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diff --git a/37204-8.txt b/37204-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ee74b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/37204-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9424 @@ +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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_ + + + + + 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. 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