’ll have things
+pretty easy; but if you’re going to try to balk me you’re going to
+pay—plenty!”
+
+She did not answer, standing rigid in his grasp, her face chalk-white.
+He did not notice her pallor, nor how she stood, paralyzed with dread;
+and he thought because of her silence that she was going to passively
+submit. He thought victory was near, and he was going to be magnanimous
+in his moment of triumph.
+
+His grip on her arm relaxed and he leaned forward to whisper:
+
+“That’s the girl. No fuss, no heroics. We’ll get along; we’ll——”
+
+Her right hand struck his face—a full sweep of the arm behind
+it—burning, stinging, sending him staggering back a little from its
+very unexpectedness. And before he could make a move to recover his
+equilibrium she had gone like a flash of light, as elusive as the
+moonbeam in which she had stood when he had first come upon her.
+
+He cursed gutturally and leaped forward, running with great leaps toward
+the rear of the house, where he had seen her vanish. He reached the door
+through which she had gone, finding it closed and locked against him.
+Stepping back a little, he hurled himself against the door, sending it
+crashing from its hinges, so that he tumbled headlong into the room and
+sprawled upon the floor. He was up in an instant, tossing the wreck of
+the door from him, breathing heavily, cursing frightfully; for he had
+completely lost his senses and was in the grip of an insane rage over
+the knowledge that she had tricked him.
+
+Parsons heard the crash as the door went from its hinges. He got out of
+bed in a tremor of fear and opened the door of his room, peering into
+the big room that adjoined the dining-room. From the direction of the
+kitchen he caught a thin shaft of light—from the kerosene-lamp that
+Martha had placed on a table for Marion’s convenience. A big form
+blotted out the light, casting a huge, gigantic shadow; and Parsons saw
+the shadow on the ceiling of the room into which he looked.
+
+Huge as the shadow was, Parsons had no difficulty in recognizing it as
+belonging to Carrington; and with chattering teeth Parsons quickly
+closed his door, locked it, and stood against it, his knees knocking
+together.
+
+Martha, too, had heard the crash. She bounded out of bed and ran to the
+door of her room, swinging it wide, for instinct told her something had
+happened to Marion. Her room was closer to the kitchen, and she saw
+Carrington plainly, as he was rising from the débris. And she was just
+in time to see Marion slipping through the doorway of her own room. And
+by the time Carrington got to his feet, Martha had heard Marion’s door
+click shut, heard the lock snap home.
+
+Martha instantly closed the door of her own room, fastened it and ran to
+another door that connected her room with Marion’s. She swung that door
+open and looked into the girl’s room; heard the girl stifle a
+shriek—for the girl thought Carrington was coming upon her from that
+direction—and then Martha was at the girl’s side, whispering to
+her—excitedly comforting her.
+
+“The damn trash—houndin’ you this way! He ain’ goin’ to hurt you,
+honey—not one bit!”
+
+Outside the door they could hear Carrington walking about in the room.
+There came to the ears of the two women the scratch of a match, and then
+a steady glimmer of light streaked into the room from the bottom of the
+door, and they knew Carrington had lighted a lamp. A little later, while
+Martha stood, her arms around the girl, who leaned against the negro
+woman, very white and still, they heard Carrington talking with Parsons.
+They heard Parsons protesting, Carrington cursing him.
+
+“He ain’ goin’ to git you, honey,” whispered Martha. “That man come heah
+the firs’ day, an’ I knowed he’s a rapscallion.” She pointed upward, to
+where a trap-door, partly open, appeared in the ceiling of the room.
+
+“There’s the attic, honey. I’ll boost you, an’ you go up there an’ hide
+from that wild man. You got to, for that worfless Parsons am tellin’ him
+which room you’s in. You hurry—you heah me!”
+
+She helped the girl upward, and stood listening until the trap-door
+grated shut. Then she turned and grinned at the door that led into the
+big room adjoining the kitchen. Carrington was at it, his shoulder
+against it; Martha could hear him cursing.
+
+“Open up, here!” came Carrington’s voice through the door, muffled, but
+resonant. “Open the door, damn you, or I’ll tear it down!”
+
+“Tear away, white man!” giggled Martha softly. “They’s a big ’sprise
+waitin’ you when you git in heah!”
+
+For an instant following Carrington’s curses and demands there was a
+silence. It was broken by a splintering crash, and the negro woman saw
+the door split so that the light from the other room streaked through
+it. But the door held, momentarily. Then Carrington again lunged against
+it and it burst open, pieces of the lock flying across the room.
+
+This time Carrington did not fall with the door, but reeled through the
+opening, erect, big, a vibrant, mirthless laugh on his lips.
+
+The light from the other room streamed in past him, shining full upon
+Martha, who stood, her hands on her hips, looking at the man.
+
+Carrington was disconcerted by the presence of Martha when he had
+expected to see Marion. He stepped back, cursing.
+
+Martha giggled softly.
+
+“What you doin’ in my room, man; just when I’se goin’ to retiah? You git
+out o’ heah—quick! Yo’ heah me? Yo’ ain’t got no business bustin’ my
+door down!”
+
+“Bah!” Carrington’s voice was malignant with baffled rage. With one step
+he was at Martha’s side, his hands on her throat, his muscles rigid and
+straining.
+
+“Where’s Marion Harlan?” he demanded. “Tell me, you black devil, or I’ll
+choke hell out of you!”
+
+Martha was not frightened; she giggled mockingly.
+
+“That girl bust in heah a minute ago; then she bust out ag’in, runnin’
+fit to kill herself. I reckon by this time she’s done throw herself off
+the butte—rather than have you git her!”
+
+Carrington shoved Martha from him, so that she staggered and fell; and
+with a bound he was through the door that led into Martha’s room.
+
+The negro woman did not move. She sat on the floor, a malicious grin on
+her face, listening to Carrington as he raged through the house.
+
+Once, about five minutes after he left, Carrington returned and stuck
+his head into the room. Martha still sat where Carrington had thrown
+her. She did not care what Carrington did to the house, so long as he
+was ignorant of the existence of the trap-door.
+
+And Carrington did not notice the door. For an hour Martha heard him
+raging around the house, opening and slamming doors and overturning
+furniture. Once when she did not hear him for several minutes, she got
+up and went to one of the windows. She saw him, out at the stable,
+looking in at the horses.
+
+Then he returned to the house, and Martha resumed her place on the
+floor. Later, she heard Carrington enter the house again, and after that
+she heard Parsons’ voice, raised in high-terrored protest. Then there
+was another silence. Again Martha looked out of a window. This time she
+saw Carrington on his horse, riding away.
+
+But for half an hour Martha remained at the window. She feared
+Carrington’s departure was a subterfuge, and she was not mistaken. For a
+little later Carrington returned, riding swiftly. He slid from his horse
+at a little distance from the house and ran toward it. Martha was in the
+kitchen when he came in. He did not speak to her as he came into the
+room, but passed her and again made a search of the house. Passing
+Martha again he gave her a malevolent look, then halted at the outside
+door.
+
+The man’s wild rage seemed to have left him; he was calm—polite, even.
+
+“Tell your mistress I am sorry for what has occurred. I am afraid I was
+a bit excited. I shall not harm her; I won’t bother her again.”
+
+He stepped through the doorway and, going again to a window and drawing
+back the curtain slightly, Martha watched him.
+
+Carrington went to the stable, entered, and emerged again presently,
+leading two horses—Parsons’ horse and Billy. He led the animals to
+where his own horse stood, climbed into the saddle and rode away, the
+two horses following. At the edge of the wood he turned and looked back.
+Then the darkness swallowed him.
+
+For another half-hour Martha watched the Dawes trail from a window. Then
+she drew a deep breath and went into Marion’s room, standing under the
+trap-door.
+
+“I reckon you kin come down now, honey—he’s gone.”
+
+A little later, with Marion standing near her in the room, the light
+from the kerosene-lamp streaming upon them through the shattered door,
+Martha was speaking rapidly:
+
+“He acted mighty suspicious, honey; an’ he’s up to some dog’s trick,
+shuah as you’m alive. You got to git out of heah, honey—mighty quick!
+‘Pears he thinks you is hid somewhares around heah, an’ he’s figgerin’
+on makin’ you stay heah. An’ if you wants to git away, you’s got to
+walk, for he’s took the hosses!” She shook her head, her eyes wide with
+a reflection of the complete stupefaction that had descended upon her.
+“Laws A’mighty, what a ragin’ devil that man is, honey! I’se seen men
+_an’_ men—an’ I knowed a nigger once that was——”
+
+But Martha paused, for Marion was paying no attention to her. The girl
+was pulling some articles of wearing apparel from some drawers, packing
+them hurriedly into a small handbag, and Martha sprang quickly to help
+her, divining what the girl intended to do.
+
+“That’s right, honey; doan you stay heah in this house another minit!
+You git out as quick as you kin. You go right over to that Squint man’s
+house an’ tell him to protect you. ’Cause you’s goin’ to need
+protection, honey—an’ don’t you forgit it!”
+
+The girl’s white face was an eloquent sign of her conception of the
+danger that confronted her. But she spoke no word while packing her
+handbag. When she was ready she turned to the door, to confront Martha,
+who also carried a satchel. Together the two went out of the house,
+crossed the level surrounding it, and began to descend the long slope
+that led down into the mighty basin in which, some hours before, the
+girl had seen the pin-point of light glimmering across the sea of
+darkness toward her. And toward that light, as toward a beacon that
+promised a haven from a storm, she went, Martha following.
+
+From a window of the house a man watched them—Parsons—in the grip of a
+paralyzing terror, his pallid face pressed tightly against the glass of
+the window as he watched until he could see them no longer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII—THE WRONG ANKLE
+
+
+Bud Hemmingway, the tall, red-faced young puncher who had assisted
+Quinton Taylor in the sprained-ankle deception, saw the dawn breaking
+through one of the windows of the bunkhouse when he suddenly opened his
+eyes after dreaming of steaming flapjacks soaked in the sirup he liked
+best. He stretched out on his back in the wall-bunk and licked his lips.
+
+“Lordy, I’m hungry!”
+
+But he decided to rest for a few minutes while he considered the
+cook—away with the outfit to a distant corner of the range.
+
+He reflected bitterly that the cook was away most of the time, and that
+a man fared considerably better with the outfit than he did by staying
+at the home ranch. For one thing, when a man was with the outfit he got
+“grub,” without having to rustle it himself—that was why it was better
+to be with the outfit.
+
+“A man don’t git nothin’ to eat at all, scarcely—when he’s got to
+rustle his own grub,” mourned Bud. “He’s got the appetite, all right,
+but he don’t know how to rassle the ingredients which goes into good
+grub. Take them flapjacks, now.” (He licked his lips again.) “They’re
+scrumptuous. But that damned hyena which slings grub for the outfit
+won’t tell a man how he makes ’em, which greediness is goin’ to git him
+into a heap of trouble some day—when I git so hungry that I feel a heap
+reckless!”
+
+Bud watched the dawn broaden. He knew he ought to get up, for this was
+the day on which Marion Harlan was to visit the Arrow—and Taylor had
+warned him to be on hand early to bandage the ankle again—Taylor having
+decided that not enough time had elapsed to effect a cure.
+
+But Bud did not get up until a glowing shaft entering the window warned
+him that the sun was soon to appear above the horizon. Then he bounded
+out of the bunk and lurched heavily to an east window.
+
+What he saw when he looked out made him gasp for breath and hang hard to
+the window-sill, while his eyes bulged and widened with astonishment.
+For upon the porch of the ranchhouse—seated in the identical chairs in
+which they had sat during their previous visit, were Marion Harlan and
+the negro woman!
+
+Bud stepped back from the window and rubbed his eyes. Then he went to
+the window again and looked with all his vision. And then a grin covered
+his face.
+
+For the two women seemed to be asleep. Bud would have sworn they were
+asleep! For the negress was hunched up in her chair—a big, almost
+shapeless black mass—with her chin hidden in the swell of her ample
+bosom; while the girl was leaning back, her figure slack with the utter
+relaxation that accompanies deep sleep, her eyes closed and her hat a
+little awry. Bud was certain _she_ was asleep, for no girl in her waking
+moments would permit her hat to rest upon her head in that negligent
+manner.
+
+Bad scratched his head many times while hurriedly getting into his
+clothing.
+
+“I’m bettin’ _they_ didn’t wait for flapjacks _this_ morning!” he
+confided to himself, mentally. “Must like it here a heap,” he reflected.
+“Well, there’s nothin’ like gittin’ an early start when you’re goin’
+anywhere!” he grinned.
+
+Stealthily he opened the door of the bunkhouse, watching furtively as he
+stepped out, lest he be seen; and then when he noted that the women did
+not move, he darted across the yard, vaulted the corral fence, ran
+around the corner of the ranchhouse, carefully opened a rear door, and
+presently stood beside a bed gently shaking its tousled-haired occupant.
+
+“Git up, you sufferin’ fool!” he whispered hoarsely; “they’re here!”
+
+Taylor’s eyes snapped open and were fixed on Bud with a resentful glare,
+which instantly changed to reserved amusement when he saw Bud’s bulging
+eyes and general evidence of suppressed excitement.
+
+He yawned sleepily, stretching his arms wide.
+
+“The outfit, eh? Well, tell Bothwell I’ll see him——”
+
+“Bothwell, hell!” sneered Bud. “It ain’t the outfit! It ain’t no damned
+range boss! It’s _her_, I tell you! An’ if you’re figgerin’ on gittin’
+that ankle bandaged before— That starts you to runnin’, eh?” he jeered.
+
+For Taylor was out of bed with one leap. In another he had Bud by the
+shoulders and had crowded him back against the wall.
+
+“Bud,” he said, “I’ve a notion to manhandle you! Didn’t I tell you to
+have me up early?”
+
+“Git your fingers out of my windpipe,” objected Bud. “Early! Sufferin’
+shorthorns! Did you want me to git you up last night? It’s only four,
+now—an’ they’ve been here for hours, I reckon—mebbe all night. How’s a
+man to know anything about a woman?”
+
+Taylor was getting into his clothes. Bud watched him, marveling at his
+deft movements. “You’re sure a wolf at hustlin’ when _she’s_ around!” he
+offered.
+
+But he got no reply. Taylor was dressed in a miraculously short time,
+and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and stuck a foot out toward
+Bud.
+
+“Shut up, and get the bandage on!” he directed.
+
+Bud dove for a dresser and pulled out a drawer, returning instantly with
+a roll of white cloth, which he unfolded as he knelt beside the bed. For
+an instant after kneeling he scratched his head, looking at Taylor’s
+feet in perplexity, and then he looked up at Taylor, his face
+thoughtfully furrowed.
+
+“Which ankle was it I bandaged before?” he demanded; “I’ve forgot!”
+
+Taylor groaned. He, too, had forgotten. Since he had talked with Neil
+Norton about the ankle directly after the fight with Carrington in front
+of the courthouse he had tried in vain to remember which ankle he had
+bandaged for Miss Harlan’s benefit. Driven to the necessity of making a
+quick decision, his brain became a mere muddle of desperate conjecture.
+Out of the muddle sprang a disgust for Bud for _his_ poor memory.
+
+“You’ve forgot!” he blurted at Bud. “Why, damn it, you ought to know
+which one it was—you bandaged it!”
+
+“Well,” grinned Bud gleefully, “it was _your_ ankle, wasn’t it? Strikes
+me that if I busted one of _my_ ankles I wouldn’t forget which one it
+was! Leastways, if I’d busted it just to hang around a girl!”
+
+Taylor sneered scornfully. “You wouldn’t bust an ankle for a girl—you
+ain’t got backbone enough. Hell!” he exploded; “do something! Take a
+chance and bandage one of them—I don’t care a damn which one! If she
+noticed the other time, I’ll tell her that one was cured and I busted
+the other one!”
+
+“She’d know you was lyin’,” grinned Bud. He stood erect, his eyes alight
+with an inspiration. “Wrap up both of ’em!” he suggested. “If she goes
+to gittin’ curious—which she will, bein’ a woman—tell her you busted
+both of ’em!”
+
+“It won’t do,” objected Taylor; “I couldn’t lie that heavy an’ keep a
+straight face.”
+
+Bud began to wrap the left ankle. As he worked, the doubt in his eyes
+began to fade and was succeeded by conviction. When he finished, he
+stood up and grinned at Taylor.
+
+“That’s the one,” he said; “the left. I mind, now, that we talked about
+it. You go right out to her, limpin’, the same as you done before, an’
+she’ll not say a word about it. You’ll see.”
+
+Taylor grunted disbelievingly, and hobbled to the front door. He looked
+back at Bud, who was snickering, made a malicious grimace at him, and
+softly opened the door.
+
+Miss Harlan had been asleep, but she was not asleep when Taylor opened
+the door. Indeed, she was never more wide awake in her life. At the
+sound of the door opening she turned her head and sat stiffly erect, to
+face Taylor.
+
+Taylor looked apologetically at his ankle, his cheeks tinged with a
+flush of embarrassment.
+
+“This ankle, ma’am—it ain’t quite well yet. You’ll excuse me not being
+gone. But Bud—that’s my friend—says it won’t be quite right for a few
+days yet. But I won’t be in your way—and I hope you enjoy yourself.”
+
+Miss Harlan was enjoying herself. She was enjoying herself despite the
+shadow of the tragedy that had almost descended upon her. And mirth,
+routing the bitter, resentful emotions that had dwelt in her heart
+during the night, twitched mightily at her lips and threatened to curve
+them into a smile.
+
+For during her last visit to the Arrow she had noted particularly that
+it had been Taylor’s _right_ ankle which had been bandaged, and now he
+appeared before her with the _left_ swathed in white cloth!
+
+But even had she not known, Taylor’s face must have told her of the
+deception. For there was guilt in his eyes, and doubt, and a sort of
+breathless speculation, and—she was certain—an intense curiosity to
+discover whether or not she was aware of the trick.
+
+But she looked straight at him, betraying nothing of the emotions that
+had seized her.
+
+“Does it pain you _very_ much?” she inquired.
+
+Had not Taylor been so eager to make his case strong, he might have
+noted the exceedingly light sarcasm of her voice.
+
+“It hurts a heap, ma’am,” he declared. “Why, last night——”
+
+“I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to lie about an ankle,” she
+said, coldly.
+
+Taylor’s face went crimson, and in his astonishment he stepped heavily
+upon the traitor foot and stood, convicted, before her, looking very
+much like a reproved schoolboy.
+
+She rose from her chair, and now she turned from Taylor and stood
+looking out over the big level, while behind her Taylor shifted his
+feet, scowled and felt decidedly uncomfortable.
+
+From where Taylor watched her she looked very rigid and indignant—with
+her head proudly erect and her shoulders squared; and he could almost
+_feel_ that her eyes were flashing with resentment.
+
+Yet had he been able to see her face, he would have seen her lips
+twitching and her eyes dancing with a light that might have puzzled him.
+For she had already forgiven him.
+
+“There’s lies—_and_ lies,” he offered palliatively, breaking a painful
+silence.
+
+There was no answer, and Taylor, desperately in earnest in his desire
+for forgiveness, and looking decidedly funny to Bud Hemmingway, who was
+watching from the interior of the room beyond the open door, walked
+across the porch with no suspicion of a limp, and halted near the girl.
+
+“Shucks, Miss Harlan,” he said. “I’m sure caught; and I’m admitting it
+was a sort of mean trick to pull off on you. But if you wanted to be
+near a girl you’d taken a shine to—that you liked a whole lot, I mean,
+Miss Harlan—and you couldn’t think of any _good_ excuse to be around
+her? You couldn’t blame a man for that—could you? Besides,” he added,
+when peering at the side of her face, he saw the twitching lips, ready
+to break into a smile, “I’ll make it up to you!”
+
+“How?” It was a strained voice that answered him.
+
+“By manhandling Bud Hemmingway for wrapping up the wrong ankle, ma’am!”
+he declared.
+
+Both heard a cackle of mirth from the room behind them. And both turned,
+to see Bud Hemmingway retreating through a door into the kitchen.
+
+It might have been Bud’s action that brought the smile to Miss Harlan’s
+face, or it might have been that she had forgiven Taylor. But at any
+rate Taylor read the smile correctly, and he succeeded in looking
+properly repentant when he felt Miss Harlan’s gaze upon him.
+
+“I won’t play any more tricks—on you,” he declared. “You ain’t holding
+it against me?”
+
+“If you will promise not to harm Bud,” she said.
+
+“That goes,” he agreed, and went into the house to get his discarded
+boot.
+
+When he reappeared, Miss Harlan was again seated in the chair. Swiftly
+her thoughts had reverted to the incident of the night before, and her
+face was wan and pale, and her lips pressed tightly together in a brave
+effort to repress the emotions that rioted within her. In spite of her
+courage, and of her determination not to let Taylor know of what had
+happened to her, her eyes were moist and her lips quivering.
+
+He stepped close to her and peered sharply at her, standing erect
+instantly, his face grave.
+
+“Shucks!” he said, accusingly; “I wouldn’t be called hospitable—now,
+would I? Standing here, talking a lot of nonsense, and you—you must
+have started _early_ to get here by this time!” Again he flashed a keen
+glance at her, and his voice leaped.
+
+“Something has happened, Miss Harlan! What is it?”
+
+She got up again and faced him, smiling, her eyes shining mistily
+through the moisture in them. She was almost on the verge of tears, and
+her voice was tremulous when she answered:
+
+“Mr. Taylor, I—I have come to ask if you—still—if your offer about
+the Arrow is still open—if—I could stay here—myself and Martha; if I
+could accept the offer you made about giving me father’s share of the
+Arrow. For—for—I can’t go back East—to Westwood, and I won’t stay in
+the Huggins house a minute longer!”
+
+“Sure!” he said, with a grim smile, aware of her profound emotion;
+aware, too, that something had gone terribly wrong with her—to make her
+accept what she had once considered charity—an offer made out of his
+regard for her father.
+
+“But, look here,” he added. “What’s wrong? There’s something——”
+
+“Plenty, Mr. Squint.”
+
+This was Martha. She had been awake for some little time, sitting back
+with her eyes closed, listening. She was now sitting erect, her eyes
+shining with eagerness to tell all she knew of the night’s happenings.
+
+“Plenty, Mr. Squint,” she repeated, paying no attention to Miss Harlan’s
+sharp, “Martha!” “That big rapscallion, Carrington, has been makin’
+things mighty mis’able for Missy Harlan. He come to the house las’ night
+an’ bust the door down, tryin’ to git at missy, an’ she’s run away from
+him like a whitehead. Then, when he finds he can’t diskiver where I hide
+missy he run the hosses off an’ we have to walk heah. That’s all, Mr.
+Squint, ’ceptin’ that me an’ missy doan stay in that house no more—if
+we have to walk East—all the way!”
+
+Miss Harlan saw a flash light Taylor’s eyes; saw the flash recede, to be
+replaced by a chilling glow. And his lips grew straight and stiff—two
+hard lines pressed firmly together. She saw his chest swell and noted
+the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped closer to her.
+
+“Was your uncle there with you, Miss Harlan?”
+
+She nodded, and saw his lips curve with a mirthless smile.
+
+“What did Carrington do?” The passion in his voice made an icy shiver
+run over her—she felt the terrible earnestness that had come over him,
+and a pulse of fear gripped her.
+
+She had never felt more like crying than at this instant, and until this
+minute she had not known how deeply she had been affected by
+Carrington’s conduct, nor how tired she was, nor how she had yearned for
+the sympathy Taylor was giving her. But she felt that something in
+Taylor’s manner portended violence, and she did not want him to risk his
+life fighting Carrington—for her.
+
+“You see,” she explained, “Mr. Carrington did not really _do_ anything.
+He just came there, and was impertinent, and impudent, and insulting.
+And he told me that he had bought the house; that it didn’t belong to
+uncle—though I thought it did; and that the people of Dawes—and
+everywhere—would think—things—about me—as the people of Westwood
+had—thought. And I—I—why, I just couldn’t stay——”
+
+“That’s enough, Miss Harlan. So Carrington didn’t do anything.” His
+voice was vibrant with some sternly repressed passion.
+
+“So you walked all the way here, and you have had no breakfast,” he
+said, shortly. He turned toward the front door, his voice snapping like
+the report of a rifle:
+
+“Bud!”
+
+And, looking through the doorway, Miss Harlan saw Bud jump as though he
+had been shot. He appeared in the doorway, serious-faced and alert.
+
+“Rustle some breakfast—quick! And hoe out that spare bedroom. Jump!”
+
+Taylor understood perfectly what had happened, for he remembered what he
+had overheard between Carrington and Parsons on the train. To be sure,
+Miss Harlan knew nothing about the conversation, and so she mentally
+commended Taylor’s quickness of perception, and felt grateful to him
+because he had spared her the horror of explaining further.
+
+She sat down again, aware of the startling unconventionality of this
+visit and of the conversation that had resulted from it, but oppressed
+with no sense of shame. For it seemed entirely natural that she should
+have come to Taylor, though she supposed that was because he had been
+her father’s friend, and that she had no other person to go to—not even
+if she went East, to Westwood. But she would not have mentioned what had
+happened at the big house if Martha had not taken the initiative.
+
+She was startled over the change that had come in Taylor. Watching him
+covertly as he stood near her, and following his movements as he walked
+around in the room, helping Bud, generously leaving her to herself and
+her thoughts, she looked in vain for that gentleness and subtle
+thoughtfulness that hitherto had seemed to distinguish him. She had
+admired him for his easy-going manner, the slow deliberateness of his
+glances, the quizzical gleam of his eyes.
+
+But she saw him now as many of the men in this section of the country
+had seen him when he faced the necessity for rapid, determined action.
+It was the other side of his character; before she had heard his voice,
+and before she had seen him smile—the stern, unyielding side of him
+which she had discovered always was ready for the blows of adversity and
+enmity—his fighting side.
+
+And when she went into the house to breakfast, feeling the strangeness
+of it all—of the odd fate which had led her to the Arrow; the queer
+reluctance that affected her over the action in accepting the
+hospitality of a man who—except for his association with her
+father—was almost a stranger to her—she found that he did not intend
+to insinuate his presence upon her.
+
+He called her, and stood near the table when she and Martha went in.
+Then he told her gravely that the house was “hers,” and that he and Bud
+would live in the bunkhouse.
+
+“And when you get settled,” he told her, as he stood in the doorway,
+ready to go, “we’ll write those articles of partnership. And,” he added,
+“don’t you go to worrying about Carrington. If he comes here, and Bud or
+me ain’t here, you’ll find a loaded rifle hanging behind the front door.
+Don’t be afraid to use it—there’s no law against killing snakes out
+here!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII—THE BEAST AGAIN
+
+
+Carrington was conscious of the error his unrestrained passion had
+driven him to committing. Yet he had not been sincere when he had
+declared to Martha that he wouldn’t bother the girl again. For after
+leading the two horses to Dawes and arranging for their care, he hunted
+up Danforth. It was nearly midnight when Danforth reached Carrington’s
+rooms in the Castle, and Carrington was in a sullen mood.
+
+“I want two or three men who will do what they are told and keep their
+mouths shut,” he told Danforth. “Get them—quick—and send them to the
+Huggins house—mine, now—and have them stay there. Nobody is to leave
+the house—not even to come to town. Understand? Not even Parsons.
+Hustle! There is no train out of here tonight? No? Well, that’s all
+right. Get going!”
+
+Danforth had noticed Carrington’s sullenness, and the strained
+excitement of his manner, and there was in Danforth’s mind an
+inclination to warn Carrington about including the woman in the scheme
+to subjugate Dawes—for he knew Carrington of old; but a certain light
+in the big man’s eyes warned Danforth and he shut his half-opened lips
+and departed on his errand.
+
+In an hour he returned, telling Carrington that his orders had been
+obeyed.
+
+Danforth seated himself in a chair near one of the front windows and
+waited, for he knew Carrington still had something to say to him—the
+man’s eyes told him, for they were alight with a cold, speculative gleam
+as they rested on Danforth.
+
+At last, after a silence that lasted long, Carrington said, shortly:
+
+“What do you know about Taylor?”
+
+“What I told you before—the first day. And that isn’t much.”
+
+“I had a talk with Parsons the other day—about Larry Harlan,” said
+Carrington. “It seems that Larry Harlan worked for Taylor—for two or
+three years. I didn’t question Parsons closely about the connection
+between Taylor and Harlan, but it seems to me that Parsons mentioned a
+mine. What about it? Do you know anything about it?”
+
+Danforth related what he knew regarding the incident of the mine—the
+story told by Taylor when he returned after Larry Harlan’s death—and
+Carrington’s eyes gleamed with interest.
+
+“Do you think he told a straight story?” he asked.
+
+He watched Danforth intently.
+
+“Hell, yes!” declared the other. “He’s too square to lie!”
+
+Five minutes later Carrington said good-night to Danforth. But
+Carrington did not immediately go to bed; he sat for a long time in a
+chair near the window looking out at the buildings of Dawes.
+
+In the courtroom early the next morning he leaned over Judge
+Littlefield’s desk, smiling.
+
+“Did you ever hear of Quinton Taylor being connected with a mining
+venture?”
+
+“Well, rather.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“At Nogel—in the Sangre de Christo Mountains.”
+
+“How far is that?”
+
+“About ten miles—due west.”
+
+“What do you know about the mine?”
+
+“Very little. Taylor and a man named Lawrence Harlan registered the
+claim here. I heard that Harlan died—was killed in an accident. Soon
+afterward, Taylor sold the mine—to a man named Thornton—for a
+consideration, not mentioned.” The judge looked sharply at Carrington.
+“Why this inquiry?” he asked; “do you think there is anything wrong
+about the transaction?”
+
+“There is no determining that until an investigation is made.”
+Carrington laughed as he left the judge.
+
+Later he got on his horse and rode to the big house. On the front porch,
+seated in a chair, smoking, he saw one of the men Danforth had sent in
+obedience to his order; at the rear of the house was another; and,
+lounging carelessly on the grass near the edge of the butte fringing the
+big valley, he saw still another—men who seemed to find their work
+agreeable, for they grinned at Carrington when he rode up.
+
+Carrington dismounted and entered the house—by one of the rear
+doors—which he had wrecked the night before. He went in boldly,
+grinning, for he anticipated that by this time Marion Harlan would have
+reached that stage of intimidation where she would no longer resist him.
+
+At first he was only mildly disturbed at the appearance of the interior;
+for nothing had been done to bring order out of the chaos he had created
+the night before, and the condition of the furniture, and the atmosphere
+of gloomy emptiness that greeted him indicated nothing. The terror under
+which the girl had labored during the night might still be gripping her.
+
+He had no suspicion that the girl had left the house until after he had
+looked into all the rooms but the one occupied by Parsons. Then a
+conviction that she _had_ fled seized him; he scowled and leaped to the
+door of Parsons’ room, pounding heavily upon it.
+
+Parsons did not answer his knock, and an instant later, when Carrington
+forced the door and stepped into the room, he saw Parsons standing near
+a window, pallid and shaking.
+
+With a bound Carrington reached Parsons’ side and gripped the man by the
+collar of his coat.
+
+“Where’s Miss Harlan?” he demanded. He noted that Parsons swayed in his
+grasp, and he peered at the other with a malignant joy. He had always
+hated Parsons, tolerating him because of Parsons’ money.
+
+“She’s gone,” whispered Parsons tremulously. “I—I tried to stop her,
+knowing you wouldn’t want it, but—she went away—anyway.”
+
+“Where?” Carrington’s fingers were gripping Parsons’ shoulder near the
+throat with a bitter, viselike strength that made the man cringe and
+groan from the pain of it.
+
+“Don’t, Jim; for God’s sake, don’t! You’re hurting me! I—I couldn’t
+help it; I couldn’t stop her!”
+
+The abject, terrified appeal in his eyes; the fawning, doglike
+subjection of his manner, enraged Carrington. He shook the little man
+with a force that racked the other from head to heel.
+
+“Where did she go—damn you!”
+
+“To the Arrow.”
+
+Aroused to desperation by the flaming fury that blazed in Carrington’s
+eyes, Parsons tried to wrench himself free, tugging desperately, and
+whining: “Don’t, Jim!” For he knew that he was to be punished for his
+dereliction.
+
+He shrieked when Carrington struck him; a sound which died in his throat
+as the blow landed. Carrington left him lie where he fell, and went out
+to the men, interrogating the one he had seen on the front porch.
+
+From that person he learned that no one had left the house since the men
+had come; so that Carrington knew Marion must have departed soon after
+he had left the night before—or some time during the time of his
+departure and the arrival of the men.
+
+Ten minutes after emerging from the house he went in again. Parsons was
+sitting on the floor of his room, swaying weakly back and forth, whining
+tonelessly, his lips loose and drooling blood.
+
+For an instant Carrington stood over him, looking down at him with a
+merciless, tigerlike grin. Then he stooped, gripped Parsons by the
+shoulders, and, lifting him bodily, threw him across the bed. Parsons
+did not resist, but lay, his arms flung wide, watching the big man
+fearfully.
+
+“Don’t hit me again, Jim!” he pleaded. “Jim, I’ve never done anything to
+you!”
+
+“Bah!” Carrington leaned over the other, grinning malevolently.
+
+“You’ve double-crossed me, Elam,” he said silkily. “You’re through. Get
+out of here before I kill you! I want to; and if you are here in five
+minutes, I shall kill you! Go to the Arrow—with your niece. Tell her
+what you know about me—if you haven’t done so already. And tell her
+that I am coming for her—and for Taylor, too! Now, get out!”
+
+In less than five minutes, while Carrington was at the front of the
+house talking with the three men, Parsons tottered from a rear door,
+staggered weakly into some dense shrubbery that skirted the far side of
+the house, and made his slow way toward the big slope down which Marion
+and Martha had gone some hours before.
+
+Retribution had descended swiftly upon Parsons; it seemed to him he was
+out of it, crushed and beaten. But no thread of philosophy weaved its
+way through the fabric of the man’s complete misery and humiliation, and
+no reflection that he had merely reaped what he had sown glimmered in
+his consciousness. He was merely conscious that he had been beaten and
+robbed by the man who had always been his confederate, and as he reeled
+down the big slope on his way to the Arrow he whined and moaned in a
+toneless voice of vengeance—and more vengeance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX—THE AMBUSH
+
+
+The incident of the fight between Carrington, Danforth, Judge
+Littlefield, and Taylor in front of the courthouse had eloquently
+revealed a trait of Taylor’s character which was quite generally known
+to the people of Dawes, and which, in a great measure, accounted for
+Taylor’s popularity.
+
+Few of Dawes’s citizens had ever seen Taylor angry. Neil Norton had seen
+him in a rage once, and the memory of the man’s face was still vivid. A
+few of the town’s citizens had watched him once—when he had thrashed a
+gunman who had insulted him—and the story of that fight still taxed the
+vocabularies of those who had witnessed it. One enthusiastic watcher, at
+the conclusion of the fight, had picturesquely termed Taylor a “regular
+he-wolf in a scrap;” and thus there was written into the traditions of
+the town a page of his history which carried the lesson, repeated by
+many tongues:
+
+“Don’t rile Taylor!”
+
+Riding into Dawes about two hours after he had heard from Marion Harlan
+the story of the attack on her by Carrington, Taylor’s face was set and
+grim. His ancient hatred of Carrington was intensified by another
+passion that had burned its way into his heart, filling it with a
+primitive lust to destroy—jealousy.
+
+He dismounted in front of the Castle Hotel, and, entering, he asked the
+clerk where he could find Carrington. The clerk could give him no
+information, and Taylor went out, the clerk’s puzzled gaze following
+him.
+
+“Evidently he doesn’t want to congratulate Carrington about anything,”
+the clerk confided to a bystander.
+
+Mounting his horse, Taylor rode down the street to the building which
+Danforth had selected as a place from which to administer the government
+of Dawes. A gilt sign over the front bore upon it the words:
+
+                               CITY HALL.
+
+Taylor went inside, and found Danforth seated at a desk. The latter
+looked sourly at his visitor until he caught a glimpse of his eyes, then
+his face paled, and he sat silent until Taylor spoke:
+
+“Where’s Carrington?”
+
+“I haven’t seen Carrington this morning,” lied Danforth, for he _had_
+seen Carrington some time before, riding out of town toward the Huggins
+house. He suspected Carrington’s errand was in some way concerned with
+the three men who had been sent there. But he divined from the
+expression in Taylor’s eyes that trouble between Taylor and Carrington
+was imminent, and he would not set Taylor on the other’s trail without
+first warning Carrington.
+
+He met Taylor’s straight, cold look of disbelief with a vindictive
+smirk, which grew venomous as Taylor wheeled and walked out. Taylor had
+not gone far when Danforth called a man to his side, whispered rapidly
+to him, telling him to hurry. Later the man slipped out of the rear door
+of the building, mounted a horse, and rode hurriedly down the river
+trail toward the Huggins house.
+
+Taylor rode to the _Eagle_ office, but Norton was not there, and so,
+pursuing his quest, Taylor looked into saloons and stores, and various
+other places. Men who knew him noted his taciturnity—for he spoke
+little except to greet a friend here and there shortly—and commented
+upon his abrupt manner.
+
+“What’s up with Taylor?” asked a man who knew him. “Looks sort of
+riled.”
+
+Taylor found Carrington in none of the places in which he looked. He
+returned to the _Eagle_ office, and found Norton there. He greeted
+Norton with a short:
+
+“Seen Carrington?”
+
+“Why, yes.” Norton peered closely at his friend. “What in blazes is
+wrong?” His thoughts went to another time, when he had seen Taylor as he
+appeared now, and he drew a deep breath.
+
+Briefly Taylor told him, and when the tale was ended, Norton’s eyes were
+blazing with indignation.
+
+“So, that’s the kind of a whelp he is!” he said. “Well,” he added, “I
+saw him go out on the river trail a while ago; it’s likely he’s gone to
+the Huggins house.”
+
+“His—now,” said Taylor; “that’s what makes it worse. Well,” he added as
+he stepped toward the door, “I’ll be going.”
+
+“Be careful, Squint,” warned Norton, placing a hand on his friend’s
+shoulder. “I know you can lick him—and I hope you give him all that’s
+coming to him. But watch him—he’s tricky!” He paused. “If you need any
+help—someone to go with you, to keep an eye——”
+
+“It’s a one-man job,” grinned Taylor mirthlessly.
+
+“You’ll promise you won’t be thinking of that ankle—this time?” said
+Norton seriously.
+
+Taylor permitted himself a faint smile. “That’s all explained now,” he
+said. “She’s been a lot generous—and forgiving. No,” he added, “I won’t
+be thinking of that ankle—now!”
+
+And then, his lips setting again, he crossed the sidewalk, mounted
+Spotted Tail, and rode through town to the river trail. Watching him,
+Norton saw him disappear in some timber that fringed the river.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Carrington had finished his talk with the three men he had set to guard
+the Huggins house. The men were told to stay until they received orders
+from Carrington to leave. And they were to report to him immediately if
+anyone came.
+
+Carrington had watched Parsons go down the big slope; and for a long
+time after he had finished his talk with the three men he stood on the
+front porch of the house watching the progress made by Parsons through
+the basin.
+
+“Following Marion,” Carrington assured himself, with a crooked smile.
+“Well, I’ll know where to get both of them when I want them.”
+
+Carrington felt not the slightest tremor of pity for Parsons. He laughed
+deep in his throat with a venomous joy as he saw Parsons slowly making
+his way through the big basin; for he knew Parsons—he knew that the
+craven nature of the man would prevent him from attempting any reprisal
+of a vigorous character.
+
+Yet the exultation in the big man’s heart was dulled with a slight
+regret for his ruthless attack on Marion Harlan. He should not have been
+so eager, he told himself; he should have waited; he should have
+insinuated himself into her good graces, and then——
+
+Scowling, he got on his horse and rode up the Dawes trail, shouting a
+last word of caution to the three men—one seated on the front porch,
+the other two lounging in the shade of a tree near by.
+
+Half a mile from the house, riding through a timber grove, he met the
+man Danforth had sent to him. The latter gave Carrington the message he
+carried, which was merely: “Taylor is looking for you.”
+
+“Coming here?” he asked the man sharply.
+
+“I reckon he will be—if he can’t find you in town,” said the man.
+“Danforth said Taylor was a heap fussed up, an’ killin’ mad!”
+
+A grayish pallor stole over Carrington’s face, and he drew a quick
+breath, sending a rapid, dreading glance up the Dawes trail. Then,
+coincident with a crafty backward look—toward the Huggins house—the
+grayish pallor receded and a rush of color suffused his face. He spoke
+shortly to the man:
+
+“Sneak back—by a roundabout trail. Don’t let Taylor see you!”
+
+He watched while the man urged his horse deep into the fringing timber.
+Carrington could see him for a time as he rode, and then, when horse and
+rider had vanished, Carrington wheeled his horse and sent it clattering
+back along the trail to the big house.
+
+Arriving there, he called the three men to him and talked fast to them.
+The talk ended, the men ran for their horses, and a few minutes later
+they raced up the river trail toward Dawes, their faces grim, their eyes
+alert.
+
+About a mile up the trail, where a wood of spruce and fir-balsam spread
+dark shadows over the ground, and an almost impenetrable growth of brush
+fringed the narrow, winding path over which any rider going to the big
+house must pass, they separated, two plunging deep into the brush on one
+side, and one man secreting himself on the other side.
+
+They urged their horses far back, where they could not be seen. And
+then, concealing themselves behind convenient bushes, they waited, their
+eyes trained on the Dawes trail, their ears attuned to catch the
+slightest sound that might come from that direction.
+
+Back at the big house—having arranged the ambuscade—Carrington drew a
+deep breath of relief and smiled evilly. He thought he knew why Taylor
+was looking for him. Marion had gone to the Arrow, to tell Taylor what
+had happened at the big house, and Taylor, in a jealous rage, intended
+to punish him. Well, Taylor could come now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX—A FIGHT TO A FINISH
+
+
+And Taylor was “coming.” The big black horse he was riding—which he had
+named “Spotted Tail” because of the white blotches that startlingly
+relieved his somber sable coat—was never in better condition. He
+stepped lightly, running in long, smooth leaps down the narrow trail,
+champing at the bit, keen of eye, alert, eager, snorting his impatience
+over the tight rein his rider kept on him.
+
+But Spotted Tail was not more eager than his rider. Taylor, however,
+knowing that at any instant he might run plump into Carrington,
+returning from the big house, was forced to restrain his impatience.
+Therefore, except on the straight reaches of the trail, he was forced to
+pull the black down.
+
+But they were traveling fast when they reached the timber grove in which
+Carrington’s men were concealed; and yet on the damp earth of the trail,
+where the sunlight could not penetrate, and where the leaves of past
+summers had fallen, to rot and weave a pulpy carpet, the rush of Spotted
+Tail’s passing created little sound.
+
+Within a hundred feet of the spot where Carrington’s men were concealed,
+Spotted Tail shot his ears forward stiffly and raised his muzzle
+inquiringly. Taylor, noting the action, and suspecting that instinct had
+warned Spotted Tail of the approach of another horse, drew the animal
+down and rode forward at a walk, for he felt that it must be
+Carrington’s horse which was approaching.
+
+Rounding a sharp turn in the trail, Taylor could look ahead for perhaps
+a hundred feet. He saw no rider advancing toward him, and he leaned
+forward, slapping the black’s neck in playful reproach.
+
+As he moved he heard the heavy crash of a pistol shot and felt the
+bullet sing past his head. Another pistol barked venomously from some
+brush on his right, and still another from his left.
+
+But none of the bullets struck Taylor. For the black horse, startled by
+Taylor’s playful movement when all his senses were strained to detect
+the location of his kind on the trail, had made an involuntary forward
+leap, thus whisking his rider out of the line of fire. And before either
+of the three men could shoot again, Spotted Tail had flashed down the
+trail—a streak of somber black against the green background of the
+trees.
+
+He fled over the hundred feet of straight trail and had vanished around
+a bend before the Carrington men could move their weapons around
+impeding branches of the brush that covered them. There was no stopping
+Spotted Tail now, for he was in a frenzy of terror—and he made a mere
+rushing black blot as he emerged from the timber and fled across an open
+space toward another wood—the wood that surrounded the big house.
+
+Standing on the front porch of the big house, nervously smoking a cigar,
+his face set in sullen lines, his eyes fixed on the Dawes trail,
+Carrington heard the shots. He sighed, grinned maliciously, and relaxed
+his vigilance.
+
+“He’s settled by now,” he said.
+
+He looked at one of the chairs standing on the porch, thought of sitting
+in one of them to await the coming of the three men, decided he was too
+impatient to sit, and began walking back and forth on the porch.
+
+He had thrown a half-smoked cigar away and was lighting another when he
+saw a black blot burst from the edge of a timber-clump beyond an open
+space. The match flared and went out as Carrington held it to the end of
+the cigar, for there was something strangely familiar in the shape of
+the black blot—even with it heading directly toward him. An instant
+later, the blot looming larger in his vision, Carrington dropped cigar
+and match and stood staring with wild, fear-haunted eyes at the rushing
+black horse.
+
+Carrington stood motionless a little longer—until the black horse, its
+rider sitting straight in the saddle, in cowboy fashion, reached the
+edge of the wood surrounding the house. Then Carrington, cursing, his
+lips in a hideous pout, drew a pistol from a hip-pocket. And when the
+black horse was within fifty feet of him, and still coming at a speed
+which there was no gauging, Carrington leveled the pistol.
+
+Once—twice—three, four, five, six times he pulled the trigger of the
+weapon. Carrington saw a grim, mocking smile on the rider’s face, and
+knew none of his bullets had taken effect.
+
+Unarmed now, he was suddenly stricken with a panic of fear; and while
+the rider of the black horse was dismounting at the edge of the porch,
+Carrington dove for the front door of the house and vanished inside,
+slamming the door behind him, directly in the rider’s face.
+
+When Taylor threw the door open he saw Carrington, far back in the room,
+swinging a chair over his head. At Taylor’s appearance he threw the
+chair with all the force his frenzy of fear could put into the effort.
+Taylor ducked, and the chair flew past him, sailing uninterruptedly
+outside and over the porch railing.
+
+Carrington ran through the big front room, through the next room—the
+sitting-room—knocking chairs over in his flight, throwing a big center
+table at his silent, implacable pursuer. He slammed the sitting-room
+door and tried to lock it, but he could not turn the key quickly enough,
+and Taylor burst the door open, almost plunging against Carrington as he
+came through it.
+
+Carrington ran into the dining-room, shoved the dining-room table in
+Taylor’s way as Taylor tried to reach him; but Taylor leaped over the
+obstruction, and when Carrington dodged into Marion Harlan’s room,
+Taylor was so close that he might have grasped the big man.
+
+Taylor had said no word. The big man saw two guns swinging at Taylor’s
+hips, and he wondered vaguely why the man did not use them. It occurred
+to Carrington as he plunged through Marion Harlan’s room into Martha’s,
+and from there to the kitchen, and back again to the dining-room, that
+Taylor was not going to shoot him, and his panic partially left him.
+
+And yet there was a gleam in Taylor’s eyes that made his soul cringe in
+terror—the cold, bitter fury of a peaceloving man thoroughly aroused.
+
+Twice, as Taylor pursued Carrington through the sitting-room again and
+into another big room that adjoined it, Carrington’s courage revived
+long enough to permit him to consider making a stand against Taylor, but
+each time as he stiffened with the determination, the terrible rage in
+Taylor’s eyes dissuaded him, and he continued to evade the clash.
+
+But he knew that the clash must come, and when, in their rapid, headlong
+movements, Carrington came close to the front door and tried to slip out
+of it, Taylor lunged against him and struck at him, the fist just
+grazing Carrington’s jaw, the big man understood that Taylor was intent
+on beating him with his fists.
+
+Had it not been for his previous encounter with Taylor, Carrington would
+not have hesitated, for he knew how to protect himself in a fight; but
+there was something in Taylor’s eyes now to add to the memory of that
+other fight, and Carrington wanted no more of it.
+
+But at last he was forced to stand. Ducking to evade the blow aimed at
+his jaw when he tried to dart out of the front door, he slipped.
+Reeling, in an effort to regain his equilibrium, he plunged into another
+big room. It was a room that was little used—an old-fashioned parlor,
+kept trim and neat against the coming of visitors, but a room whose
+gloominess the occupants of the house usually avoided.
+
+The shades were down, partly concealing heavy wooden blinds—which were
+closed. And the only light in the room was that which came from a little
+square window high up in the side wall.
+
+Before Carrington could regain his balance Taylor had entered the room.
+He closed the door behind him, placed his back against it, locked it,
+and grinned felinely at the big man.
+
+“Your men are coming, Carrington,” he said—“hear them?” In the silence
+that followed his words both stood, listening to the beat of hoofs near
+the house. “They’ll be trying to get in here in a minute,” went on
+Taylor. “But before they get in I’m going to knock your head off!” And
+without further warning he was upon Carrington, striking bitterly.
+
+It seemed to Carrington that the man was endowed with a savage strength
+entirely out of proportion to his stature, and that he was able to start
+terrific, deadening blows from any angle. For though Carrington was a
+strong man and had had some fighting experience, he could neither evade
+Taylor’s blows nor stand against the impact of them.
+
+He went reeling around the room under the impetus of Taylor’s terrible
+rushes, struggling to defend himself, to dodge, to clinch, to evade
+somehow the fists that were flying at him from all directions. He could
+not get an instant’s respite in which to set himself. Three times in
+succession he was knocked down so heavily that the house shook with the
+crash of his body striking the floor, and each time when he got to his
+feet he tried to fight Taylor off in an endeavor to set himself for a
+blow. But he could not. He was knocked against the walls of the room,
+and hammered away from them with stiff, jolty, venomous blows that
+jarred him from head to heels. He tried vainly to cover up—with his
+arms locked about his head he crouched and tried to rush Taylor off his
+feet, knowing he was stronger than the other, and that his only hope was
+in clinching. But Taylor held him off with savage uppercuts and terrific
+short-arm swings that smashed his lips.
+
+He began to mutter in a whining, vicious monotone; twice he kicked at
+Taylor, and twice he was knocked down as a punishment for his foul
+methods. Finding his methods ineffectual, and discovering that covering
+his face with his arms did not materially lessen the punishment he was
+receiving, he began to stand up straight, taking blows in an effort to
+land one.
+
+But Taylor eluded him; Carrington’s blows did not land. Raging and
+muttering, roaring with impotent passion, he whipped the air with his
+arms, almost jerking them out of their sockets.
+
+Stiff and taut, his muscles accommodating themselves to every demand he
+made on them, and in perfect coordination with his brain—and the
+purpose of his brain to inflict upon Carrington the maximum of
+punishment for his dastardly attack on Marion Harlan—Taylor worked fast
+and furiously. For he heard Carrington’s three men in the next room; he
+heard them try the door; heard them call to Carrington.
+
+And then, convinced that the fight must be ended quickly, before the men
+should break down the door and have him at a disadvantage, Taylor
+finished it. He smothered Carrington with a succession of stiff-arm,
+straight punches that glazed the other’s eyes and sent him reeling
+around the room. And, at last, over in a corner near the little window,
+Carrington went down flat on his back, his eyes closed, his arms flung
+wide.
+
+Panting from his exertions, Taylor drew his guns and ran to one of the
+front windows. They opened upon the porch, and, peering through the
+blinds, Taylor saw one of the men standing at one of the windows, trying
+to peer into the room. The other two, Taylor knew, were at the door—he
+could hear them talking in the silence that had followed the final
+falling of Carrington.
+
+With a gun in each hand, Taylor approached the door. He was compelled to
+sheath one of the guns, finding that it interfered with the turning of
+the key in the lock; and he had sheathed it and was slowly turning the
+key, intending to throw the door open suddenly and take his chance with
+the two men on the other side of it, when he saw a shadow darken the
+little window above where Carrington lay.
+
+He wheeled quickly, saw a man’s face at the window, caught the glint of
+a pistol. He snapped a shot at the man, swinging his gun over his head
+to keep it from striking the door as he turned. But at the movement the
+man’s pistol roared, glass tinkling on the floor with the report. The
+air in the room rocked with the explosion of Taylor’s pistol, but a
+heavy blow on Taylor’s left shoulder, accompanied by a twinge of pain,
+as though a white-hot iron had suddenly been plunged through it, spoiled
+Taylor’s aim, and his bullet went into the ceiling. As he staggered back
+from the door he saw the man’s face at the window, set in a triumphant
+grin. Then, as Taylor flattened against the wall to steady himself for
+another shot, the face disappeared.
+
+For an instant Taylor rested against the wall, his arms outstretched
+along it to keep himself from falling, for the bullet which had struck
+him had hurt him badly. The wound was in the left shoulder, though, and
+high, and therefore not dangerous, yet he knew it had robbed his left
+arm of most of its strength—there was no feeling in the fingers that
+groped along the wall.
+
+He stepped again to the door and softly turned the key in the lock. He
+heard no sound in the room beyond the door, and, thinking that the men,
+curious over the shooting, had gone outside, he jerked the door open.
+
+The movement was greeted with deafening report and a smoke-streak that
+blinded Taylor momentarily. In just the instant before the smoke-streak
+Taylor had caught a glimpse of a man standing near the center of the
+room beyond the door, and though he was rather disconcerted by the
+powder-flash and the searing of his left cheek by a bullet, he let his
+own gun off twice in as many seconds, and had the grim satisfaction of
+seeing the man stagger and tumble headlong to the floor.
+
+Taylor peered once at the man, to see if he needed further attention,
+decided he did not, and ran toward the front door, which opened upon the
+porch.
+
+He was just in time to see one of Carrington’s men sticking his head
+around a corner of the house. It was the man who had shot him from the
+little window. Taylor’s gun and the man’s roared simultaneously. Taylor
+had missed, for the man dodged back, and Taylor staggered, for the man’s
+bullet had struck him in the left thigh. He leaped, though limping,
+toward the corner, and when almost there a pistol crashed behind him,
+the bullet hitting his left shoulder, near where the other had gone in,
+the force of it spinning him clear around, so that he reeled and brought
+up against a porch column where it joined the rail.
+
+Grimly setting himself, grinning bitterly with the realization that the
+men had him between them, Taylor stood momentarily, fighting to overcome
+the terrible weakness that had stolen over him. His knees were
+trembling, the house, trees, and sky were agitated in sickening
+convolutions, and yet when he saw the head of a man appear from around a
+corner of the house at his right, he snapped a shot at it, and instantly
+as it was withdrawn he staggered to the corner, lurching heavily as he
+went, and turning just as he reached it to reply to a shot sent at him
+from the other corner of the house.
+
+A smoke-spurt met him as he reeled around the corner nearest him, and
+his knees sagged as he aimed his gun at a blurring figure in front of
+him. He saw the man go down, but his own strength was spent, and he knew
+the last bullet had struck him in a vital spot.
+
+Staggering drunkenly, he started for the side of the house and brought
+up against it with a crash. Again, as he had done inside the house, he
+stretched his arms out, flattening himself against the wall, but this
+time the arms were hanging more limply.
+
+He was seeing things through a crimson haze, and raising a hand, he
+wiped his eyes—and could see better, though there was a queer dimness
+in his vision and the world was still traveling in eccentric circles.
+
+He saw a blur in front of him—two men, he thought, though he knew he
+had accounted for two of the three gunmen who had followed him to the
+house. Then he heard a laugh—coarse and brutal—in a voice that he
+knew—Carrington’s.
+
+With heartbreaking effort he brought up his right hand, bearing the
+pistol. He was trying to swing it around to bring it to bear upon one of
+the two dancing figures in front of him, when a crushing blow landed on
+his head, and he knew one of the men had struck him with a fist. He felt
+his own weapon go off at last—it seemed he had been an age pressing on
+the trigger—and he heard a voice again—Carrington’s—saying: “Damn
+him; he’s shot me!” He laughed aloud as a gun roared close to him; he
+felt another twinge of pain somewhere around where the other twinges had
+come—or on the other side—he did not know; and he sank slowly, still
+pressing the trigger of his pistol, though not knowing whether or not he
+was doing any damage. And then the eccentrically whirling world became a
+black blur, soundless and void.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI—A MAN FACES DEATH
+
+
+Taylor’s last shot, when he had been automatically pressing the trigger
+after Carrington had struck him viciously with his fist, had brought
+down the last of the three men who had ambushed him. And one of his last
+bullets had struck Carrington, who had recovered consciousness and
+staggered out of the house in time to see the end of the fight. And the
+big man, in a black, malignant fury of hatred, was staggering toward
+Taylor, lifting a foot to kick him, when from the direction of the
+clearing in front of the house came a voice, hoarse and vibrant with a
+cold, deadly rage:
+
+“One kick an’ I blow the top of your head off!” Carrington stopped short
+and wheeled, to face Ben Mullarky.
+
+The Irishman’s eyes were blazing with wrath, and as he came forward,
+peering at the figures lying on the ground near the house, Carrington
+retreated, holding up his hands.
+
+“Three of ye pilin’ on one, eh?” said Mullarky as he looked down at
+Taylor, huddled against the side of the house. “An’ ye got him, too,
+didn’t ye? I’ve a domn big notion to blow the top of your head off, anny
+way. Ye slope, ye big limb of the divvle, or I’ll do it!”
+
+Mullarky watched while Carrington mounted his horse and rode up the
+river trail toward Dawes, and the instant Carrington was out of sight,
+Mullarky was down on his knees beside Taylor, taking a lightning
+inventory of his wounds.
+
+“Four of them, looks like!” he muttered thickly, his voice shaking with
+pity for the slack, limp, smoke-blackened figure that lay silent, the
+trace of a smile on its face. “An’ two of them through the shoulder!” He
+paused, awed. “Lord, what a shindy!”
+
+Then, swiftly gulping down his sympathy and his rage, Mullarky ran to
+his horse, which he had left at the edge of the wood when he had heard
+the shooting. He led the animal back to where Taylor lay, tenderly
+lifted Taylor in his arms, walked to the horse, and after much labor got
+Taylor up in front of him on the horse, Taylor’s weight resting on his
+legs, the man’s head and shoulders resting against him, to ease the jars
+of the journey.
+
+Then he started, traveling as swiftly as possible down the big slope
+toward his own house, not so very far away.
+
+Spotted Tail, jealously watching his master, saw him lifted to the back
+of the other horse. Shrewdly suspecting that all was not going well, and
+that his master would need him presently, Spotted Tail trotted after
+Mullarky.
+
+In this manner, with Spotted Tail a few paces in his rear, Mullarky,
+still tenderly carrying his burden, reached his cabin.
+
+He stilled Mrs. Mullarky’s hysterical questions with a short command:
+
+“Hitch up the buckboard while I’m gettin’ him in shape!”
+
+And then, while Mrs. Mullarky did as she was bidden, Mullarky carried
+Taylor inside the cabin, bathed his wounds, stanching the flow of blood
+as best he could—and came out again, carrying Taylor, and placed him in
+the bed of the light spring-wagon, upon some quilts—and upon a pillow
+that Mrs. Mullarky ran into the house to get, emerging with the
+reproach:
+
+“You’d be lettin’ him ride on them hard boards!”
+
+Following Mullarky’s instructions, Mrs. Mullarky climbed to the driver’s
+seat and sent the buckboard toward the Arrow, driving as fast as she
+thought she dared. And Ben Mullarky, on Spotted Tail, turned his face
+toward Dawes, riding as he had never ridden before.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Parsons had reached the Arrow shortly after Taylor had departed for
+Dawes. The man had stopped at the Mullarky cabin to inquire the way from
+the lady, and she had frankly commented upon Parsons’ battered
+appearance.
+
+“So it was Carrington that mauled you, eh?” she said. “Well, he’s a
+mighty evil man—the divvle take his sowl!”
+
+Parsons concurred in this view of Carrington, though he did not tell
+Mrs. Mullarky so. He went on his way, refusing the good woman’s proffer
+of a horse, for he wanted to go afoot to the Arrow. He felt sure of
+Marion’s sympathy, but he wanted to make himself as pitiable an object
+as possible. And as he walked toward the Arrow he mentally dramatized
+the moment of his appearance at the ranchhouse—a bruised and battered
+figure dragging itself wearily forward, dusty, thirst-tortured, and
+despairing. He knew that spectacle would win the girl’s swift sympathy.
+The fact that the girl herself had been through almost the same
+experience did not affect him at all—he did not even think of it.
+
+And when Parsons reached the Arrow the scene was even as he had dreamed
+it—Marion Harlan had seen him from afar, and came running to him,
+placing an arm about him, helping him forward, whispering words of
+sympathy in his ears, so that Parsons really began to look upon himself
+as a badly abused martyr.
+
+Marion cared for him tenderly, once she got him into the ranchhouse. She
+bathed his bruised face, prepared breakfast for him, and later, learning
+from him that he had not slept during the night, she sent him off to
+bed, asking him as he went into the room if he had seen Ben Mullarky.
+
+“For,” she added, “he came here early this morning, after Mr. Taylor
+left, and I sent him to the big house to get some things for me.”
+
+But Parsons had not seen Mullarky.
+
+And at last, when the morning was nearly gone, and Marion saw a
+horse-drawn vehicle approaching the Arrow from the direction of Dawes,
+she ran out, thinking Ben Mullarky had brought her “things” in his
+buckboard. But it was not Ben who was coming, but Mrs. Mullarky. The
+lady’s face was very white and serious, and when the girl came close and
+she saw the look on the good woman’s face, she halted in her tracks and
+stood rigid, her own face paling.
+
+“Why, Mrs. Mullarky, what has happened?”
+
+“Enough, deary.” Mrs. Mullarky waved an eloquent hand toward the rear of
+the buckboard, and slowly approaching, the girl saw the huddled figure
+lying there, swathed in quilts.
+
+She drew her breath sharply, and with pallid face, swaying a little, she
+walked to the rear of the buckboard and stood, holding hard to the rim
+of a wheel, looking down at Taylor’s face with its closed eyes and its
+ghastly color.
+
+She must have screamed, then, for she felt Mrs. Mullarky’s arms around
+her, and she heard the lady’s voice, saying: “Don’t, deary; he ain’t
+dead, yet—an’ he won’t die—we won’t let him die.”
+
+She stood there by the buckboard for a time—until Mrs. Mullarky,
+running to one of the outbuildings, returned with Bud Hemmingway. Then,
+nerved to the ordeal by Bud’s businesslike methods, and the awful
+profanity that gushed from his clenched teeth, she helped them carry
+Taylor into the house.
+
+They took Taylor into his own room and laid him on the bed; a long, limp
+figure, pitifully shattered, lying very white and still.
+
+The girl stayed in the room while Mrs. Mullarky and Bud ran hither and
+thither getting water, cloths, stimulants, and other indispensable
+articles. And during one of their absences the girl knelt beside the
+bed, and resting her head close to Taylor’s—with her hands stroking his
+blackened face—she whispered:
+
+“O Lord, save him—save him for—for me!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII—LOOKING FOR TROUBLE
+
+
+Before night the Arrow outfit, led by Bothwell, the range boss, came
+into the ranchhouse. For the news had reached them—after the manner in
+which all news travels in the cow-country—by word of mouth—and they
+had come in—all those who could be spared—to determine the truth of
+the rumor.
+
+There were fifteen of them, rugged, capable-looking fellows; and despite
+the doctor’s objections, they filed singly, though noiselessly, into
+Taylor’s room and silently looked down upon their “boss.” Marion,
+watching them from a corner of the room, noted their quick gulps of
+pity, their grim faces, the savage gleams that came into their eyes, and
+she knew they were thinking of vengeance upon the men who had wrought
+the injury to their employer.
+
+Bothwell—big, grim, and deliberate of manner—said nothing as he looked
+down into his chief’s face. But later, outside the house, listening to
+Bud Hemmingway’s recital of how Taylor had been brought to the
+ranchhouse, Bothwell said shortly:
+
+“I’m takin’ a look!”
+
+Shortly afterward, followed by every man of the outfit who had ridden in
+with him, Bothwell crossed the big basin and sent his horse up the long
+slope to the big house.
+
+Outside they came upon the bodies of the two men with whom Taylor had
+fought. And inside the house they saw the other huddled on the floor
+near a door in the big front room. Silently the men filed through the
+house, looking into all the rooms, and noting the wreck and ruin that
+had been wrought. They saw the broken glass of the little window through
+which one of Carrington’s men had fired the first shot; they noted the
+hole in the ceiling—caused by a bullet from Taylor’s pistol; and they
+saw another hole in the wall near the door beside which Taylor had been
+standing just before he had swung the door open.
+
+“Three of them—an’ Carrington—accordin’ to what Bud says,” said
+Bothwell. “That’s four.” He smiled bitterly. “They got him all
+right—almost, I reckon. But from the looks of things they must have had
+a roarin’ picnic doin’ it!”
+
+Not disturbing anything, the entire outfit mounted and rode swiftly down
+the Dawes trail, their hearts swelling with sympathy for Taylor and
+passionate hatred for Carrington, “itching for a clean-up,” as one
+sullen-looking member of the outfit described his feelings.
+
+But there was no “clean-up.” When they reached Dawes they found the town
+quiet—and men who saw them gave them plenty of room and forebore to
+argue with them. For it was known that they were reckless, hardy spirits
+when the mood came upon them, and that they worshiped Taylor.
+
+And so they entered Dawes, and Dawes treated them with respect. Passing
+the city hall, they noticed some men grouped in front of the building,
+and they halted, Bothwell dismounting and entering.
+
+“What’s the gang collectin’ for?” he asked a man—whom he knew for
+Danforth. There was a belligerent thrust to Bothwell’s chin, and a glare
+in his eyes that, Danforth felt, must be met with diplomacy.
+
+“There’s been trouble at the Huggins house, and I’m sending these men to
+investigate.”
+
+“Give them diggin’ tools,” said Bothwell grimly. “An’ remember this—if
+there’s any more herd-ridin’ of our boss the Arrow outfit is startin’ a
+private graveyard!” He pinned the mayor with a cold glare: “Where’s
+Carrington?”
+
+“In his rooms—under a doctor’s care. He’s hit—bad. A bullet in his
+side.”
+
+“Ought to be in his gizzard!” growled Bothwell. He went out, mounted,
+and led his men away. They were reluctant to leave town, but Bothwell
+was insistent. “They ain’t no fight in that bunch of plug-uglies!” he
+scoffed. “We’ll go back an’ ’tend to business, an’ pull for the boss to
+get well!”
+
+And so they returned to the Arrow, to find that the Dawes doctor was
+still with Taylor. The doctor sent out word to them that there was a
+slight chance for his patient, and satisfied that they had done all they
+could, they rode away, to attend to “business.”
+
+For the first time in her life Marion Harlan was witnessing the fight of
+a strong man to live despite grievous wounds that, she was certain,
+would have instantly killed most men. But Taylor fought his fight
+unconsciously, for he was still in that deep coma that had descended
+upon him when he had gently slipped to the ground beside the house,
+still fighting, still scorning the efforts of his enemies to finish him.
+
+And during the first night’s fever he still fought; the powerful
+sedatives administered by the doctor had little effect. In his delirium
+he muttered such terms and phrases as these: “Run, damn you—run! I
+ain’t in any hurry, and I’ll get you!” And—“I’ll certainly smash you
+some!” And—“A ‘thing,’ eh—I’ll show you! She’s mine, you miserable
+whelp!”
+
+Whether these were thoughts, or whether they were memories of past
+utterances, made vivid and brought into the present by the fever, the
+girl did not know. She sat beside his bed all night, with the doctor
+near her, waiting and watching and listening.
+
+And she heard more: “That’s Larry’s girl, and it’s up to me to protect
+her.” And—“I knew she’d look like that.” Also—“They’re both tryin’ to
+send her to hell! But I’ll fool them!” At these times there was
+ineffable tenderness in his voice. But at times he broke out in terrible
+wrath. “Ambush me, eh? Ha, ha! That was right clever of you, Spotted
+Tail—we didn’t make a good target, did we? Only for your sense we’d
+have—” He ceased, to begin anew: “I’ve got _you_—damn you!” And then
+he would try to sit erect, swinging his arms as though he were trying to
+hit someone.
+
+But toward morning he fell into a fitful sleep—the sleep of exhaustion;
+and when the dawn came, Mrs. Mullarky ordered the girl, pale and wan
+from her night’s vigilance and service, to “go to bed.”
+
+For three days it was the same. And for three days the doctor stayed at
+the side of the patient, only sleeping when Miss Harlan watched over
+Taylor.
+
+And during the three days’ vigil, Taylor’s delirium lasted. The girl
+learned more of his character during those three days of constant
+watchfulness than she would have learned in as many years otherwise.
+That he was honorable and courageous, she knew; but that he was so
+sincerely apprehensive over her welfare she had never suspected. For she
+learned through his ravings that he had fought Carrington and the three
+men for her; that he had deliberately sought Carrington to punish him
+for the attack on her, and that he had not considered his own danger at
+all.
+
+And at the beginning of the fourth day, when he opened his eyes and
+stared wonderingly about the room, his gaze at first resting upon the
+doctor, and then traveling to the girl’s face, and remaining there for a
+long time, while a faint smile wreathed his lips, the girl’s heart beat
+high with delight.
+
+“Well, I’m still a going it,” he said weakly.
+
+“I remember,” he went on, musingly. “When they was handing it to me, I
+was thinking that I was in pretty bad shape. And then they must have
+handed it to me some more, for I quit thinking at all. I’m going to pull
+through—ain’t I?”
+
+“You are!” declared the doctor. “That is,” he amended, “if you keep your
+trap shut and do a lot of sleeping.”
+
+“For which I’m going to have a lot of time,” smiled Taylor. “I’m going
+to sleep, for I feel mighty like sleeping. But before I do any sleeping,
+there’s a thing I want to know. Did Carrington’s men—the last two—get
+away, or did I——”
+
+“You did,” grinned the doctor. “Bothwell rode over there to find
+out—and Mullarky saw them. Mullarky brought you back—and got me.”
+
+“Carrington?” inquired the patient.
+
+“Mullarky saw him. He says he never saw a man so beat up in his life.
+Besides, you shot him, too—in the side. Not dangerous, but a heap
+painful.”
+
+Taylor smiled and looked at Miss Harlan. “I knew you were here,” he
+said; “I’ve felt you near me. It was mighty comforting, and I want to
+thank you for it. There were times when I must have shot off my mouth a
+heap. If I said anything I shouldn’t have said, I’m a whole lot sorry.
+And I’m asking your pardon.”
+
+“You didn’t,” she said, her eyes eloquent with joy over the improvement
+in him.
+
+“Well, then, I’m going to sleep.” He raised his right hand—his good
+one—and waved it gayly at them—and closed his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII—A WORLD-OLD LONGING
+
+
+Looking back upon the long period of Taylor’s convalescence, Marion
+Harlan could easily understand why she had surrendered to the patient.
+
+In the first place, she had liked Taylor from the very beginning—even
+when she had affected to ridicule him on the train coming toward Dawes.
+She had known all along that she had liked him, and on that morning when
+she had visited the Arrow to ask about her father Taylor had woven a
+magnetic spell about her.
+
+That meeting and the succeeding ones had merely strengthened her liking
+for him. But the inevitable intimacy between nurse and patient during
+several long weeks of convalescence had wrought havoc with her heart.
+
+Taylor’s unfailing patience and good humor had been another factor in
+bringing about her surrender. It was hard for her to believe that he had
+fought a desperate battle which had resulted in the death of three men
+and the wounding of Carrington and himself; for there were no savage
+impulses or passions gleaming in the eyes that followed her every
+movement while she had been busy in the sickroom for some weeks. Nor
+could she see any lingering threat in them, promising more violence upon
+his recovery. He seemed to have forgotten that there had been a fight,
+and during the weeks that she had been close to him he had not even
+mentioned it. He had been content, it seemed, to lounge in a chair and
+listen to her while she read, to watch her; and there had been times
+when she had seen a glow in his eyes that told her things that she
+longed to hear him say.
+
+The girl’s surrender had not been conveyed to Taylor in words, though
+she was certain he knew of it; for the signs of it must have been
+visible, since she could feel the blushes in her cheeks at times when a
+word or a look passing between them was eloquent with the proof of her
+aroused emotions.
+
+It was on a morning about six weeks following the incident of the
+shooting that she and Taylor had walked to the river. Upon a huge flat
+rock near the edge of a slight promontory they seated themselves, Taylor
+turned slightly, so that she had only a profile view of him.
+
+Taylor’s thoughts were grave. For from where he and the girl sat—far
+beyond the vast expanse of green-brown grass that carpeted the big
+level—he could see a huge cleft in some mountains. And the sight of
+that cleft sent Taylor’s thoughts leaping back to the days he and Larry
+Harlan had spent in these mountains, searching for—and finding—that
+gold for which they had come. And inevitably as the contemplation of the
+mountains brought him recollections of Larry Harlan he was reminded of
+his obligation to his old-time partner. And the difficulties of
+discharging that obligation were increasing, it seemed.
+
+At least, Taylor’s duty was not quite clear to him. For while Parsons
+still retained a place in the girl’s affections he could not turn over
+to her Larry’s share of the money he had received from the sale of the
+mine.
+
+And Parsons did retain the girl’s affections—likewise her confidence
+and trust. A man must be blind who could not see that. For the girl
+looked after him as any dutiful girl might care for a father she loved.
+Her attitude toward the man puzzled Taylor, for, he assured himself, if
+she would but merely study the man’s face perfunctorily she could not
+have failed to see the signs of deceit and hypocrisy in it. All of which
+convinced Taylor of the truth of the old adage: “Love is blind.”
+
+One other influence which dissuaded Taylor from an impulse to turn over
+Larry’s money to the girl was his determination to win her on his own
+merits. That might have seemed selfishness on his part, but now that the
+girl was at the Arrow he could see that she was well supplied with
+everything she needed. Her legacy would not buy her more than he would
+give her gratuitously. And he did not want her to think for a single
+moment he was trying to buy her love. That, to his mind was gross
+commercialism.
+
+Marion was not looking at the mountains; she was watching Taylor’s
+profile—and blushing over thoughts that came to her.
+
+For she wished that she might have met him under different
+conditions—upon a basis of equality. And that was not the basis upon
+which they stood now. She had come to the Arrow because she had no other
+place to go, vindicating her action upon Taylor’s declaration that he
+had been her father’s friend.
+
+That had been a tangible premise, and was sufficient to satisfy, or to
+dull, any surface scruples he might have had regarding the propriety of
+the action. But her own moral sense struck deeper than that. She felt
+she had no right to be here; that Taylor had made the offer of a
+partnership out of charity. And so long as she stayed here, dependent
+upon him for food and shelter, she could not permit him to speak a word
+of love to her—much as she wanted him to speak it. Such was the
+puritanical principle driven deep into the moral fabric of her character
+by a mother who had set her a bad example.
+
+This man had fought for her; he had risked his life to punish a man who
+had wronged her in thought, only; and she knew he loved her. And yet,
+seated so near him, she could not put out the hand that longed to touch
+him.
+
+However, her thoughts were not tragic—far from it! Youth is hopeful
+because it has so long to wait. And there was in her heart at this
+moment a presentiment that time would sever the bonds of propriety that
+held her. And the instincts of her sex—though never having been tested
+in the arts of coquetry—told her how to keep his heart warm toward her
+until that day, having achieved her independence, she could meet him on
+a basis of equality.
+
+“Mr. Squint,” she suddenly demanded; “what are you thinking about?”
+
+He turned and looked full at her, his eyes glowing with a grave humor.
+
+“I’d tell you if I thought you’d listen to me,” he returned,
+significantly. “But it seems that every time I get on that subject you
+poke fun at me. Is there _anything_ I can do to show you that I love
+you—that I want you more than any man ever wanted a woman?”
+
+“Yes—there is.” Her smile was tantalizing.
+
+“Name it!” he demanded, eagerly.
+
+“Stop being tragic. I don’t like you when you are tragic—or when you
+are talking nonsense about love. I have heard so much of it!”
+
+“From me, I suppose?” he said, gloomily.
+
+He had turned his head and she shot a quick, eloquent glance at him.
+“From you—and several others,” she said, deliberately.
+
+There was a resentful, hurt look in his eyes when he turned and looked
+at her. “Just how many?” he demanded, somewhat gruffly.
+
+“Jealous!” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Do you want a bill of
+particulars? Because if you do,” she added, looking demurely downward,
+“I should have to take several days to think it over. You see, a woman
+can’t catalogue everything men say to her—for they say so many silly
+things!”
+
+“Love isn’t silly,” he declared. He looked rather fiercely at her. “What
+kind of a man do you like best?” he demanded.
+
+She blushed. “I like a big man—about as big as you,” she said. “A man
+with fierce eyes that glower at a woman when she talks to him of
+love—she insisting that she hasn’t quite fallen in love—with _him_. I
+like a man who is jealous of the reputation of the woman he _professes_
+to love; a man who is jealous of other men; a man who isn’t so very
+good-looking, but who is a handsome man for all that—because he is so
+very manly; a man who will fight and risk his life for me.”
+
+“Could you name such a man?” he said. There was a scornful gleam in his
+eyes.
+
+“I am looking at him this minute!” she said.
+
+Grinning, for he knew all along that she had been talking of him, he
+wheeled quickly and tried to catch her in his arms. But she slipped off
+the rock and was around on the other side of it, keeping it between them
+while he tried to catch her. Instinctively he realized that the chase
+was hopeless, but he persisted.
+
+“I’ll never speak to you again if you catch me!” she warned, her eyes
+flashing.
+
+“But you told me——”
+
+“That I liked you,” she interrupted. “And liking a man isn’t——”
+
+And then she paused and looked down, blushing, while Taylor, in the act
+of vaulting over the rock, collapsed and sat on it instead, red of face
+and embarrassed.
+
+For within a dozen paces of them, and looking rather embarrassed and
+self-conscious, himself, though with a twinkle in his eyes that made
+Taylor’s cheeks turn redder—was Bud Hemmingway.
+
+“I’m beggin’ your pardon,” said the puncher; “but I’ve come to tell you
+that Neil Norton is here—again. He’s been settin’ on the porch for an
+hour or two—he says. But I think he’s stretching it. Anyway, he’s tired
+of waitin’ for you—he says—an’ he’s been wonderin’ if you was goin’ to
+set on that boulder all day!”
+
+Taylor slipped off the rock and started toward Bud, feigning resentment.
+
+Bud, his face agitated by a broad grin, deliberately winked at Miss
+Harlan—though he spoke to Taylor.
+
+“I’d be a little careful about how I went to jumpin’ off boulders—you
+might bust your ankle again!”
+
+And then Taylor grinned at Miss Harlan—who pretended a severity she did
+not feel; while Bud, cackling mirthfully, went toward the ranchhouse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV—A DEATH WARRANT
+
+
+Carrington was not a coward; he was not even a cautious man. And the
+bitter malice that filled his heart, together with riotous impulses that
+seethed in his brain prompted him to go straight to the Arrow, wreak
+vengeance upon Taylor and drag Marion Harlan back to the big house he
+had bought for her.
+
+But a certain memory of Taylor’s face when the latter had been pursuing
+him through the big house; a knowledge of Taylor’s ability to inflict
+punishment, together with a divination that Taylor would not hesitate to
+kill him should there arise the slightest opportunity—all these
+considerations served to deter Carrington from undertaking any rash
+action.
+
+Taylor’s opposition to his desires enraged Carrington. He had met and
+conquered many men—and he had coolly and deliberately robbed many
+others, himself standing secure and immune behind legal barriers. And he
+had seen his victims writhe and squirm and struggle in the meshes he had
+prepared for them. He had heard them rave and wail and threaten; but not
+one of them had attempted to inflict physical punishment upon him.
+
+Taylor, however, was of the fighting type. On two occasions, now,
+Carrington had been given convincing proof of the man’s ability. And he
+had seen in Taylor’s eyes on the latest occasion the implacable gleam of
+iron resolution and—when Taylor had gone down, fighting to the last, in
+the sanguinary battle at the big house, he had not failed to note the
+indomitability of the man—the tenacious and dogged spirit that knows no
+defeat—a spirit that would not be denied.
+
+And so, though Carrington’s desires would have led him to recklessly
+carry the fight to the Arrow, certain dragging qualms of reluctance
+dissuaded him from another meeting with Taylor on equal terms.
+
+And yet the malevolent passions that gripped the big man would not
+tolerate the thought of opposition. Taylor was the only man who stood
+between him and his desires, and Taylor must be removed.
+
+During the days of Carrington’s confinement to his rooms above the
+Castle—awaiting the slow healing of the wound Taylor had inflicted upon
+him, and the many bruises that marred his face—mementoes of the
+terrible punishment Taylor had inflicted upon him—the big man nursed
+his venomous thoughts and laid plans for revenge upon his enemy.
+
+As soon as he was able to appear in Dawes—to undergo without
+humiliation the inspection of his face by the citizens of the town—for
+news of his punishment had been whispered broadcast—he boarded a
+westbound train.
+
+He got off at Nogel, a little mining town sitting at the base of some
+foothills in the Sangre de Christo Range, some miles from Dawes.
+
+He spent three days in Nogel, interrogating the resident manager of the
+“Larry’s Luck” mine, talking with miners and storekeepers and quizzing
+men in saloons—and at the beginning of the fourth day he returned to
+Dawes.
+
+At about the time Miss Harlan and Taylor were sitting on the rock on the
+bank of the river near the Arrow, Carrington was in the courthouse at
+Dawes, leaning over Judge Littlefield’s desk. A tall, sleek-looking man
+of middle age, with a cold, steady eye and a smooth smile, stood near
+Carrington. The man was neatly attired, and looked like a prosperous
+mine-owner or operator.
+
+But had the judge looked sharply at his hands when he gripped the one
+that was held out to him when Carrington introduced the man; or had he
+been a physiognomist of average ability, he could not have failed to
+note the smooth softness of the man’s hands and the gleam of guile and
+cunning swimming deep in his eyes.
+
+But the judge noted none of those things. He had caught the man’s
+name—Mint Morton—and instantly afterward all his senses became
+centered upon what the man was saying.
+
+For the man spoke of conscience—and the judge had one of his own—a
+guilty one. So he listened attentively while the man talked.
+
+The thing had been bothering the man for some months—or from the time
+it happened, he said. And he had come to make a confession.
+
+He was a miner, having a claim near Nogel. He knew Quinton Taylor, and
+he had known Larry Harlan. One morning after leaving his mine on a trip
+to Nogel for supplies, he had passed close to the “Larry’s Luck” mine.
+Being on good terms with the partners, he had thought of visiting them.
+Approaching the mine on foot—having left his horse at a little
+distance—he heard Taylor and Harlan quarreling. He had no opportunity
+to interfere, for just as he came upon the men he saw Taylor knock
+Harlan down with a blow of his fist. And while Harlan lay unconscious on
+the ground Taylor had struck him on the head with a rock.
+
+Morton had not revealed himself, then, fearing Taylor would attack him.
+He had concealed himself, and had seen Taylor, apparently remorseful,
+trying to revive Harlan. These efforts proving futile, Taylor had rigged
+up a drag, placed Harlan on it, and had taken him to Nogel. But Harlan
+died on the way.
+
+To Littlefield’s inquiry as to why Morton had not reported the murder
+instantly, the man replied that, being a friend to Taylor, he had been
+reluctant to expose him.
+
+After the man concluded his story the judge and Carrington exchanged
+glances. There was a vindictively triumphant gleam in Littlefield’s
+eyes, for he still remembered the humiliation he had endured at Taylor’s
+hands.
+
+He took Morton’s deposition, told him he would send for him, later; and
+dismissed him. Carrington, appearing to be much astonished over the
+man’s confession, accompanied him to the station, where he watched him
+board the train that would take him back to Nogel.
+
+And on the platform of one of the coaches, Carrington, grinning
+wickedly, gave the man a number of yellow-backed treasury notes.
+
+“You think I won’t have to come back—to testify against him?” asked the
+man, smiling coldly.
+
+“Certainly not!” declared Carrington. “You’ve signed his death warrant
+this time!”
+
+Carrington watched the train glide westward, and then returned to the
+courthouse. He found the judge sitting at his desk, gazing meditatively
+at the floor. For there had been something insincere in Morton’s
+manner—his story of the murder had not been quite convincing—and in
+spite of his resentment against Taylor the judge did not desire to add
+anything to the burden already carried by his conscience.
+
+Carrington grinned maliciously as he halted at Littlefield’s side and
+laid a hand on the other’s arm.
+
+“We’ve got him, Littlefield!” he said. “Get busy. Issue a warrant for
+his arrest. I’ll have Danforth send you some men to serve as
+deputies—twenty of them, if you think it necessary!”
+
+The judge cleared his throat and looked with shifting eyes at the other.
+
+“Look here, Carrington,” he said, “I—I have some doubts about the
+sincerity of that man Morton. I’d like to postpone action in this case
+until I can make an investigation. It seems to me that—that Taylor, for
+all his—er—seeming viciousness, is not the kind of man to kill his
+partner. I’d like to delay just a little, to——”
+
+“And let Taylor get wind of the thing—and escape. Not by a damned
+sight! One man’s word is as good as another’s in this country; and it’s
+your duty as a judge of the court, here, to act upon any complaint. You
+issue the warrant. I’ll get Keats to serve it. He’ll bring Taylor here,
+and you can legally examine him. That’s merely justice!”
+
+Half an hour later, Carrington was handing the warrant to a big,
+rough-looking man with an habitual and cruel droop to the corners of his
+mouth.
+
+“You’d better take some men with you, Keats,” suggested Carrington.
+“He’ll fight, most likely,” he grinned, evilly. “Understand,” he added;
+“if you should have to kill Taylor bringing him in, there would be no
+inquiry made. And—” he looked at Keats and grinned, slowly and
+deliberately closing an eye.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV—KEATS LOOKS FOR “SQUINT”
+
+
+Neil Norton had been attending to Taylor’s affairs in Dawes during the
+latter’s illness, and he had ridden to the Arrow this morning to discuss
+with Taylor a letter he had received—for Taylor—from a Denver cattle
+buyer. The inquiry was for Herefords of certain markings and quality,
+and Norton could give the buyer no information. So Norton had come to
+Taylor for the information.
+
+“The herd is grazing in the Kelso Basin,” Taylor told Norton. Norton
+knew the Kelso Basin was at least fifteen miles distant from the Arrow
+ranchhouse—a deep, wide valley directly west, watered by the same river
+that flowed near the Arrow ranchhouse.
+
+“I can’t say, offhand, whether we’ve got what your Denver man wants.” He
+grinned at Norton, adding: “But it’s a fine morning for a ride, and I
+haven’t done much riding lately. I’ll go and take a look.”
+
+“I’ll be looking, too,” declared Norton. “The _Eagle_ forms are ready
+for the press, and there isn’t much to do.”
+
+Later, Taylor, mounted on Spotted Tail, and Norton on a big, rangy
+sorrel, the two men rode away. Taylor stopped at the horse corral gate
+long enough to tell Bud Hemmingway, who was replacing a bar, that he and
+Norton were riding to the Kelso Basin.
+
+And there was one other to whom he had spoken—when he had gone into the
+house to buckle on his cartridge-belt and pistols, just before he went
+out to saddle Spotted Tail. It was the girl who had tantalized him while
+they had been sitting on the rock. She had not spoken frivolously to him
+inside the house; instead, she had gravely warned him to be “careful;”
+that his wounds might bother him on a long ride—and that she didn’t
+want him to suffer a relapse. And she watched him as he and Norton rode
+away, following the dust-cloud that enveloped them until it vanished
+into the mists of distance. Then she turned from the door with a sigh,
+thinking of the fate that had made her dependent upon the charity of the
+man she loved.
+
+To Bud Hemmingway, working at the corral gate about an hour following
+the departure of Taylor and Norton, there came an insistent demand to
+look toward Dawes. It was merely one of those absurd impulses founded
+upon a whim provoked by self-manufactured presentiment—but Bud looked.
+What he saw caused him to stand erect and stare hard at the trail
+between Mullarky’s cabin and the Arrow—for about two miles out came a
+dozen or more riders, their horses traveling fast.
+
+For several seconds Bud watched intently, straining his eyes in an
+effort to distinguish something about the men that would make their
+identity clear. And then he dropped the hammer he had been working with
+and ran to the bunkhouse, where he put on his cartridge-belt and pistol.
+
+Returning to the bunkhouse door, he stood in it for a time, watching the
+approaching men. Then he scowled, muttering:
+
+“It’s that damned Keats an’ some of his bunch! What in hell are they
+wantin’ at the Arrow?”
+
+Bud was standing near the edge of the front gallery when Keats and his
+men rode up. There were fourteen of the men, and, like their leader,
+they were ill-visaged, bepistoled.
+
+Marion Harlan had heard the noise of their approach, and she had come to
+the front door. She stood in the opening, her gaze fixed inquiringly
+upon the riders, though chiefly upon Keats, whose manner proclaimed him
+the leader. He looked at Bud.
+
+“Hello, Hemmingway!” he greeted, gruffly. “I take it the outfit ain’t
+in?”
+
+“Workin’, Kelso,” returned Bud. Bud’s gaze at Keats was belligerent; he
+resented the presence of Keats and the men at the Arrow, for he had
+never liked Keats, and he knew the relations between the visitor and
+Taylor were strained almost to the point of open antagonism.
+
+“What’s eatin’ you guys?” demanded Bud.
+
+“Plenty!” stated Keats importantly. He turned to the men.
+
+“Scatter!” he commanded; “an’ rustle him up, if he’s anywhere around!
+Hey!” he shouted at a slender, rat-faced individual. “You an’ Darbey
+search the house! Two more of you take a look at the bunkhouse—and the
+rest of you nose around the other buildin’s. Keep your eyes peeled, an’
+if he goes to gettin’ fresh, plug him plenty!”
+
+“Why, what is wrong?” demanded Marion. Her face was pale with
+indignation, for she resented the authoritative tone used by Keats as
+much as she resented the thought of the two men entering the house
+unbidden.
+
+Keats’s face flamed with sudden passion. With a snap of his wrist he
+drew his gun and trained its muzzle on Bud.
+
+“Wrong enough!” he snapped. He was looking at Bud while answering Miss
+Harlan’s question. “I’m after Squint Taylor, an’ I’m goin’ to get
+him—that’s all! An’ if you folks go to interferin’ it’ll be the worse
+for you!”
+
+Marion stiffened and braced herself in the doorway, her eyes wide with
+dread and her lips parted to ask the question that Bud now spoke, his
+voice drawling slightly with sarcasm.
+
+“Taylor, eh?” he said. “What you wantin’ with Taylor?”
+
+“I’m wantin’ him for murderin’ Larry Harlan!” snapped Keats.
+
+Bud gulped, drew a deep breath and went pale. He looked at Marion, and
+saw that the girl was terribly moved by Keats’s words. But neither the
+girl nor Bud spoke while Keats dismounted, crossed the porch, and
+stopped in front of the door, which was barred by the girl’s body.
+
+“Get out of the way—I’m goin’ in!” ordered Keats.
+
+The girl moved aside to let him pass, and as he crossed the threshold
+she asked, weakly:
+
+“How do you—how do they know Mr. Taylor killed Larry Harlan?”
+
+Keats turned on her, grinning mirthlessly.
+
+“How do we know anything?” he jeered. “Evidence—that’s what—an’ plenty
+of it!”
+
+Keats vanished inside, and Bud, his eyes snapping with the alert glances
+he threw around him, slowly backed away from the porch toward the
+stable. As he turned, after backing several feet, he saw Marion walk
+slowly to a rocker that stood on the porch, drop weakly into it and
+cover her face with her hands.
+
+Gaining the stable, Bud worked fast; throwing a saddle and bridle upon
+King, the speediest horse in the Arrow outfit, excepting Spotted Tail.
+
+With movements that he tried hard to make casual, but with an impatience
+that made his heart pound heavily, he got King out and led him to the
+rear of the stable.
+
+Some of Keats’s men were running from one building to another; but he
+was not Taylor, and they seemed to pay no attention to him, beyond
+giving him sharp glances.
+
+Passing behind the blacksmith-shop, Bud heard a voice saying:
+
+“Dead or alive, Keats says; an’ they’d admire to have him dead. I heard
+Carrington tellin’ Keats!”
+
+As the sound of the voice died away, Bud touched King’s flank with the
+spurs. The big horse, after a day in the stable, was impatient and eager
+for a run, and he swept past the scattered buildings of the ranch with
+long, swift leaps that took him out upon the plains before Keats could
+complete his search of the first floor of the house.
+
+The two men who had searched the upper floor came downstairs, to meet
+Keats in the front room. They grimly shook their heads at Keats, and at
+his orders went outside to search with the other men.
+
+Keats stepped to the door, saw Marion sitting limply in the
+rocking-chair, her shoulders convulsed with sobs, and crossed to her,
+shaking her with a brutal arm.
+
+“Where’s that guy I left standin’ there? Where’s he—Hemmingway?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said the girl dully.
+
+Keats cursed and ran to the edge of the porch. With his gaze sweeping
+the buildings, the pasture, the corrals, and the wide stretch of plain
+westward, he stiffened, calling angrily to his men:
+
+“There he goes—damn him! It’s that sneakin’ Bud Hemmingway, an’ he’s
+gone to tell Taylor we’re after him! He knows where Taylor is! Get your
+hosses!”
+
+Forced to her feet by the intense activity that followed Keats’s loudly
+bellowed orders, the girl crossed the porch, and from a point near the
+end railing watched Keats and his men clamber into their saddles and
+race after Bud. For a long time she watched them—a tiny blot gliding
+over the plains, followed by a larger blot—and then she walked slowly
+to the rocking-chair, looked down at it as though its spaciousness
+invited her; then she turned from it, entered the house, and going to
+her room—where Martha was sleeping—began feverishly throwing her few
+belongings into the small handbag she had brought with her from the big
+house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI—KEATS FINDS “SQUINT”
+
+
+Looking back after he had been riding for some minutes, Bud saw a dozen
+or more horses break from the group of Arrow buildings and come racing
+toward him, spreading out fanwise.
+
+“They’ve seen me!” breathed Bud, and he leaned over King’s shoulders and
+spoke to him. The animal responded with a burst of speed that brought a
+smile to Bud’s face. For the puncher knew that Taylor and Norton
+couldn’t have traveled more than a few miles in the short time that had
+passed since their departure; and he knew also that in a short run—of a
+dozen miles or so—there wasn’t a horse in the Dawes section that could
+catch King, barring, of course, Spotted Tail, the real king of range
+horses.
+
+And so Bud bent eagerly to his work, not riding erect in the saddle as
+is the fashion of the experienced cow-puncher in an unfamiliar country,
+where pitfalls, breaks, draws, hidden gullies, and weed-grown barrancas
+provide hazards that might bring disaster. Bud knew this section of the
+country as well as he knew the interior of the bunkhouse, and with his
+knowledge came a confidence that nothing would happen to him or King,
+except possibly a slip into a gopher hole.
+
+And Bud kept scanning the country far enough ahead to keep King from
+running into a gopher town. He swung the animal wide in passing
+them—for he knew it was the habit of these denizens of the plains to
+extend their habitat—some venturesome and independent spirits straying
+far from the huddle and congestion of the multitude.
+
+Bud looked back many times during the first two miles, and he saw that
+Keats and his men were losing ground; their horses could not keep the
+pace set by the big bay flier under Bud.
+
+And King was not going as he could go when the necessity arrived. This
+ride was a frolic for the big bay, and yet Bud knew he must not force
+him, that he must conserve his wind, for if Taylor and Norton had
+yielded to a whim to hurry, even King would need all his speed and
+endurance to hang on. For the sorrel that had accompanied Spotted Tail
+was not so greatly inferior to King that the latter could take liberties
+with him.
+
+Bud gloated as he looked back after he had covered another mile. Keats
+and his men were still losing ground, though they were not so very far
+back, either—Bud could almost see the faces of the men. But that, Bud
+knew, was due to the marvelous clarity of the atmosphere.
+
+When the sides of the big hills surrounding the level began to sweep
+inward rapidly, Bud knew that the grass level was coming to an end, and
+that presently he would strike a long stretch of broken country. Beyond
+that was a big valley, rich and fertile, in which, according to report,
+the Arrow herd should be grazing, guarded by the men of the outfit,
+under Bothwell. But Kelso Basin was still nine or ten miles distant, and
+Bud did not yet dare to let the big bay horse run his best.
+
+Still, when they flashed by a huge promontory that stood sentinel-like
+above the waters of the river—a spot well remembered by Bud, because
+many times while on day duty he had lain prone on its top smoking and
+dreaming—King was running as lightly as a leaf before the hurricane.
+
+King had entered the section of broken country, with its beds of rock
+and lava, and huge boulders strewn here and there, relics of gigantic
+upheavals when the earth was young; and Bud was skilfully directing King
+to the stretches of smooth level that he found here and there, when far
+ahead he saw Taylor and Norton.
+
+In ten minutes he was within hailing distance, and he grinned widely
+when, hearing him, they pulled their horses to a halt and, wheeling,
+faced him.
+
+For Bud saw that they had reached a spot which would make an admirable
+defensive position, should Taylor decide to resist Keats. The hills, in
+their gradual inward sweep, were close together, so that their crests
+seemed to nod to one another. And a little farther down, Bud knew, they
+formed a gorge, which still farther on merged into a cañon. It was an
+ideal position for a stand—if Taylor would stand and not run for it;
+and he rather thought Taylor would not run.
+
+Taylor had ridden toward Bud, and was a hundred feet in advance of
+Norton when Bud pulled King to a halt, shouting:
+
+“Keats and a dozen men are right behind me—a mile; mebbe two! He’s got
+a warrant for you, chargin’ you with murderin’ Larry Harlan! I heard one
+of his scum sayin’ it was to be a clean-up!”
+
+Taylor laughed; he did not seem to be at all interested in Keats or his
+men, who at that instant were riding at a pace that was likely to kill
+their horses, should they be forced to maintain it.
+
+“Who accused me of murdering Harlan?”
+
+“Keats didn’t say. But I heard a guy sayin’ that Carrington was wantin’
+Keats to take you dead!”
+
+The cold gleam in Taylor’s eyes and the slight, stiff grin that wreathed
+his lips, indicated that he had determined that Keats would have to kill
+him before taking him.
+
+“A dozen of them, eh?” he said, looking from Bud to Norton deliberately.
+“Well, that’s a bunch for three men to fight, but it isn’t enough to run
+from. We’ll stay here and have it out with them. That is,” he added with
+a quick, quizzical look at the two men, “if one of you is determined to
+stay.”
+
+“One of us?” flared Bud. He gazed hard at Norton, with suspicion and
+belligerence in his glance. Norton flushed at the look. “I reckon we’ll
+both be in at the finish,” added Bud.
+
+“Only one,” declared Taylor. “We might hold a dozen men off here for a
+good many hours. But if they were wise and patient they’d get us. One
+man will light out for Kelso Basin to get the outfit. Settle it between
+you, but be quick about it!”
+
+Taylor swung down from his horse, led the animal out of sight behind a
+jutting crag into a sort of pocket in the side of the gorge, where there
+would be no danger of the magnificent beast being struck by a bullet.
+Taylor pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath, examined the mechanism,
+looked at his pistols, and then returned to where Bud Hemmingway and
+Neil Norton sat on their horses.
+
+Bud’s face was flushed and Norton was grinning. And at just the instant
+Taylor came in sight of them Norton was saying:
+
+“Well, if you insist, I suppose I shall have to go to Kelso. There isn’t
+time to argue.”
+
+Norton wheeled his horse, and, with a quick grin at Taylor, sent the
+animal clattering down the gorge.
+
+Bud’s grin at Taylor was pregnant with guilt.
+
+“Norton didn’t want me to stay. There’s lots of stubborn cusses in the
+world—now, ain’t they?”
+
+Taylor’s answering smile showed that he understood.
+
+“Get King back here with Spotted Tail, Bud!” he directed. “And take that
+pile of rocks for cover. They’re coming!”
+
+By the time Bud did as he had been bidden, and was crouching behind a
+huge mound of broken rock on the north side of the gorge, Taylor on the
+southern side, with a twenty-foot passage on the comparatively level
+floor of the gorge between them, and an uninterrupted sweep of narrow
+level in front of them, except for here and there a jutting rock or a
+boulder, they saw Keats and his men just entering the stretch of broken
+country.
+
+The horses of the pursuing outfit were doing their best. They came on
+over the stretch of treacherous trail, laboring, pounding and
+clattering; singly sometimes, two and three abreast where there was
+room, keeping well together, their riders urging them with quirt and
+spur. For far back on the trail they had lost sight of Bud, though Keats
+had remembered that Bud had said Taylor had gone to Kelso Basin, and
+therefore Keats knew he was on the right trail.
+
+However, he did not want to let Bud get to Kelso before him to warn the
+Arrow outfit; for that would mean a desperate battle with a force equal
+in numbers to his own. Keats fought best when the advantages were with
+him, and he knew his men were similarly constituted. And so he was
+riding as hard as he dared, hoping that something would happen to Bud’s
+horse—that the animal might become winded or fall. A man could not tell
+what _might_ happen in a pursuit of this character.
+
+But the thing that _did_ happen had not figured in Keats’s lurid
+conjectures at all. That was why, when he heard Taylor’s quick
+challenge, he pulled his horse up sharply, so that the animal slipped
+several feet and came to a halt sidewise.
+
+Keats’s unexpected halt brought confusion to his followers. A dozen of
+them, crowding Keats hard, and not noticing their leader’s halt in time,
+rode straight against him, their horses jamming the narrow gorge,
+kicking, snorting and squealing in a disordered and uncontrollable mass.
+
+When the tangle had been magically undone—the magic being Taylor’s
+voice again, burdened with sarcasm bearing upon their excitement—Keats
+found himself nearest the nest of rocks from behind which Taylor’s voice
+seemed to come.
+
+The jutting crag behind which Taylor had concealed his horse, and where
+Bud had led King, completely obstructed Keats’s view of the gorge behind
+the crag, toward Kelso Basin, and Keats did not know but that the entire
+Arrow outfit was concealed behind the rocks and boulders that littered
+the level in the vicinity.
+
+And so he sat motionless, slowly and respectfully raising his hands.
+Noting his action, his men did likewise.
+
+“That’s polite,” came Taylor’s voice coldly. “Hemmingway says you’re
+looking for me. What for?”
+
+“I’ve got a warrant for you, chargin’ you with murderin’ Larry Harlan.”
+
+“Who accused me?”
+
+“Mint Morton, of Nogel.”
+
+There was a long silence. Behind the clump of rock Taylor smiled
+mirthlessly at Bud, who was watching him. For Taylor knew Mint Morton,
+of Nogel, as a gambler, unscrupulous and dishonest. He had earned
+Morton’s hatred when one night in a Nogel saloon he had caught Morton
+cheating and had forced him to disgorge his winnings. His victim had
+been a miner on his way East with the earnings of five years in his
+pockets. Taylor had not been able to endure the spectacle of abject
+despair that had followed the man’s loss of all his money.
+
+Taylor did not know that Carrington had hunted Morton up, paying him
+well to bring the murder charge, but Taylor did know that he was
+innocent of murder; and by linking Morton with Carrington he could
+readily understand why Keats wanted him. He broke the silence with a
+short:
+
+“Who issued the warrant?”
+
+“Judge Littlefield.”
+
+“Well,” said Taylor, “you can take it right back to him and tell him to
+let Carrington serve it. For,” he added, a note of grim humor creeping
+into his voice, “I’m a heap particular about such things, Keats. I
+couldn’t let a sneak like you take me in. And I don’t like the looks of
+that dirty-looking outfit with you. And so I’m telling you a few things.
+I’m giving you one minute to hit the breeze out of this section. If
+you’re here when that time is up, I down _you_, Keats! Slope!”
+
+Keats flashed one glance around at his men. Some of them already had
+their horses in motion; others were nervously fingering their
+bridle-reins. Keats sneered at the rock nest ahead of him.
+
+The intense silence which followed Taylor’s warning lasted about ten
+seconds. Then Keats’s face paled; he wheeled his horse and sent it
+scampering over the back trail, his men following, crowding him hard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII—BESIEGED
+
+
+Hemmingway tentatively suggested that a ride through the gorge toward
+the Kelso Basin might simplify matters for himself and Taylor; it might,
+he said, even seem to make the defending of their position unnecessary.
+But his suggestions met with no enthusiasm from Taylor, who lounged
+among the rocks of his place of concealment calmly smoking.
+
+Taylor gave some reasons for his disinclination to adopt Hemmingway’s
+suggestions.
+
+“Norton will be back in an hour, with Bothwell and the outfit.” And now
+he grinned as he looked at Bud. “Miss Harlan told me to be careful about
+my scratches. I take it she don’t want no more sieges with a sick man.
+And I’m taking her advice. If I’d go to riding my horse like blazes,
+maybe I _would_ get sick again. And she wouldn’t take care of me
+anymore. And I’d hate like blazes to run from Keats and his bunch of
+plug-uglies!”
+
+So Hemmingway said no more on that subject.
+
+They smoked and talked and watched the trail for signs of Keats and his
+men; while the sun, which had been behind the towering hills surrounding
+the gorge, traveled slowly above them, finally blazing down from a point
+directly overhead.
+
+It became hot in the gorge; the air was stifling and the heat
+uncomfortable. Taylor did not seem to mind it, but Bud, with a vigorous
+appetite, and longings that ran to flapjacks and sirup, grew impatient.
+
+“If a man could eat now,” he remarked once, while the sun was directly
+overhead, “why, it wouldn’t be so bad!”
+
+And then, after the sun’s blazing rays had begun to diminish in
+intensity somewhat, Bud looked upward and saw that the shimmering orb
+had passed beyond the crest of a towering hill. He looked sharply at
+Taylor, who was intently watching the back trail, and said gravely:
+
+“Norton ought to have been back with Bothwell and the bunch, now.”
+
+“He’s an hour overdue,” said Taylor, without looking at Bud.
+
+“I reckon somethin’s happened,” growled Bud. “Somethin’ always happens
+when a guy’s holed up, like this. It wouldn’t be so bad if a man could
+eat a little somethin’—to sort of keep him from thinkin’ of it all the
+time. Or, mebbe, if there was a little excitement—or somethin’. A man
+could——”
+
+“There’ll be plenty of excitement before long,” interrupted Taylor.
+“Keats and his gang didn’t go very far. I just saw one of them sneaking
+along that rock-knob, down the gorge a piece. They’re going to stalk us.
+If you’re thinking of riding to Kelso—why—” He grinned at Bud’s
+resentful scowl.
+
+Lying flat on his stomach, he watched the rock-knob he had mentioned.
+
+“Slick as an Indian,” he remarked once, while Bud, having ceased his
+discontented mutterings, kept his gaze on the rock also.
+
+And then suddenly the eery silence of the gorge was broken by the sharp
+crack of Taylor’s rifle, and, simultaneously, by a shriek of pain.
+Report and shriek reverberated with weird, echoing cadences between the
+hills, growing less distinct always and finally the eery silence reigned
+again.
+
+“They’ll know they can’t get careless, now,” grinned Taylor, working the
+ejector of his rifle.
+
+Bud did not reply; and for another hour both men intently scanned the
+hills within range of their vision, straining their eyes to detect signs
+of movement that would warn them of the whereabouts of Keats and his
+men.
+
+Anxiously Bud watched the rays of the sun creeping up a precipitous rock
+wall at a little distance. Slowly the streak of light narrowed, growing
+always less brilliant, and finally, when it vanished, Bud spoke:
+
+“It’s comin’ on night, Squint. Somethin’s sure happened to Norton.” He
+wriggled impatiently, adding: “If we’re here when night comes we’ll have
+a picnic keepin’ them guys off of us.”
+
+Taylor said nothing until the gorge began to darken with the shadows of
+twilight. Then he looked at Bud, his face grim.
+
+“My stubbornness,” he said shortly. “I should have taken your advice
+about going to Kelso Basin—when we had a chance. But I felt certain
+that Norton would have the outfit here before this. Our chance is gone,
+now. There are some of Keats’s men in the hills, around us. I just saw
+one jump behind that rim rock on the shoulder of that big hill—there.”
+He indicated the spot. Then he again spoke to Bud.
+
+“There’s a chance yet—for you. You take Spotted Tail and make a run for
+the basin. I’ll cover you.”
+
+“What about you?” grumbled Bud.
+
+Taylor grinned, and Bud laughed. “You was only funnin’ me, I reckon,” he
+said, earnestly. “You knowed I wouldn’t slope an’ leave you to fight it
+out alone—now didn’t you?”
+
+“But if a man was hungry,” said Taylor, “and he knew there was grub with
+the outfit——”
+
+“I ain’t hungry no more,” declared Bud; “I’ve quit thinkin’ of flapjacks
+for more than——”
+
+He stiffened, and the first shadows of the night were split by a long,
+narrow flame-streak as his rifle crashed. And a man who had been
+slipping into the shelter of a depression on the side of a hill a
+hundred yards distant, tumbled grotesquely out and down, and went
+sliding to the bottom of the gorge.
+
+As though the report of Bud’s rifle were a signal, a dozen vivid jets of
+fire flamed from various points in the surrounding hills, and the
+silence was rent by the vicious cracking of rifles and the drone and
+thud of bullets as they sped over the heads of the two men at the bottom
+of the gorge and flattened themselves against the rocks of their
+shelter.
+
+That sound, too, died away. And in the heavy, portentous stillness which
+succeeded it, there came to the ears of the two besieged men the sounds
+of distant shouting, faint and far.
+
+“It’s the outfit!” said Taylor.
+
+And Bud, rolling over and over in an excess of joy over the coming of
+the Arrow men, hugged an imaginary form and yelled:
+
+“Oh, Bothwell, you old son-of-a-gun! How I love you!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII—THE FUGITIVE
+
+
+One thought dominated Marion Harlan’s brain as she packed her belongings
+into the little handbag in her room at the Arrow—an overpowering,
+monstrous, hideous conviction that she had accepted charity from the man
+who was accused of murdering her father! There was no room in her brain
+for other thoughts or emotions; she was conscious of nothing but the
+horror of it; of the terrible uncertainty that confronted her—of the
+dread that Taylor _might_ be guilty! She wanted to believe in him—she
+_did_ believe in him, she told herself as she packed the bag; she could
+not accept the word of Keats as final. And yet she could not stay at the
+Arrow another minute—she could not endure the uncertainty. She must go
+away somewhere—anywhere, until the charge were proved, or until she
+could see Taylor, to look into his eyes, there to see his guilt or
+innocence.
+
+She felt that the charge could not be true; for Taylor had treated her
+so fairly; he had been so sympathetically friendly; he had seemed to
+share her grief over her father’s death, and he had seemed so sincere in
+his declaration of his friendliness toward the man. He had even seemed
+to share her grief; and in the hallowed moments during which he had
+stood beside her while she had looked into her father’s room, he might
+have been secretly laughing at her!
+
+And into her heart as she stood in the room, now, there crept a mighty
+shame—and the shadow of her mother’s misconduct never came so close as
+it did now. For she, too, had violated the laws of propriety; and what
+she was receiving was not more than her just due. And yet, though she
+could blame herself for coming to the Arrow, she could not excuse
+Taylor’s heinous conduct if he were guilty.
+
+And then, the first fierce passion burning itself out, there followed
+the inevitable reaction—the numbing, staggering, sorrowing realization
+of loss. This in turn was succeeded by a frenzied desire to go away from
+the Arrow—from everybody and everything—to some place where none of
+them would ever see her again.
+
+She started toward the door, and met Parsons—who was looking for her.
+He darted forward when he saw her, and grasped her by the shoulders.
+
+“What has happened?” he demanded.
+
+She told him, and the man’s face whitened.
+
+“I was asleep, and heard nothing of it,” he said. “So that man Keats
+said they had plenty of evidence! You are going away? I wouldn’t, girl;
+there may have been a mistake. If I were you——”
+
+Her glance of horror brought Parsons’ protests to an end quickly. He,
+too, she thought, was under the spell of Taylor’s magnetism. That, or
+every person she knew was a prey to those vicious and fawning instincts
+to which she had yielded—the subordination of principle to greed—of
+ease, or of wealth, or of place.
+
+She shuddered with sudden repugnance.
+
+For the first time she had a doubt of Parsons—a revelation of that
+character which he had always succeeded in keeping hidden from her. She
+drew away from him and walked to the door, telling him that _he_ might
+stay, but that she did not intend to remain in the house another minute.
+
+She found a horse in the stable—two, in fact—the ones Taylor had
+insisted belonged to her and Martha. She threw saddle and bridle on
+hers, and was mounting, when she saw Martha standing at the stable door,
+watching her.
+
+“Yo’ uncle says you goin’ away, honey—how’s that? An’ he done say
+somethin’ about Mr. Squint killin’ your father. Doan’ you b’lieve no
+fool nonsense like that! Mr. Squint wouldn’t kill nobody’s father! That
+deputy man ain’t nothin’ but a damn, no-good liar!”
+
+Martha’s vehemence was genuine, but not convincing; and the girl mounted
+the horse, hanging the handbag from the pommel of the saddle.
+
+“You’s sure goin’!” screamed the negro woman, frantic with a dread that
+she was in danger of losing the girl for whom she had formed a deep
+affection.
+
+“You wait—you hear!” she demanded; “if you leave this house I’s a
+goin’, too!”
+
+Marion waited until Martha led the other horse out, and then, with the
+negro woman following, she rode eastward on the Dawes trail, not once
+looking back.
+
+And not a word did she say to Martha as they rode into the space that
+stretched to Dawes, for the girl’s heart was heavy with self-accusation.
+
+They stopped for an instant at Mullarky’s cabin, and Mrs. Mullarky drew
+from the girl the story of the morning’s happenings. And like Martha,
+Mrs. Mullarky had an abiding faith in Taylor’s innocence. More—she
+scorned the charge of murder against him.
+
+“Squint Taylor murder your father, child! Why, Squint Taylor thought
+more of Larry Harlan than he does of his right hand. An’ you ain’t goin’
+to run away from him—for the very good reason that I ain’t goin’ to let
+you! You’re upset—that’s what—an’ you can’t think as straight as you
+ought to. You come right in here an’ sip a cup of tea, an’ take a rest.
+I’ll put your horses away. If you don’t want to stay at the Arrow while
+Taylor, the judge, an’ all the rest of them are pullin’ the packin’ out
+of that case, why, you can stay right here!”
+
+Yielding to the insistent demands of the good woman, Marion meekly
+consented and went inside. And Mrs. Mullarky tried to make her
+comfortable, and attempted to soothe her and assure her of Taylor’s
+innocence.
+
+But the girl was not convinced; and late in the afternoon, despite Mrs.
+Mullarky’s protests, she again mounted her horse and, followed by
+Martha, set out toward Dawes, intending to take the first east-bound
+train out of the town, to ride as far as the meager amount of money in
+her purse would take her. And as she rode, the sun went down behind the
+big hill on whose crest sat the big house, looming down upon the level
+from its lofty eminence; and the twilight came, bathing the world with
+its somber promise of greater darkness to follow. But the darkness that
+was coming over the world could not be greater than that which reigned
+in the girl’s heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX—THE CAPTIVE
+
+
+Carrington’s experiences with Taylor had not dulled the man’s savage
+impulses, nor had they cooled his feverish desire for the possession of
+Marion Harlan. In his brain rioted the dark, unbridled passions of those
+progenitors he had claimed in his talk with Parsons on the morning he
+had throttled the little man in his rooms above the Castle.
+
+For the moment he had postponed the real beginning of his campaign for
+the possession of Dawes, his venomous hatred for Taylor and his passion
+for the girl overwhelming his greed.
+
+He had watched the departure of Keats and his men, a flush of exultation
+on his face, his eyes alight with fires that reflected the malignant
+hatred he felt. And when Keats and the others disappeared down the trail
+that led to the Arrow, Carrington spent some time in Dawes. Shortly
+after noon he rode out the river trail toward the big house with two men
+that he had engaged to set the interior in order.
+
+Carrington had not seen the house since the fight with Taylor in the
+front room, and the wreck and ruin that met his gaze as he stood in the
+door brought a sullen pout to his lips.
+
+But he intended to exact heavy punishment for what had occurred at the
+big house; and as he watched the men setting things to order—mending
+the doors and repairing the broken furniture—he drew mental pictures
+that made his eyes flash with pleasure.
+
+He felt that by this time Keats and his men should have settled with
+Taylor. After that, he, himself, would make the girl pay.
+
+So he was having the house put in order, that it would again be
+habitable; and then, when that was done, and Taylor out of the way, he
+would go to the Arrow after the girl. But before he went to the Arrow he
+would await the return of Keats with the news that Taylor would no
+longer be able to thwart him.
+
+Never in his life had he met a man he feared as he feared Taylor. There
+was something about Taylor that made Carrington’s soul shrivel. He knew
+what it was—it was his conviction of Taylor’s absolute honorableness,
+as arrayed against his own beastly impulses. But that knowledge merely
+served to intensify his hatred for Taylor.
+
+Toward evening Carrington rode back to Dawes with the men; and while
+there he sought news from Keats. Danforth, from whom he inquired, could
+tell him nothing, and so Carrington knew that Taylor had not yet been
+disposed of. But Carrington knew the time would not be long now; and in
+a resort of a questionable character he found two men who listened
+eagerly to his proposals. Later, the two men accompanying him, he again
+rode to the big house.
+
+And just as dusk began to settle over the big level at the foot of the
+long slope—and while the last glowing light from the day still softly
+bathed the big house, throwing it into bold relief on the crest of its
+flat-topped hill, Carrington was standing on the front porch,
+impatiently scanning the basin for signs of Keats and his men.
+
+For a time he could distinguish little in the basin, for the mists of
+twilight were heavy down there. And then a moving object far out in the
+basin caught his gaze, and he leaned forward, peering intently, consumed
+with eagerness and curiosity.
+
+A few minutes later, still staring into the basin, Carrington became
+aware that there were two moving objects. They were headed toward Dawes,
+and proceeding slowly; and at last, when they came nearer and he saw
+they were two women, on horses, he stiffened and shaded his eyes with
+his hands. And then he exclaimed sharply, and his eyes glowed with
+triumph—for he had recognized the women as Marion Harlan and Martha.
+
+Moving slowly, so that he might not attract the attention of the women,
+should they happen to be looking toward the big house, he went inside
+and spoke shortly to the two men he had brought with him.
+
+An instant later the three, Carrington leading, rode into the timber
+surrounding the house, filed silently through it, and with their horses
+in a slow trot, sank down the long slope that led into the big basin.
+
+For a time they were not visible, as they worked their way through the
+chaparral on a little level near the bottom of the slope; and then they
+came into view again in some tall saccaton grass that grew as high as
+the backs of their horses.
+
+They might have been swimming in that much water, for all the sound they
+made as they headed through the grass toward the Dawes trail, for they
+made no sound, and only their heads and the heads of their horses
+appeared above the swaying grass.
+
+But they were seen. Martha, riding at a little distance behind Marion,
+and straining her eyes to watch the trail ahead, noted the movement in
+the saccaton, and called sharply to the girl:
+
+“They’s somethin’ movin’ in that grass off to your right, honey! It
+wouldn’t be no cattle, heah; they’s never no cattle round heah, fo’ they
+ain’t no water. Lawsey!” she exclaimed, as she got a clear view of them;
+“it’s men!”
+
+Marion halted her horse. Martha’s voice had startled her, for she had
+not been thinking of the present; her thoughts had been centered on
+Taylor.
+
+A shiver of trepidation ran over her, though, when she saw the men, and
+she gathered the reins tightly in her hands, ready to wheel the animal
+under her should the appearance of the men indicate the imminence of
+danger.
+
+And when she saw that danger did indeed threaten, she spoke to the horse
+and turned it toward the back trail. For she had recognized one of the
+three men as Carrington.
+
+But the horse had not taken a dozen leaps before Carrington was beside
+her, his hand at her bridle. And as her horse came to a halt,
+Carrington’s animal lunged against it, bringing the two riders close
+together. Carrington leaned over, his face close to hers; she could feel
+his breath in her face as he laughed jeeringly, his voice vibrating with
+passion:
+
+“So it _is_ you, eh? I thought for a moment that I had made a mistake!”
+Holding to her horse’s bridle-rein with a steady pull that kept the
+horses close together, he spoke sharply to the two men who had halted
+near Martha: “Get the nigger! I’ll take care of this one!”
+
+And instantly, with a brutal, ruthless strength and energy that took the
+girl completely by surprise, Carrington threw a swift arm out, grasped
+her by the waist, drew her out of the saddle, and swung her into his
+own, crosswise, so that she lay face up, looking at him.
+
+She fought him then, silently, ferociously, though futilely. For he
+caught her hands, using both his own, pinning hers so that she could not
+use them, meanwhile laughing lowly at her efforts to escape.
+
+Even in the dusk she could see the smiling, savage exultation in his
+eyes; the gloating, vindictive triumph, and her soul revolted at the
+horror in store for her, and the knowledge nerved her to another mighty
+effort. Tearing her hands free, she fought him again, scratching his
+face, striking him with all her force with her fists; squirming and
+twisting, even biting one of his hands when it came close to her lips as
+he essayed to grasp her throat, his eyes gleaming with ruthless
+malignance.
+
+But her efforts availed little. In the end her arms were pinned again to
+her sides, and he pulled a rope from his saddle-horn and bound them.
+Then, as she lay back and glared at him, muttering imprecations that
+brought a mocking smile to his lips, he urged his horse forward, and
+sent it clattering up the slope, the two men following with Martha.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX—PARSONS HAS HUMAN INSTINCTS
+
+
+Elam Parsons stood on the front porch of the Arrow ranchhouse for a long
+time after Marion and Martha departed, watching them as they slowly
+negotiated the narrow trail that led toward Dawes. Something of the
+man’s guilt assailed his consciousness as he stood there—a conception
+of the miserable part he had played in the girl’s life.
+
+No doubt had not Fate and Carrington played a mean trick on Parsons, in
+robbing him of his money and his prospects, the man would not have
+entertained the thoughts he entertained at this moment; for success
+would have made a reckoning with conscience a remote possibility, dim
+and far.
+
+And perhaps it was not conscience that was now troubling Parsons; at
+least Parsons did not lay the burden of his present thoughts upon so
+intangible a chimera. Parsons was too much of a materialist to admit he
+had a conscience.
+
+But a twinge of something seized Parsons as he watched the girl ride
+away, and bitter thoughts racked his soul. He could not, however,
+classify his emotions, and so he stood there on the porch, undecided,
+vacillating, in the grip of a vague disquiet.
+
+Parsons sat on the porch until long after noon; for, after Marion and
+Martha had vanished into the haze of distance, Parsons dropped into a
+chair and let his chin sink to his chest.
+
+He did not get up to prepare food for himself; he did not think of
+eating, for the big, silent ranchhouse and the gloomy, vacant appearance
+of the other buildings drew the man’s attention to the aching emptiness
+of his own life. He had sought to gain everything—scheming, planning,
+plotting dishonestly; taking unfair advantage; robbing people without
+compunction—and he had gained nothing. Yes—he had gained Carrington’s
+contempt!
+
+The recollection of Carrington’s treatment of him fired his passions
+with a thousand licking, leaping flames. In his gloomy meditations over
+the departure of the girl, he had almost forgotten Carrington. But he
+thought of Carrington now; and he sat stiff and rigid in the chair,
+glowering, his lips in a pout, his soul searing with hatred.
+
+But even the nursing of that passion failed to satisfy Parsons.
+Something lacked. There was still that conviction of utter baseness—his
+own baseness—to torture him. And at last, toward evening, he discovered
+that he longed for the girl. He wanted to be near her; he wanted to do
+something for her to undo the wrong he had done her; he wanted to make
+some sort of reparation.
+
+So the man assured himself. But he knew that deep in his inner
+consciousness lurked the dread knowledge that Taylor was aware of his
+baseness. For Taylor had overheard the conversation between Carrington
+and himself on the train, and Parsons feared that should Taylor by any
+chance escape Keats and his men and return to the Arrow to find Marion
+gone, he would vent his rage and fury upon the man who had sinned
+against the woman he loved. That was the emotion which dominated Parsons
+as he sat on the porch; it was the emotion that made the man fervently
+desire to make reparation to the girl; it was the emotion that finally
+moved him out of his chair and upon a horse that he found in the stable,
+to ride toward Dawes in the hope of finding her.
+
+Parsons, too, stopped at the Mullarky cabin. He discovered that Marion
+had left there shortly before, after having refused Mrs. Mullarky’s
+proffer of shelter until the charge against Taylor could be disproved.
+
+Parsons listened impatiently to the woman’s voluble defense of Taylor,
+and her condemnation of Keats and all those who were leagued against the
+Arrow owner. And then Parsons rode on.
+
+Far out in the basin, indistinct in the twilight haze, he saw Marion and
+Martha riding toward Dawes, and he urged his horse in an effort to come
+up with them before they reached the bottom of the long, gradual rise
+that would take them into town.
+
+Parsons had got within half a mile of them when he saw them halt and
+wait the coming of three horsemen, who advanced toward them from the
+opposite direction. Parsons did not feel like joining the group, for
+just at that moment he felt as though he could not bear to have anyone
+see his face—they might have discovered the guilt in it—and so he
+waited.
+
+He saw the three men ride close to the other riders; he watched in
+astonishment while one of the strange riders pursued one of the women,
+catching her.
+
+Parsons saw it all. But he did not ride forward, for he was in the grip
+of a mighty terror that robbed him of power to move. For he knew one of
+the strange riders was Carrington. He would have recognized him among a
+thousand other men.
+
+Parsons watched the three men climb the big slope that led to the great
+house on the flat-topped hill. For many minutes after they had reached
+the crest of the hill Parsons sat motionless on his horse, gazing
+upward. And when he saw a light flare up in one of the rooms of the big
+house, he cursed, his face convulsed with impotent rage.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Marion Harlan did not yield to the overpowering weakness that seized her
+after she realized that further resistance to Carrington would be
+useless. And instead of yielding to the hysteria that threatened her,
+she clenched her hands and bit her lips in an effort to retain her
+composure. She succeeded. And during the progress of her captor’s horse
+up the long slope she kept a good grip on herself, fortifying herself
+against what might come when she and her captor reached the big house.
+
+When they reached the crest of the hill, Carrington ordered the two men
+to take Martha around to the back of the house and confine her in one of
+the rooms. One man was to guard her. The other was to wait on the front
+porch until Carrington called him.
+
+The girl had decided to make one more struggle when Carrington
+dismounted with her, but though she fought hard and bitterly, she did
+not succeed in escaping Carrington, and the latter finally lifted her in
+his arms and carried her into the front room, the room in which
+Carrington had fought with Taylor the day Taylor had killed the three
+men who had ambushed him.
+
+Carrington lighted a lamp—it was this light Parsons had seen from the
+basin—placed it on a shelf, and in its light grinned triumphantly at
+the girl.
+
+“Well, we are here,” he said.
+
+In his voice was that passion that had been in it that other time, when
+he had pursued her into the house, and she had escaped him by hiding in
+the attic. She cringed from him, backing away a little, and, noting the
+movement, he laughed hoarsely.
+
+“Don’t worry,” he said, “at least for an hour or two. I’ve got something
+more important on my mind. Do you know what it is?” he demanded,
+grinning hugely. “It’s Taylor!” He suddenly seemed to remember that he
+did not know why she had been abroad at dusk on the Dawes trail, and he
+came close to her.
+
+“Did you see Keats today?”
+
+She did not answer, meeting his gaze fairly, her eyes flashing with
+scorn and contempt. But he knew from the flame in her eyes that she had
+seen Keats, and he laughed derisively.
+
+“So you saw him,” he jeered; “and you know that he came for Taylor. Did
+he find Taylor at the Arrow?”
+
+Again she did not answer, and he went on, suspecting that Taylor had not
+been at the Arrow, and that Keats had gone to search for him. “No, Keats
+didn’t find him—that’s plain enough. I should have enjoyed being there
+to hear Keats tell you that Taylor had killed your father. You heard
+that, didn’t you? Yes,” he added, his grin broadening; “you heard that.
+So that’s why you left the Arrow! Well, I don’t blame you for leaving.”
+
+He turned toward the door and wheeled again to face her. “You’ll enjoy
+this,” he sneered; “you’ve been so thick with Taylor. Bah!” he added as
+he saw her face redden at the insult; “I’ve known where you stood with
+Taylor ever since I caught you flirting with him on the station platform
+the day we came to Dawes. That’s why you went to the Arrow from
+here—refusing my attentions to _give_ yourself to the man who killed
+your father!”
+
+He laughed, and saw her writhe under the sound of it.
+
+“It hurts, eh?” he said venomously; “well, this will hurt, too. Keats
+went out to get Taylor, but he will never bring Taylor in—alive. He has
+orders to kill him—understand? That’s why I’ve got more important
+business than you to attend to for the next few hours. I’m going to
+Dawes to find out if Keats has returned. And when Keats comes in with
+the news that Taylor is done for, I’m coming back here for you!”
+
+Calling the man who was waiting on the porch, Carrington directed him to
+watch the girl; and then, with a last grin at her, he went out, mounted
+his horse, and rode the trail toward Dawes. And as he rode, he laughed
+maliciously, for he had not told her that the charge against Taylor was
+a false one, and that, so far as he knew, Taylor was not guilty of
+murdering her father.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI—A RESCUE
+
+
+An early moon stuck a pallid rim over the crest of the big, hill-like
+plateau as Parsons sat on his horse in the basin, and Parsons watched it
+rise in its silvery splendor and bathe the world with an effulgent glow.
+It threw house and timber on the plateau crest in bold relief, a dark
+silhouette looming against a flood of shimmering light, and Parsons
+could see the porch he knew so well, and could even distinguish the
+break in the timber that led to the house, which merged into the trail
+that stretched to Dawes.
+
+Parsons was still laboring with the devils of indecision and doubt. He
+knew why Carrington had captured Marion, and he yearned to take the girl
+from the man—for her own sake, and for the purpose of satisfying his
+vengeance. But he knew that certain death awaited him up there should he
+venture to show himself to Carrington. And yet a certain desperate
+courage stole into Parsons as he watched from the basin, and when, about
+half an hour after he had seen the flicker of light filter out of one of
+the windows of the house, he saw a man emerge, mount a horse, and ride
+away, he drew a deep breath of resolution and urged his own horse up the
+slope. For the man who had mounted the horse up there was
+Carrington—there could be no doubt of that.
+
+Shivering, though still obeying the courageous impulse that had seized
+him, Parsons continued to ascend the slope. He went half way and then
+halted, listening. No sound disturbed the solemn stillness that had
+followed Carrington’s departure.
+
+Reassured, though by this time he was sweating coldly, Parsons
+accomplished the remainder of the intervening space upward. Far back in
+the timber he brought his horse to a halt, dismounted, and again
+listened. Hearing nothing that alarmed him, except a loud, angry voice
+from the rear of the house—a voice which he knew as Martha’s—he
+cautiously made his way to the front porch, tiptoed across it, and
+peered stealthily into the room out of which the light still shone, its
+flickering rays stabbing weakly into the outside darkness.
+
+Looking into the room, Parsons could see Marion sitting in a chair. Her
+hands were bound, and she was leaning back in the chair, her hair
+disheveled, her face chalk-white, and her eyes filled with a haunting,
+terrible dread. Near the door, likewise seated on a chair, his back to
+the big room that adjoined the one in which he sat, was a
+villainous-looking man who was watching the girl with a leering grin.
+
+The sight brought a murderous passion into Parsons’ heart, nerving him
+for the deed that instantly suggested itself to him. He crept off the
+porch again, moving stealthily lest he make the slightest sound that
+would warn the watcher at the door, and searched at a corner of the
+porch until he found what he was looking for—a heavy club, a spoke from
+one of the wheels of a wagon.
+
+Parsons knew about where to find it, for during the days that he had sat
+on the porch nursing his resentment against Carrington, he had gazed
+long at the wagon-spoke, wishing that he might have an opportunity to
+use it on Carrington.
+
+He took it, balancing it, testing its weight. And now a hideous terror
+seized him, almost paralyzing him. For though Parsons had robbed many
+men, he had never resorted to violence; and for a time he stood with the
+club in his hand, unable to move.
+
+He moved at last, though, his face transformed from the strength of the
+passion that had returned, and he carefully stepped on the porch,
+crossed it, and stood, leaning forward, peering into the room through
+the outside door left open by Carrington. The outside door opened from
+the big room adjoining that in which the watcher sat, and Parsons could
+see the man, who, with his back toward the door, was still looking at
+Marion.
+
+Entering the big room, Parsons saw Marion’s eyes widen as she looked
+full at him. He shook his head at her; her face grew whiter, and she
+began to talk to the other man.
+
+Only a second or two elapsed then until Parsons struck. The man rolled
+out of his chair without a sound, and Parsons, leaping over him,
+trembling, his breath coming in great gasps, ran to Marion and unbound
+her hands.
+
+Together they flew outside, where they found the girl’s horse tethered
+near a tree, and Parsons’ animal standing where he had left it.
+
+Mounting, the girl whispered to Parsons. She was trembling, and her
+voice broke with a wailing quaver when she spoke:
+
+“Where shall we go, Elam—where? We—I can’t go back to the Arrow! Oh, I
+just can’t! And Carrington will be back! Oh! isn’t there any _way_ to
+escape him?”
+
+“We’ll go to Dawes, girl; that’s where we’ll go!” declared Parsons, his
+dread and fear of the big man equaling that of the girl. “We’ll go to
+Dawes and tell them there just what kind of a man Carrington is—and
+what he has tried to do with you tonight! There must be some men in
+Dawes who will not stand by and see a woman persecuted!”
+
+And as they rode the river trail toward the town, the girl, white and
+silent, riding a little distance ahead of him, Parsons felt for the
+first time in his life the tingling thrills that come of an unselfish
+deed courageously performed. And the experience filled him with the
+spirit to do other good and unselfish deeds.
+
+They rode fast for a time, until the girl again spoke of Carrington’s
+announced intention to return shortly. Then they rode more cautiously,
+and it was well they did. For they had almost reached Dawes when they
+heard the whipping tread of a horse’s hoofs on the trail, coming toward
+them. They rode well back from the trail, and, concealed by some heavy
+brush, saw Carrington riding toward the big house. He went past them,
+vanishing into the shadows of the trees that fringed the trail, and for
+a long time the girl and Parsons did not move for fear Carrington might
+have slowed his horse and would hear them. And when they did come out of
+their concealment and were again on the Dawes trail, they rode fast,
+with the dread of Carrington’s wrath to spur them on.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It _had_ been Martha’s voice that Parsons had heard when he had been
+standing in the timber near the front of the house. The negro woman was
+walking back and forth in the room where her captor had confined her,
+vigorously berating the man. She was a dusky thundercloud of wrath, who
+rumbled verbal imprecations with every breath. Her captor—a small man
+with a coarse voice, a broken nose, and a scraggy, drooping
+mustache—stood in the doorway looking at her fiercely, with obvious
+intent to intimidate the indignant Amazon.
+
+At the instant Parsons heard her voice she was confronting the man, her
+eyes popping with fury.
+
+“You let me out of heah this minute, yo’ white trash! Yo’ heah! An’
+doan’ you think I’s scared of you, ’cause I ain’t! If you doan’ hop away
+from that do’, I’s goin’ to mash yo’ haid in wif this yere chair! You
+git away now!”
+
+The man grinned. It was a forced grin, and his face whitened with it,
+betraying to Martha the fear he felt of her—which she had suspected
+from the moment he had brought her in and the light from the kitchen
+lamp shone on his face.
+
+She took a threatening step toward him; a tentative movement, a testing
+of his courage. And when she saw him retreat from her slightly, she
+lunged at him, raising the chair she held in her hands.
+
+Possibly the man was reluctant to resort to violence; he may have had a
+conviction that the detaining of Martha was not at all necessary to the
+success of Carrington’s plan to subjugate the white girl, or he might
+have been merely afraid of Martha. Whatever his thoughts, the man
+continued to retreat from the negro woman, and as she pursued him, her
+courage grew, and the man’s vanished in inverse ratio. And as he passed
+the center of the kitchen, he wheeled and ran out of the door, Martha
+following him.
+
+Outside, the man ran toward the stable. For an instant Martha stood
+looking after him. Then, thinking Carrington was still in the house, and
+that there was no hope of her frightening him as she had frightened the
+little man who had stood guard over her, she ran to where her horse
+stood, clambered into the saddle, and sent the animal down the big slope
+toward Mullarky’s cabin, where she hoped to find Mullarky, to send him
+to the big house to rescue the girl from Carrington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII—TAYLOR BECOMES RILED
+
+
+By the time Bud Hemmingway had finished his grotesque expression of the
+delight that had seized him, and had got to his knees and was grinning
+widely at Taylor, the horses of the Arrow outfit were running down the
+neck of the gorge, their hoofs drumming on the hard floor of the bottom,
+awakening echoes that filled the gorge with an incessant rumbling
+clatter that might have caused one to think a regiment of cavalry was
+advancing at a gallop.
+
+Bud turned his gaze up the gorge and saw them.
+
+“Ain’t they great!” he yelled at Taylor. The leap in Bud’s voice
+betrayed something of the strained tenseness with which the man had
+endured his besiegement.
+
+And now that there was an even chance for him, Bud’s old humorous and
+carefree impulses were again ascendant. He got to his feet, grinning,
+the spirit of battle in his eyes, and threw a shot at a Keats man, far
+up on a hillside, who had left his concealment and was running upward.
+At the report of the rifle the man reeled, caught himself, and continued
+to clamber upward, another bullet from Bud’s rifle throwing up a dust
+spray at his feet.
+
+Other figures were now running; the slopes of the hills in the vicinity
+were dotted with moving black spots as the Keats men, also hearing the
+clattering of hoofs, and divining that their advantage was gone, made a
+concerted break for their horses, which they had hidden in a ravine
+beyond the hills.
+
+Taylor did not do any shooting. While Bud was standing erect among the
+pile of rocks which had served as a shelter for him during the
+afternoon, his rifle growing hot in his hands, and picturesque curses
+issued from his lips, Taylor walked to Spotted Tail and tightened the
+saddle cinches. This task did not take him long, but by the time it was
+finished the Arrow outfit had dispersed the Keats men, who were fleeing
+toward Dawes in scattered units.
+
+Bothwell, big and grim, rode to where Taylor was standing, his voice
+booming as he looked sharply at Taylor.
+
+“I reckon we got here just in time, boss!” he said. “They didn’t git you
+or Bud? No?” at Taylor’s grin. “Well, we’re wipin’ them out—that’s all!
+That Keats bunch can’t run in no raw deal like that on the Arrow—not
+while I’m range boss. Law? Bah! Every damned man that runs with Keats
+would have stretched hemp before this if they’d have been any law in the
+country! A clean-up, eh—that’s what they tryin’ to pull off. Well,
+watch my smoke!”
+
+His voice leaping with passion, Bothwell slapped his horse sharply, and
+as the animal leaped down the trail toward Dawes, Bothwell shouted to
+the other men of the outfit, who had halted at a little distance back in
+the gorge:
+
+“Come a runnin’, you yaps! That ornery bunch can’t git out of this
+section without hittin’ the basin trail!”
+
+Bothwell and the others fled down the gorge like a devastating whirlwind
+before Taylor could offer a word of objection.
+
+As a matter of fact, Taylor had paid little attention to Bothwell’s
+threats. He knew that the big range boss was in a bitter rage, and he
+had been aware of the ill-feeling that had existed for some time between
+Keats and his friends and the men of the Arrow outfit.
+
+But the deserved punishment of Keats was not the burden his mind carried
+at this instant. Dominating every other thought in Taylor’s brain was
+the obvious, naked fact that Carrington had struck at him again; that he
+had struck underhandedly, as usual; and that he would continue to fight
+with that method until he was victorious or beaten.
+
+And yet Taylor was not so much concerned over the blow that had been
+aimed at him as he was of its probable effect upon Marion Harlan. For of
+course the girl had heard of the charge by this time—or she would hear
+of it. It would be all the same in the end. And at a blow the girl’s
+faith in him would be destroyed—the faith that he had been nurturing,
+and upon which he had built his hopes.
+
+To be sure he had Larry Harlan’s note to show her, to convince her of
+his innocence, but he knew that once the poison of suspicion and doubt
+got into her heart, she could never give him that complete confidence of
+which he had dreamed. She might, now that Carrington had spread his
+poison, conclude that he had forged the note, trusting in it to disarm
+the suspicions of herself and of the world. And if she were to demand
+why he had not shown her the note before—when she had first come to the
+Arrow—he could not tell her that he had determined never to show it to
+her, lest she understand that he knew her mother’s sordid history. That
+secret, he had promised himself, she would never know; nor would she
+ever know of the vicious significance of that conversation he had
+overheard between Carrington and Parsons on the train coming to Dawes.
+He was convinced that if she knew these things she would never be able
+to look him in the eyes again.
+
+Therefore, knowing the damage Carrington had wrought by bringing the
+charge of murder against him, Taylor’s rage was now definitely centered
+upon his enemy. The pursuit and punishment of Keats was a matter of
+secondary consideration in his mind—Bothwell and the men of the outfit
+would take care of the man. But Taylor could no longer fight off the
+terrible rage that had seized him over the knowledge of Carrington’s
+foul methods, and when he mounted Spotted Tail and urged him down the
+trail toward the Arrow ranchhouse, there was a set to his lips that
+caused Norton, who had brought his horse to a halt near him, to look
+sharply at him and draw a quick breath.
+
+Not speaking to Norton, nor to Bud—who had also remained to watch
+him—Taylor straightened Spotted Tail to the trail and sent him flying
+toward the Arrow. Taylor looked neither to the right nor left, nor did
+he speak to Norton and Bud, who rode hard after him. Down the trail at a
+point where the neck of the gorge broadened and merged into the grass
+level that stretched, ever widening, to the Arrow, Spotted Tail and his
+rider flashed past a big cluster of low hills from which came
+flame-streaks and the sharp, cracking reports of rifles, the yells of
+men in pain, and the hoarse curses of men in the grip of the fighting
+rage.
+
+But Taylor might not have heard the sounds. Certainly he could not have
+seen the flame-streaks, unless he glimpsed them out of the corners of
+his eyes, for he did not turn his head as he urged Spotted Tail on,
+speeding him over the great green sweep of grass at a pace that the big
+horse had never yet been ridden.
+
+Laboring behind him, for they knew that something momentous impended,
+Norton and Bud tried their best to keep up with the flying beast ahead
+of them. But the sorrel ridden by Norton, and even the great, rangy,
+lionhearted King, could not hold the pace that Spotted Tail set for
+them, and they fell slowly back until, when still several miles from the
+Arrow, horse and rider vanished into the dusk ahead of them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII—RETRIBUTION
+
+
+Twice descending the long slope leading to the basin, Martha’s horse
+stumbled. The first time the negro woman lifted him to his feet by
+jerking sharply on the reins, but when he stumbled the second time,
+Martha was not alert and the horse went to his knees. Unprepared, Martha
+was jolted out of the saddle and she fell awkwardly, landing on her
+right shoulder with a force that knocked the breath out of her.
+
+She lay for a short time, gasping, her body racked with pain, and at
+last, when she succeeded in getting to her feet, the horse had strayed
+some little distance from her and was quietly browsing the tops of some
+saccaton.
+
+It was several minutes before Martha caught the animal—several minutes
+during which she loosed some picturesque and original profanity that
+caused the experienced range horse to raise his ears inquiringly.
+
+Then, when she caught the horse, she had some trouble getting into the
+saddle, though she succeeded after a while, groaning, and grunting, and
+whimpering.
+
+But Martha forgot her pains and misery once she was in the saddle again,
+and she rode fast, trembling with eagerness, her sympathies and her
+concern solely for the white girl who, she supposed, was a prisoner in
+the hands of the ruthless and unprincipled man that Martha, with her
+limited vocabulary, had termed many times a “rapscallion.”
+
+Martha headed her horse straight for the Mullarky cabin, guided by a
+faint shaft of light that issued from one of its windows.
+
+When she reached the cabin she found no one there but Mrs. Mullarky.
+Ben, Mrs. Mullarky told Martha, had gone to Dawes—in fact, he had been
+in Dawes all day, she supposed, for he had left home early that morning.
+
+Martha gasped out her news, and Mrs. Mullarky’s face whitened. While
+Martha watched her in astonishment, she tore off the gingham apron that
+adorned her, threw it into a corner, and ran into another room, from
+which she emerged an instant later carrying a rifle.
+
+The Irishwoman’s face was pale and set, and the light of a great wrath
+gleamed in her eyes. Martha, awed by the woman’s belligerent appearance,
+could only stand and blink at her, her mouth gaping with astonishment.
+
+“You go right on to the Arrow!” she commanded Martha, as she went out of
+the door; “mebbe you’ll find somebody there by this time, an’ if you do,
+send them to the big house. I’m goin’ over there right this minute to
+take that dear little girl away from that big brute!”
+
+She started while Martha was again painfully mounting her horse, and the
+two women rode away in opposite directions—Martha whimpering with pain,
+and Mrs. Mullarky silent, grim, with a wild rage gripping her heart.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Taylor, on Spotted Tail, was approaching the Arrow ranchhouse at a speed
+slightly greater than that into which the big horse had fallen shortly
+after he had left the gorge. The spirited animal was just warming to his
+work, and he was doing his best when he flashed past the big cattle
+corral, going with the noise of rushing wind. In an instant he was at
+the long stretch of fence which formed the ranchyard side of the horse
+corral, and in another instant he was sliding to a halt near the edge of
+the front porch of the ranchhouse itself. There he drew a deep breath
+and looked inquiringly at his master, while the latter slid off his
+back, leaped upon the porch, and with a bound crossed the porch floor,
+knocking chairs helter-skelter as he went.
+
+The house was dark, but Taylor ran through the rooms, calling sharply
+for Parsons and Marion, but receiving no reply. When he emerged from the
+house his face, in the light of the moon that had climbed above the
+horizon some time before, was like that of a man who has just looked
+upon the dead face of his best friend.
+
+For Taylor was convinced that he had looked upon death in the
+ranchhouse—upon the death of his hopes. He stood for an instant on the
+porch, while his passions raged through him, and then with a laugh of
+bitter humor he leaped on Spotted Tail.
+
+Half-way to the Mullarky cabin, with the big horse running like the
+wind, Taylor saw a shape looming out of the darkness ahead of him. He
+pulled Spotted Tail down, and loosed one of his pistols, and approached
+the shape warily, his muscles stiff and taut and ready for action.
+
+But it was only Martha who rode up to him. Her fortitude gone, her pains
+convulsing her, she wailed to Taylor the story of the night’s tragic
+adventure.
+
+“An’ Carrington’s got missy in the big house!” she concluded. “She fit
+him powerful hard, but it was no use—that rapscallion too much fo’
+her!”
+
+She shouted the last words at Taylor, for Spotted Tail had received a
+jab in the sides with the rowels that hurt him cruelly, and, angered, he
+ran like a deer with the hungry cry of a wolf-pack in his ears.
+
+Like a black streak they rushed by Mrs. Mullarky, who breathed a
+fervent, “Oh, thank the Lord, it’s Taylor!” and before the good woman
+could catch her breath again, Spotted Tail and his rider had opened a
+huge, yawning space between himself and the laboring horse the woman
+rode.
+
+Riding with all his muscles taut as bowstrings, and a terrible,
+constricting pressure across his chest—so mighty were the savage
+passions that rioted within him—Taylor reached the foot of the long
+slope that led to the big house, and sent Spotted Tail tearing upward
+with rapid, desperate leaps.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Carrington reached the big house soon after he had unknowingly
+passed Marion Harlan and Parsons on the river trail, he was in a sullen,
+impatient mood.
+
+For no word concerning Keats’s movements had reached Dawes, and
+Carrington was afflicted with a gloomy presentiment that something had
+happened to the man—that he had not been able to locate Taylor, or that
+he had found him and Taylor had succeeded in escaping him.
+
+Carrington did not go at once into the house, for captive though she
+was, and completely within his power, he did not want the girl to see
+him in his present mood. Lighting a cigar, and chewing it viciously, he
+walked to the stable. There, standing in the shadow of the building, he
+came upon the guard Martha had routed. He spoke sharply to the man,
+asking him why he was not inside guarding the “nigger.”
+
+The man brazenly announced that Martha had escaped him, omitting certain
+details and substituting others from his imagination.
+
+“If she hadn’t been a woman, now,” added the man in self-extenuation.
+
+Carrington laughed lowly. “We didn’t need _her_, anyway,” he said, and
+the other laughed with him.
+
+The laugh restored Carrington’s good-nature, and he left the man and
+went into the front room of the house. Had he paused on the porch to
+listen, or had he glanced toward the big slope that dropped to the
+basin, he would not have entered the house just then. And he _would_
+have paused on the porch had it not been that the intensity of his
+desires drove him to concentrate all his senses upon Marion.
+
+He crossed the porch and entered the room, and then halted, staring
+downward with startled eyes at the body of the guard huddled on the
+floor, a thin stream of blood staining the carpet beneath his head.
+
+Cursing, Carrington stepped into the other room—the room in which he
+had fought with Taylor—the room in which he had left Marion Harlan
+bound and sitting on a chair. The lamp on the shelf was still burning,
+and in its light Carrington saw the rope he had used to bind the girl’s
+hands.
+
+A bitter rage seized him as he looked at the rope, and he threw it from
+him, cursing. In an instant he was outside the house and had leaped upon
+his horse. He headed the animal toward the long slope leading to the
+Arrow trail, for he suspected the girl would go straight back there,
+despite any conviction she might have of Taylor’s guilt—for there she
+would find Parsons, who would give her what comfort he could. Or she
+might stop at the Mullarky cabin. Certainly she would not go to Dawes,
+for she must know that _he_ ruled Dawes—Parsons must have told her
+that—and that if she went to Dawes, she would be merely postponing her
+surrender to him.
+
+He had plenty of time, even if she were in Dawes, he meditated as he
+sent his horse over the crest of the slope, for there were no trains out
+of the town during the night, and if she were not at the Arrow or
+Mullarky’s, he was sure to catch her later.
+
+He was half-way down the slope, his horse making slow work of threading
+its way through the gnarled chaparral growth, when, looking downward, he
+saw another horse leaping up the slope toward him.
+
+In the glare of the moon that was behind Carrington, he could see horse
+and rider distinctly, and he jerked his own horse to a halt, cursing
+horribly. For the horse that was leaping toward him like a black demon
+out of the night was Spotted Tail. And Spotted Tail’s rider was Taylor.
+Carrington could see the man’s face, with the terrible passion that
+distorted it, and Carrington wheeled his horse, making frenzied efforts
+to escape up the slope.
+
+Carrington was not more than a hundred feet from the big black horse and
+its indomitable rider when he wheeled his own animal, and he had not
+traveled more than a few feet when he realized that Spotted Tail was
+gaining rapidly.
+
+Cursing again, though his face was ghastly with the fear that had seized
+him, Carrington slipped from his horse, and, running around so that the
+animal was between him and Taylor, he drew a heavy pistol from a
+hip-pocket. And when the oncoming horse and rider were within
+twenty-five or thirty feet of him, Carrington took deliberate aim and
+fired.
+
+He grinned vindictively as he saw Taylor reel in the saddle, and he
+fired again, and saw Taylor drop to the ground beside Spotted Tail.
+
+Carrington could not tell whether his second shot had struck Taylor, and
+before he could shoot again, Taylor dove headlong toward a jagged rock
+that thrust a bulging shoulder upward. Carrington threw a snapshot at
+him as he leaped, but again he could not have told whether the bullet
+had gone home.
+
+Keeping the horse between himself and the rock behind which Taylor had
+thrown himself, Carrington leaped behind another that stood near the
+edge of the chaparral clump through which he had been riding when he had
+seen Taylor coming up the slope. Seeming to sense their danger, both
+horses slowly moved off out of the line of fire and proceeded
+unconcernedly to browse the clumps of grass that dotted the side of the
+slope.
+
+And now began a long, strained silence. Carrington could see Taylor’s
+rock, but it was at the edge of the chaparral, and Taylor might easily
+slip into the chaparral and begin a circling movement that would bring
+him behind Carrington. The thought brought a damp sweat out upon
+Carrington’s forehead, and he began to cast fearing glances toward the
+chaparral at his side. He watched it long, and the longer he watched,
+the greater grew his fear. And at last, at the end of half an hour, the
+fear grew to a conviction that Taylor was stalking him in the chaparral.
+No longer able to endure the suspense, Carrington left the shelter of
+his rock and began to work his way around the edge of the chaparral
+clump.
+
+Taylor had felt the heat and the shock of Carrington’s first bullet, and
+he knew it had gone into his left arm. The second bullet had missed him
+cleanly, and he landed behind the rock, with all his senses alert,
+paying no attention to his wound.
+
+He had recognized Carrington, and with the cold calm that comes with
+implacable determination, Taylor instantly began to take an inventory of
+the hazards and the advantages of his position. And after his
+examination was concluded, he dropped to his hands and knees and began
+to work his way into the chaparral.
+
+He moved cautiously, for he knew that should he disturb the rank growth
+he would disclose his whereabouts to Carrington, should the latter have
+gained a vantageous point from where he could watch the thicket for just
+such signs of Taylor’s presence.
+
+But Taylor made no such signs; he had not spent the greater part of his
+life in the open to be outdone in this grim strategy by an eastern man.
+He grinned wickedly at the thought.
+
+He suspected that Carrington might try the very trick he himself was
+trying, and that thought made him wary.
+
+Working his way into the thicket, he at last reached a point near its
+center, upon a slight mound surrounded by stunt oak and quivering aspen.
+There, concealed and alert, he waited for Carrington to show himself.
+
+Carrington, though, did not betray his presence in the thicket. For
+Carrington was not in the thicket when Taylor reached its center.
+Carrington had started into the thicket, but he had not proceeded very
+far when he began to be afflicted with a dread premonition of Taylor’s
+presence somewhere in the vicinity.
+
+A clammy sweat broke out on the big man; a panic of fear seized him, and
+he began to creep backward, out of the thicket. And by the time Taylor
+reached his vantagepoint, Carrington was crouching at the thicket’s
+edge, near the rock where he had been concealed, oppressed with a
+conviction that Taylor was working his way toward him through the
+thicket.
+
+The big man waited, his nerves taut, his muscles quivering and cringing
+at the thought that any instant a bullet sent at him by Taylor might
+strike him. For he knew that Taylor had come for him; he was now
+convinced that Marion Harlan _had_ gone to the Arrow, that she had told
+Taylor what had happened to her, and that Taylor had come straight to
+the big house to punish him for his misdeeds.
+
+And Carrington had a dread of the sort of punishment Taylor had dealt
+him upon a former occasion, and he wanted no more of it. That was why he
+had used his pistol instantly upon recognizing Taylor. He wished, now,
+that he had not been so hasty; for he had taken the initiative, and
+Taylor would not scruple to imitate him.
+
+In fact, he was so certain that at that moment Taylor was creeping upon
+him from some point with the fury of murder in his heart, that he got to
+his feet and, looking over the top of the rock, searched with wild eyes
+for his horse. And when he saw the animal not more than twenty or thirty
+feet from him, he could not longer resist the panic that had seized him.
+Crouching, he ran for several yards on his hands and feet and then,
+nearing his horse, he stood upright and ran for it.
+
+As he ran he cringed, for he expected a pistol-shot to greet his
+appearance at the side of his horse. But no report came, and he reached
+the horse, threw himself into the saddle and raced the animal down the
+slope.
+
+He was conscious of a pulse of elation, for he thought he had eluded
+Taylor, but just as his horse struck the edge of the big level
+Carrington looked back, to see Spotted Tail slipping down the slope with
+a smooth swiftness that terrified the big man.
+
+He turned then and began to ride as he had never ridden before. The
+animal under him was strong, courageous, and speedy; but Carrington knew
+he would have need of all those sterling qualities if he hoped to escape
+the iron-hearted horse Taylor bestrode. And so Carrington leaned
+forward, trying to lighten the load, slapping the beast’s neck with the
+palm of his hand, urging him with his voice—coaxing him to the best
+endeavors. For Carrington knew that somewhere in the vast expanse of
+grass land and spread before him Keats and his men must be. And his only
+hope lay in reaching them before the avenger, astride the big horse that
+was speeding on his trail like a black thunderbolt, could bring his
+rider within pistol-shot distance of him.
+
+But Carrington had not gone more than half a mile when he realized that
+the race was to be a short one. Twice after leaving the edge of the
+slope Carrington looked back. The first time Spotted Tail seemed to be
+far away; and the next time the big, black animal was so close that
+Carrington cried out hoarsely.
+
+And then as Carrington felt the distance being shortened—as he felt the
+presence of the black horse almost at the withers of his own
+animal—heard the breathing of the big pursuing beast, he knew that he
+was not to be shot.
+
+Before he could swing his own horse to escape, the big, black horse was
+beside his own, and one of Taylor’s arms shot out, the fingers gripping
+the collar of the big man’s coat. Then with a vicious pull, swinging the
+black horse wide, Taylor jerked Carrington out of the saddle, so that he
+fell sidewise into the deep grass—while the black horse, eager for a
+run, and not immediately responding to Taylor’s pull on the reins, ran
+some feet before he halted and wheeled.
+
+And when he did finally face toward the spot where the big man had been
+jerked from the saddle, it was to face a succession of flame-streaks
+that shot from the spot where Carrington stood trying his best to send
+into Taylor a bullet that would put an end to the horrible presentiment
+of death that now filled the big man’s heart.
+
+He emptied his pistol and saw the black horse coming steadily toward
+him, its rider erect in the saddle, seeming not to heed the savagely
+barking weapon. And when the gun was empty, Carrington threw it from him
+and began to run. He ran, and with grim mockery, Taylor followed him a
+little distance—followed him until Carrington, exhausted, his breath
+coming in great coughing gasps, could run no farther. And then Taylor
+brought the big black to a halt near him, slid easily out of the saddle,
+and stepped forward to look into Carrington’s face, his own stiff and
+set, his eyes gleaming with a passion that made the other man groan
+hopelessly.
+
+“Now, you miserable whelp!” said Taylor.
+
+He lunged forward and the bodies of the two men made a swaying blot out
+of which came the sounds of blows, bitter and savage.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little broken-nosed man laughed a little in recollection of
+Carrington’s words about Martha. The big man had let him off easily, and
+he was properly grateful. And yet his gratitude did not prevent him from
+betraying curiosity; and he watched the front of the house for
+Carrington’s reappearance, wondering what he meant to do with the white
+girl, now that he had her.
+
+Still watching the front porch, he saw Carrington run for his horse,
+leap upon it and sink down the side of the slope.
+
+The little man then ran to the front of the house and, concealed among
+the trees, watched the duel that was waged in the moonlight. He saw
+Carrington break from the thicket, mount his horse and race out into the
+plain; he saw Taylor—for he had recognized him—send Spotted Tail after
+Carrington. But he did not see the finish of the race, nor did he see
+what followed. But some minutes later he saw a big, black horse tearing
+toward him from the spot where the race had ended. He muttered
+gutturally and profanely, leaped on his horse and sent it plunging down
+the trail toward Dawes, his face ghastly with fear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV—THE WILL OF THE MOB
+
+
+Parsons had always been an unemotional man. His own character being
+immune to the little twinging impulses of humanness that grow to
+generous and unselfish deeds, he had looked with derision upon all
+persons who betrayed concern for their fellow-men. And so Parsons had
+lived apart from his fellows; he had watched them from across the gulf
+of disinterest, where emotion was foreign.
+
+But tonight Parsons was learning what emotion is. Not from others, but
+from himself. Emotions—thousands of them seethed in his brain and
+heart. He was in an advanced state of hysteria when he rode down the
+Dawes trail with Marion Harlan. For there was the huge, implacable,
+ruthless, and murderous Carrington, whom he had just passed on the
+trail, to menace his very life—and he knew that just as soon as
+Carrington returned to the big house and found Marion gone and the guard
+dead, he would ride back to Dawes, seeking vengeance. And Carrington
+would know it was Parsons who had robbed him of the girl; for Carrington
+would inquire, and would discover that he had ridden into town with
+Marion. And when Parsons and Marion rode into Dawes fear, stark, abject,
+and naked, was in the man’s soul.
+
+Dawes was aflame with light as the two passed down the street; and
+Parsons left the girl to sit on her horse in front of a darkened store,
+while he rode down the street, peering into other stores, alight and
+inviting. He hardly knew what he did want. He knew, however, that there
+was little time, for at any minute now Carrington might come thundering
+into town on his errand of vengeance; and whatever Parsons did must be
+done quickly.
+
+He chose the second store he came to. He thought the place was a
+billiard-room until he entered and stood just inside the door blinking
+at the lights; and then he knew it was a saloon, for he saw the bar, the
+back-bar behind it, littered with bottles, and many tables scattered
+around. More, there were perhaps a hundred men in the place—some of
+them drinking; and at the sight of them all, realizing the mightiness of
+their number, Parsons raised his hands aloft and screamed frenziedly:
+
+“Men! There’s been a crime committed tonight! At the Huggins house!
+Carrington did it! He abducted my niece! I want you men to help me!
+Carrington is going to kill me! And I want you to protect my niece!”
+
+For an instant after Parsons’ voice died in a breathless gasp, for he
+blurted his story, the words coming in a stream, with hardly a pause
+between them; there was an odd, strained silence. Then a man far back in
+the room guffawed loudly:
+
+“Plumb loco. Too much forty-rod!”
+
+There was a half-hearted gale of laughter at the man’s taunt; and then
+many men were around Parsons, ready to laugh and jeer. And while some of
+the men peered at Parsons, cynically inspecting him for signs of
+drunkenness, several others ran to the open door and looked out into the
+street.
+
+“There’s somethin’ in his yappin’, boys,” stated a man who returned from
+the door; “there’s a gal out here, sure enough, setting on a hoss,
+waitin’.”
+
+There was a concerted rush outside to see the girl, and Parsons was
+shoved and jostled until he, too, was forced to go out. And by the time
+Parsons reached Marion’s side she had been questioned by the men. And
+wrathful curses arose from the lips of men around her.
+
+“Didn’t I know he was that kind of a skunk!” shouted a man near Parsons.
+“I knowed it as soon as he beat Taylor out of the election!”
+
+“I’m for stringin’ the scum up!” yelled another man. “This town can git
+along without guys that go around abductin’ wimmen!”
+
+There were still other lurid and threatening comments. And many profane
+epithets rose, burdened with menace, for Carrington. But the girl,
+humiliated, weak, and trembling, did not hear all of them. She saw other
+men emerging from doorways—all of them running toward her to join those
+who had come out of the saloon. And then she saw a woman coming toward
+her, the men making a pathway for her—a motherly looking woman who,
+when she came near the girl, smiled up at her sympathetically and
+reached up her hands to help the girl out of the saddle.
+
+Marion slipped down, and the woman’s arms went around her. And with many
+grimly pitying glances from the men in the crowd about her, which parted
+to permit her to pass, she was led into a private dwelling at a little
+distance down the street, into a cozy room where there were signs of
+decency and refinement. The woman placed the girl in a chair, and stood
+beside her, smoothing her hair and talking to her in low, comforting
+tones; while outside a clamor rose and a confused mutter of many voices
+out of which she began to catch sentences, such as:
+
+“Let’s fan it to the big house an’ git him!”
+
+“There’s too many crooks in this town—let’s run ’em out!”
+
+“What in hell did he come here for?”
+
+“Judge Littlefield is just as bad—he cheated Taylor out of the
+election!” “That’s right,” answered another voice. “Taylor’s our man!”
+
+“They are all wrought up over this, my dear,” said the woman. “For a
+long time there has been an undercurrent of dissatisfaction over the way
+they cheated Quinton Taylor out of the mayoralty. I don’t think it was a
+bit fair. And,” she continued, “there are other things. They have found
+out that Carrington is behind a scheme to steal the water rights from
+the town—something he did to the board of directors of the irrigation
+company, I believe. And he has had his councilmen pass laws to widen
+some streets and open new ones. And the well-informed call it a steal,
+too. Mr. Norton has stirred up a lot of sentiment against Carrington and
+Danforth, and all the rest of them. Secretly, that is. And there is that
+murder charge against Quinton Taylor,” went on the woman. “That is
+preposterous! Taylor was the best friend Larry Harlan ever had!”
+
+But the girl turned her head, and her lips quivered, for the mention of
+Taylor had brought back to her the poignant sense of loss that she had
+felt when she had learned of the charge against Taylor. She bowed her
+head and wept silently, the woman trying again to comfort her, while
+outside the noise and tumult grew in volume—threatening violence.
+
+By the time Marion Harlan had dropped into the chair in the room of the
+house into which the woman had taken her, the crowd that had collected
+in the street was packed and jammed against the buildings on each side
+of it.
+
+Those who had come late demanded to be told what had happened; and some
+men lifted Parsons to the back of his horse, and with their hands on his
+legs, bracing him, Parsons repeated the story of what had occurred.
+More—yielding to the frenzy that had now taken possession of his
+senses, he told of Carrington’s plotting against the town; of the man’s
+determination to loot and steal everything he could get his hands on. He
+told them of his own culpability; he assured them he had been as guilty
+as Carrington and Danforth—who was a mere tool, though as unscrupulous
+as Carrington. He gave them an account of Carrington’s stewardship of
+his own money; and he related the story of Carrington’s friendship with
+the governor, connecting Carrington’s trip to the capital with the
+stealing of the election from Taylor.
+
+It is the psychology of the mob that it responds in some measure to the
+frenzy of the man who agitates it. So it was with the great crowd that
+now swarmed the wide street of Dawes. Partisan feeling—all differences
+of opinion that in other times would have barred concerted action—was
+swept away by the fervent appeal Parsons made, and by his complete and
+scathing revelation of the iniquitous scheme to rob the town.
+
+A great sigh arose as Parsons finished and was drawn down, his hat off,
+his hair ruffled, his eyes gleaming with the strength of the terrible
+frenzy he was laboring under. The crowd muttered; voices rose sharply;
+there was an impatient movement; a concerted stiffening of bodies and a
+long pause, as of preparation.
+
+Aroused, seething with passion, with a vindictive desire for action,
+swift and ruthless, the crowd waited—waited for a leader. And while the
+pause and the mutterings continued, the leader came.
+
+It was the big, grim-faced Bothwell, at the head of the Arrow outfit.
+With his horse in a dead run, the other horses of the outfit crowding
+him close, Bothwell brought his horse to a sliding halt at the edge of
+the crowd.
+
+Bothwell’s eyes were ablaze with the light of battle; and he stood in
+his stirrups, looming high above the heads of the men around him, and
+shouted:
+
+“Where’s my boss—Squint Taylor?” And before anyone could
+answer—“Where’s that damned coyote Carrington? Where’s Danforth? What’s
+wrong here?”
+
+It was Parsons who answered him. Parsons, again clambering into the
+saddle from which he had spoken, now shrieking shrilly:
+
+“It’s Carrington’s work! He abducted Marion Harlan, my niece. He’s a
+scoundrel and a thief, and he is trying to ruin this town!”
+
+There was a short silence as Parsons slid again to the ground, and then
+the man growled profanely:
+
+“Let’s run the whole bunch out of town! Start somethin’, Bothwell!”
+
+Bothwell laughed, a booming bellow of grim mirth that stirred the crowd
+to movement. “We’ve been startin’ somethin’! This outfit is out for a
+clean-up! There’s been too much sneakin’ an’ murderin’; an’ too many
+fake warrants flyin’ around, with a bunch like them Keats guys sent out
+to kill innocent men. Damn their hides! Let’s get ’em—all of ’em!”
+
+He flung his horse around and leaped it between the other horses of the
+Arrow outfit, sending it straight to the doors of the city hall. Closing
+in behind him, the other members of the Arrow outfit followed; and
+behind them the crowd, now able to center its passion upon something
+definite, rushed forward—a yelling, muttering, turbulent mass of men
+intent to destroy the things which the common conscience loathes.
+
+It seemed a lashing sea of retribution to Danforth and Judge
+Littlefield, who were in the mayor’s office, a little group of their
+political adherents around them. At the first sign of a disturbance,
+Danforth had attempted to gather his official forces with the intention
+of preserving order. But only these few had responded, and they,
+white-faced, feeling their utter impotence, were standing in the room,
+terror-stricken, when Bothwell and the men of the Arrow outfit, with the
+crowd yelling behind them, entered the door of the office.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little, broken-nosed man had done well to leave the vicinity of the
+big house before Taylor arrived there. For when Taylor emerged from the
+front room, in which the light still burned, his soul was still in the
+grip of a lust to slay.
+
+He was breathing fast when he emerged from the house, for what he saw
+there had puzzled him—the guard lying on the floor and Marion gone—and
+he stood for an instant on the porch, scanning the clearing and the
+woods around the house with blazing eyes, his guns in hand.
+
+The silence around the house was deep and solemn now, and over Taylor
+stole a conviction that Carrington had sent Marion to Dawes in charge of
+some of his men; having divined that he would come for her. But Taylor
+did not act upon the conviction instantly. He ran to the stable, stormed
+through it—and the other buildings in the cluster around the
+ranchhouse; and finding no trace of men or girl, he at last leaped on
+Spotted Tail and sent him thundering over the trail toward Dawes.
+
+When he arrived in town a swaying, shouting, shooting mob jammed the
+streets. He brought his horse to a halt on the edge of the crowd that
+packed the street in front of the city hall, and demanded to know what
+was wrong.
+
+The man shouted at him:
+
+“Hell’s to pay! Carrington abducted Marion Harlan, an’ that little
+guy—Parsons—rescued her. An’ Parsons made a speech, tellin’ folks what
+Carrington an’ Danforth an’ all the rest of the sneakin’ coyotes have
+done, an’ we’re runnin’ the scum out of town!” And then, before Taylor
+could ask about the girl, the man raised his voice to a shrill yell:
+
+“It’s Squint Taylor, boys! Squint Taylor! Stand back an’ let ol’ Squint
+take a hand in this here deal!”
+
+There was a wild, concerted screech of joy. It rose like the shrieking
+of a gale; it broke against the buildings that fringed the street; it
+echoed and reechoed with terrific resonance back and forth over the
+heads of the men in the crowd. It penetrated into the cozy room of a
+private dwelling, where sat a girl who started at the sound and sat
+erect, her face paling, her eyes, glowing with a light that made the
+motherly looking woman say to her, softly:
+
+“Ah, then you _do_ believe in him, my dear!”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was when the noise and the tumult had subsided that Taylor went to
+her. For he had been told where he might find her by men who smiled
+sympathetically at his back as he walked down the street toward the
+private dwelling.
+
+She was at the door as soon as he, for she had been watching from one of
+the front windows, and had seen him come toward the house.
+
+And when the motherly looking woman saw them in each other’s arms, the
+moon and the light from within the house revealing them to her, and to
+the men in the crowd who watched from the street, she smiled gently.
+What the two said to each other will never be known, for their words
+were drowned in the cheer that rose from hoarse-voiced men who knew that
+words are sometimes futile and unnecessary.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV—TRIUMPH AT LAST
+
+
+A month later, Taylor walked to the front door of the Arrow ranchhouse
+and stood on the threshold looking out over the great sweep of
+green-brown plain that reached eastward to Dawes.
+
+A change had come over Taylor. His eyes had a gentler light in them—as
+though they had seen things that had taken the edge off his sterner
+side; and there was an atmosphere about him that created the impression
+that his thoughts were at this moment far from violence.
+
+“Mr. Taylor!” said a voice behind him—from the front room. There had
+been an undoubted accent on the “Mr.” And the voice was one that Taylor
+knew well; the sound of it deepened the gentle gleam in his eyes.
+
+“Mrs. Taylor,” he answered, imparting to the “Mrs.” exactly the emphasis
+the voice had placed on the other.
+
+There was a laugh behind him, and then the voice again, slightly
+reproachful: “Oh, that sounds so _awfully_ formal, Squint!”
+
+“Well,” he said, “you started it.”
+
+“I like ‘Squint’ better,” said the voice.
+
+“I’m hoping you keep on liking Squint all the days of your life,” he
+returned.
+
+“I was speaking of names,” declared the voice.
+
+“Doan’ yo’ let her fool yo’, Mr. Squint!” came another voice, “fo’ she
+think a heap mo’ of you than she think of yo’ name!”
+
+“Martha!” said the first voice in laughing reproof, “I vow I shall send
+you away some day!”
+
+And then there was a clumping step on the floor, and Martha’s voice
+reached the door as she went out of the house through the kitchen:
+
+“I’s goin’ to the bunkhouse to expostulate wif that lazy Bud Hemmingway.
+He tole me this mawnin’ he’s gwine feed them hawgs—an’ he ain’t done
+it!”
+
+And then Mrs. Taylor appeared at the door and placed an arm around her
+husband’s neck, drawing his head over to her and kissing him.
+
+She looked much like the Marion Harlan who had left the Arrow on a night
+about a month before, though there was a more eloquent light in her
+eyes, and a tenderness had come over her that made her whole being
+radiate.
+
+“Don’t you think you had better get ready to go to Dawes, dear?” she
+suggested.
+
+“I like that better than ‘Squint’ even,” he grinned.
+
+For a long time they stood in the doorway very close together. And then
+Mrs. Taylor looked up with grave eyes at her husband.
+
+“Won’t you please let me look at _all_ of father’s note to you, Squint?”
+she asked.
+
+“That can’t be done,” he grinned at her. “For,” he added, “that day
+after I let you read part of it I burnt it. It’s gone—like a lot of
+other things that are not needed now!”
+
+“But what did it say—that part that you wouldn’t let me read?” she
+insisted.
+
+“It said,” he quoted, “‘I want you to marry her, Squint.’ And I have
+done so—haven’t I?”
+
+“Was that _all_?” she persisted.
+
+“I’d call that plenty!” he laughed.
+
+“Well,” she sighed, “I suppose that will have to be sufficient. But get
+ready, dear; they will be waiting for you!” She left him and went into a
+room, from where she called back to him: “It won’t take me long to
+dress.” And then, after an interval: “Where do you suppose Uncle Elam
+went?”
+
+He scowled out of the doorway; then turned and smiled. “He didn’t say.
+And he lost no time saying farewell to Dawes, once he got his hands on
+the money Carrington left.” Taylor’s smile became a laugh, low and full
+of amusement.
+
+Shortly Mrs. Taylor appeared, attired in a neat riding-habit, and Taylor
+donned coat and hat, and they went arm in arm to the corral gate, where
+their horses were standing, having been roped, saddled, and bridled by
+the “lazy” Bud Hemmingway, who stood outside the bunkhouse grinning at
+them.
+
+“Well, good luck!” Bud called after them as they rode toward Dawes.
+
+Lingering much on the way, and stopping at the Mullarky cabin, they
+finally reached the edge of town and were met by Neil Norton, who
+grinned widely when he greeted them.
+
+Norton waved a hand at Dawes. As in another time, Dawes was arrayed in
+holiday attire, swathed in a riot of color—starry bunting, flags, and
+streamers, with hundreds of Japanese lanterns suspended festoonlike
+across the streets. And now, as Taylor and the blushing, moist-eyed
+woman at his side rode down the street, a band on a platform near the
+station burst into music, its brazen-tongued instruments drowning the
+sound of cheering.
+
+“We got that from Lazette,” grinned Norton. “We had to have _some_
+noise! As I told you the other day,” he went on, speaking loudly, so
+that Taylor could hear him above the tumult, “it is all fixed up. Judge
+Littlefield stayed on the job here, because he promised to be good. He
+hadn’t really done anything, you know. And after we made Danforth and
+the five councilmen resign that night, and saw them aboard the
+east-bound the next morning, we made Littlefield wire the governor about
+what had happened. Littlefield went to the capital shortly afterward and
+told the governor some things that astonished him. And the governor
+appointed you to fill Danforth’s unexpired term. But, of course, that
+was only an easy way for the governor to surrender. So everything is
+lovely.”
+
+Norton paused, out of breath.
+
+And Taylor smiled at his wife. “Yes,” he said, as he took her arm, “this
+is a mighty good little old world—if you treat it right.”
+
+“And if you stay faithful,” added the moist-eyed woman.
+
+“And if you fall in love,” supplemented Taylor.
+
+“And when the people of a town want to honor you,” added Norton
+significantly.
+
+And then, arm in arm, followed by Norton, Taylor and his wife rode
+forward, their horses close together, toward the great crowd of people
+that jammed the street around the band-stand, their voices now raised
+above the music that blared forth from the brazen instruments.
+
+
+
+
+EDGAR RICE BURROUGH’S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+TARZAN THE UNTAMED
+
+  Tells of Tarzan’s return to the life of the ape-man in his search
+  for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.
+
+JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
+
+  Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right
+  to ape kingship.
+
+A PRINCESS OF MARS
+
+  Forty-three million miles from the earth—a succession of the
+  weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter,
+  American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful
+  woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet
+  high, mounted on horses like dragons.
+
+THE GODS OF MARS
+
+  Continuing John Carter’s adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he
+  does battle against the ferocious “plant men,” creatures whose
+  mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies
+  Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and
+  reveres.
+
+THE WARLORD OF MARS
+
+  Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars
+  Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the story
+  in the union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter,
+  with Dejah Thoris.
+
+THUVIA, MAID OF MARS
+
+  The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the
+  adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter
+  of a Martian Emperor.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK.
+
+
+
+
+ZANE GREY’S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+  THE MAN OF THE FOREST
+  THE DESERT OF WHEAT
+  THE U. P. TRAIL
+  WILDFIRE
+  THE BORDER LEGION
+  THE RAINBOW TRAIL
+  THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
+  RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
+  THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
+  THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
+  THE LONE STAR RANGER
+  DESERT GOLD
+  BETTY ZANE
+
+LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
+
+  The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore,
+  with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.
+
+ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS
+
+  KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
+  THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
+  THE YOUNG FORESTER
+  THE YOUNG PITCHER
+  THE SHORT STOP
+  THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S STORIES OF ADVENTURE
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+THE RIVER’S END
+
+  A story of the Royal Mounted Police.
+
+THE GOLDEN SNARE
+
+  Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.
+
+NOMADS OF THE NORTH
+
+  The story of a bear-cub and a dog.
+
+KAZAN
+
+  The tale of a “quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky” torn
+  between the call of the human and his wild mate.
+
+BAREE, SON OF KAZAN
+
+  The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he
+  played in the lives of a man and a woman.
+
+THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM
+
+  The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his
+  battle with Captain Plum.
+
+THE DANGER TRAIL
+
+  A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.
+
+THE HUNTED WOMAN
+
+  A tale of a great fight in the “valley of gold” for a woman.
+
+THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH
+
+  The story of Fort o’ God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is
+  blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.
+
+THE GRIZZLY KING
+
+  The story of Thor, the big grizzly.
+
+ISOBEL
+
+  A love story of the Far North.
+
+THE WOLF HUNTERS
+
+  A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.
+
+THE GOLD HUNTERS
+
+  The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.
+
+THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE
+
+  Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.
+
+BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY
+
+  A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made
+  from this book.
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+FLORENCE L. BARCLAY’S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER
+
+  A novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she had lost her
+  lover, enters a convent. He returns, and interesting developments
+  follow.
+
+THE UPAS TREE
+
+  A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful author and
+  his wife.
+
+THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE
+
+  The story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy in ages
+  vanished into insignificance before the convincing demonstration of
+  abiding love.
+
+THE ROSARY
+
+  The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty above all
+  else in the world, but who, when blinded through an accident, gains
+  life’s greatest happiness. A rare story of the great passion of two
+  real people superbly capable of love, its sacrifices and its
+  exceeding reward.
+
+THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE
+
+  The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the death of a
+  husband who never understood her, meets a fine, clean young chap who
+  is ignorant of her title and they fall deeply in love with each
+  other. When he learns her real identity a situation of singular
+  power is developed.
+
+THE BROKEN HALO
+
+  The story of a young man whose religious belief was shattered in
+  childhood and restored to him by the little white lady, many years
+  older than himself, to whom he is passionately devoted.
+
+THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR
+
+  The story of a young missionary, who, about to start for Africa,
+  marries wealthy Diana Rivers, in order to help her fulfill the
+  conditions of her uncle’s will, and how they finally come to love
+  each other and are reunited after experiences that soften and
+  purify.
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+ETHEL M. DELL’S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+THE LAMP IN THE DESERT
+
+  The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the
+  lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of
+  tribulations to final happiness.
+
+GREATHEART
+
+  The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.
+
+THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE
+
+  A hero who worked to win even when there was only “a hundredth
+  chance.”
+
+THE SWINDLER
+
+  The story of a “bad man’s” soul revealed by a woman’s faith.
+
+THE TIDAL WAVE
+
+  Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the
+  false.
+
+THE SAFETY CURTAIN
+
+  A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four
+  other long stories of equal interest.
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+“STORM COUNTRY” BOOKS BY GRACE MILLER WHITE
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+JUDY OF ROGUES’ HARBOR
+
+  Judy’s untutored ideas of God, her love of wild things, her faith in
+  life are quite as inspiring as those of Tess. Her faith and
+  sincerity catch at your heart strings. This book has all of the
+  mystery and tense action of the other Storm Country books.
+
+TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY
+
+  It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary Pickford made
+  her reputation as a motion picture actress. How love acts upon a
+  temperament such as hers—a temperament that makes a woman an angel
+  or an outcast, according to the character of the man she loves—is
+  the theme of the story.
+
+THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY
+
+  The sequel to “Tess of the Storm Country,” with the same wild
+  background, with its half-gypsy life of the squatters—tempestuous,
+  passionate, brooding. Tess learns the “secret” of her birth and
+  finds happiness and love through her boundless faith in life.
+
+FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING
+
+  A haunting story with its scene laid near the country familiar to
+  readers of “Tess of the Storm Country.”
+
+ROSE O’ PARADISE
+
+  “Jinny” Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a passionate
+  yearning for music, grows up in the house of Lafe Grandoken, a
+  crippled cobbler of the Storm Country. Her romance is full of power
+  and glory and tenderness.
+
+_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
+
+SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
+
+  No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal
+  young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and
+  reminiscent of the time when the reader was Seventeen.
+
+PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
+
+  This is a picture of a boy’s heart, full of the lovable, humorous,
+  tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a
+  finished, exquisite work.
+
+PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
+
+  Like “Penrod” and “Seventeen,” this book contains some remarkable
+  phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile
+  prankishness that have ever been written.
+
+THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
+
+  Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against
+  his father’s plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The
+  love of a fine girl turns Bibbs’ life from failure to success.
+
+THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.
+
+  A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of a
+  country editor’s life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in
+  the love interest.
+
+THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
+
+  The “Flirt,” the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl’s
+  engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another,
+  leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid
+  and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her
+  sister.
+
+_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list
+
+SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street.
+
+  The California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful
+  story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice.
+
+POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY.
+
+  Frontispiece by George Gibbs.
+
+  A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the Years”
+  and “The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now shown in moving pictures.
+
+JOSSELYN’S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.
+
+  The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for
+  happiness and love.
+
+MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED.
+
+  Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers.
+
+  The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions.
+
+THE HEART OF RACHAEL.
+
+  Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.
+
+  An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a
+  second marriage.
+
+THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE.
+
+  Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.
+
+  A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure and
+  lonely, for the happiness of life.
+
+SATURDAY’S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.
+
+  Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through
+  sheer determination to the better things for which her soul
+  hungered?
+
+MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
+
+  A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of
+  every girl’s life, and some dreams which came true.
+
+_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ranchman, by Charles Alden Seltzer
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