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diff --git a/37204-h/37204-h.htm b/37204-h/37204-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94d66f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/37204-h/37204-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13021 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" > +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta content="The Ranchman" name="DC.Title"/> + <meta content="Charles Alden Seltzer" name="DC.Creator"/> + <meta content="en" name="DC.Language"/> + <meta content="1919" name="DC.Created"/> + <meta name="generator" content="ppgen (1.19) generated Aug 24, 2011 07:48 AM" /> + <title>The Ranchman</title> + <style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%;} + p {margin-top:1ex; margin-bottom:0; text-align:justify;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size:x-small; text-align:right; text-indent:0; + position:absolute; right:2%; padding:1px 3px; font-style:normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration:none; + background-color:inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color:silver;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; + font-size:1.4em; margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:2em;} + h2 {text-align:left; font-weight:normal; + font-size:1.2em; margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:2em;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; + font-size:0.9em; margin-top:1.5em; margin-bottom:1em;} + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none; border-top:thin dashed silver; clear:both;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:center;} + .larger {font-size:larger;} + .smaller {font-size:smaller;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + table.c {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps} + div.center>:first-child {margin: .5em auto 0 auto;text-align:center;} + div.center p {margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border:none; border-bottom: 1px solid black; margin: 20px auto; width:35%} + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ranchman, by Charles Alden Seltzer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Ranchman + +Author: Charles Alden Seltzer + +Illustrator: P. V. E. Ivory + +Release Date: August 25, 2011 [EBook #37204] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RANCHMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i001' id='i001'></a> +<img src='images/illus-cvr.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br /> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i002' id='i002'></a> +<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt="CARRINGTON LAUGHED JEERINGLY. (Page 268)" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>CARRINGTON LAUGHED JEERINGLY. (Page 268)</span> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:1.6em;font-weight:bold;'>THE</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:1.6em;font-weight:bold;'>RANCHMAN</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p>BY</p> +<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>AUTHOR OF</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y,</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>FIREBRAND TREVISON,</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>THE RANGE BOSS, ETC.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>FRONTISPIECE BY</span></p> +<p>P. V. E. IVORY</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i003' id='i003'></a> +<img src='images/illus-emb.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br /> +</div> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>NEW YORK</span></p> +<p>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>PUBLISHERS</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>Made in the United States of America</span></p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>Copyright</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>A. C. McClurg & Co.</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>1919</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>Published September, 1919</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'><em>Copyrighted in Great Britain</em></span></p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>CONTENTS</span></p> +</div> +<table class='c' summary='table of contents'> +<tr><td style='font-size:smaller'>CHAPTER</td><td></td><td style='font-size:smaller'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>I</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Concerning Dawes</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chI'>1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>II</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Slick Duds</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chII'>14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>III</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Serpent Trail</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIII'>20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Hold-Up</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIV'>26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>V</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Unexpected</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chV'>36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Man Makes Plans</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVI'>51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Shadow of the Past</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVII'>59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Concerning “Squint”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVIII'>66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IX</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Man Lies</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIX'>75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>X</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Frame-Up</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chX'>86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“No Fun Fooling Her”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXI'>91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Lifting the Mask</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXII'>106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Shadow of Trouble</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIII'>113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Face of a Fighter</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIV'>128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Gloom—and Plans</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXV'>142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Man Becomes a Brute</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVI'>153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Wrong Ankle</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVII'>172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Beast Again</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVIII'>186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIX</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Ambush</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIX'>193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XX</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Fight to a Finish</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXX'>200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Man Faces Death</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXI'>212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Looking for Trouble</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXII'>218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A World-Old Longing</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIII'>225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Death Warrant</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIV'>232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Keats Looks for “Squint”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXV'>238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Keats Finds “Squint”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVI'>245</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Besieged</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVII'>254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Fugitive</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXIII'>259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIX</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Captive</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIX'>264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXX</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Parsons Has Human Instincts</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXX'>270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXI</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Rescue</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXI'>277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Taylor Becomes Riled</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXII'>284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Retribution</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXIII'>290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Will of the Mob</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXIV'>304</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXV</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Triumph at Last</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXV'>315</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<h1>THE RANCHMAN</h1> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1'></a>1</span><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I—CONCERNING DAWES</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2'></a>2</span> +life—the passengers drew the shades and settled down +in their seats to endure the discomfort of it all. +</p> +<p> +A <em>blasé</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +<em>One</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +“Young—about twenty-seven or twenty-eight—maybe +thirty,” mused the tourist; “but an old-timer in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +Among the other passengers were two who attracted +the attention of the tourist. They occupied the seat in +front of the young man. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“She knows what becomes her,” he decided. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But long ago—which, to be strictly accurate, was when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Not in years had Taylor worn civilized clothing, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span> +that he looked like an awkward farmer or homesteader +abroad on a pleasure trip, and decidedly uncomfortable in +the unaccustomed attire. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>do</em> make the man!” And then she smiled at +her enthusiasm and looked out of the window. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +And then he heard the younger of the two men in +front of him speak to the other: +</p> +<p> +“We’ll make things hum in Dawes, once we get hold +of the reins.” +</p> +<p> +“But there will be obstacles, Carrington.” +</p> +<p> +“Sure! Obstacles! Of course. That will make the +thing all the more enjoyable.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +And he had heard rumors of outside interests that +were trying to gain a foothold in Dawes. He had paid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He felt Carrington turn; he could feel the man’s eyes +on him, and he knew that Carrington was speculating +over him. +</p> +<p> +He heard the other man whisper, though he could not +catch the words. However, he heard Carrington’s +answer: +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy—I’m not ‘spilling’ anything. <em>He</em> +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!” +</p> +<p> +He laughed discordantly, resuming in a whisper which +carried to Taylor: +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Danforth he knew slightly. He had always disliked +and distrusted the man. He remembered Danforth’s public +<em>début</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +Thereafter, Danforth’s voice often found the public +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Then he heard Carrington speak to her. +</p> +<p> +“Getting tired, Miss Harlan?” said Carrington. +“Well, it will soon be ended, now. One more night on +the train—and then Dawes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span> +</p> +<p> +The older man laughed, and touched the girl’s arm +playfully. “You don’t mind it, do you, Marion?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +And then she smiled, looking at Carrington. +</p> +<p> +“One is recompensed for the inconveniences of travel +by the interesting characters one chances to meet.” +</p> +<p> +And she found opportunity, with Carrington looking +full at her, to throw a swift, significant glance at Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II—SLICK DUDS</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +<span class='sc'>Squint</span>: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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? +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span> +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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! +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +There came no answer to these questions. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span> +the diner, ate heartily, and returned to the smoking-room. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +That had been the extent of Taylor’s friendship for +the man. But he had followed Harlan’s directions. +</p> +<p> +Sitting in the smoking-compartment, he again drew out +Harlan’s note to him and read further: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Use your own judgment, and I’ll be satisfied. +</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span></div> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span> +visualized. He wanted, now more than ever, to faithfully +fulfil his obligation to Larry Harlan. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Is you ready to retiah, boss?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +A quarter of an hour later Taylor was alone in his berth, +gazing at his reflection in the glass while he undressed. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span> +you. You’ve been all day looking like a half-baked dude—and +no woman is interested in dudes!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Yassir, boss—yassir! I shuah won’t mention it till +you does, boss!” +</p> +<p> +When the porter had gone, Taylor grinned into the +glass. +</p> +<p> +“I sure have felt just what I looked,” he said. +</p> +<p> +Then he got into his berth and dreamed all night of a +girl whose mocking eyes seemed to say: +</p> +<p> +“Well, do you think you have profited by listening?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, sure,” he retorted, in his dreams; “I’ve seen +you, ain’t I?” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III—THE SERPENT TRAIL</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Why had he listened? +</p> +<p> +That interrogation absorbed her thoughts as she +dressed. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” Carrington’s eyes flashed as +he leaned toward her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span> +</p> +<p> +“Have you and uncle talked business within hearing +distance of a stranger?” +</p> +<p> +Carrington’s face flushed; he exchanged a swift glance +with the other man. +</p> +<p> +“You mean that clodhopper with the tight-fitting hand-me-down +in the seat behind us—yesterday? He was +asleep!” +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +She laughed aloud at Carrington’s scowl, and then +went on: +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>think</em> he was awake. You see, when +I came back to talk with you he was sitting very straight, +and his eyes were wide open. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span> +wrong about the business you are going to transact out +here—is there?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +The girl’s cheeks were suffused with faint color. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“She’s a thoroughbred, Parsons. That’s why I like +her. I’ll have her, too!” +</p> +<p> +“Careful,” grinned the other, smoothly. “If she ever +discovers what a brute you are—” He made a gesture +of finality. +</p> +<p> +“Brute! Bah! Parsons, you make me sick! I’ll take +her when I want her! Why do you suppose I told her that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +Parsons smirked at the other. “Then you lied about +Lawrence Harlan having been seen in this country?” +</p> +<p> +“Sure,” admitted Carrington. “Why not?” +</p> +<p> +Parsons looked leeringly at Carrington. “Suppose I +should tell her?” +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span> +a broad-brimmed felt hat, which a smiling waiter +held for him—completed his attire. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve got a bigger notion not to, Mr. Man,” he +grinned. “You run a whole lot to talk.” +</p> +<p> +He sat down, twisted around in the chair and faced +the table, casting a humorous eye at the black waiter, +and ignoring Carrington. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll want a passable breakfast this morning, George,” +he said; “I’m powerful hungry.” +</p> +<p> +He did not turn when Carrington went out, followed +by Parsons. +</p> +<p> +The waiter hovered near him, grinning widely. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon you-all ain’t none scary, boss!” he said, +admiringly. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV—THE HOLD-UP</h2> +<p> +After breakfast—leaving a widely grinning waiter, +who watched him admiringly—Taylor reentered +the Pullman. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +What she saw caused her to draw back again, her curiosity +satisfied. For on the side of the cut near the engine, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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! +</p> +<p> +While she stared at him, he uttered the short, terse +command: +</p> +<p> +“Hands up!” +</p> +<p> +She supposed that meant her, as well as the men in the +car, and she complied, though with a resentful glare at +the mask. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He halted when he had advanced to within a step of the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“Shell out, lady!” he commanded. +</p> +<p> +She stared straight back at the eye-slits in the mask, +defiance glinting her own eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t any money—or anything of value—to +give you,” she returned. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +Hesitatingly, she obeyed, though not without a vindictive +satisfaction in knowing that he would find little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span> +in the purse to compensate him for his trouble. She +could see his eyes gleam greedily as he still looked at her. +</p> +<p> +“Now that chain an’ locket you’ve got around your +neck!” he ordered. “Quick!” he added, savagely, as +she stiffened and glared at him. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all, eh?” snarled the man. “Well, I ain’t +swallowin’ that! I’m goin’ to search you!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>should</em> do! Something +must be done, for she could not permit the indignity the +man threatened! +</p> +<p> +Still looking backward, she saw Taylor standing at +the end of the car—where the partition of the smoking-compartment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +For an instant after that there was silence, during +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span> +which she shuddered as she tried to keep her gaze from +the thing that lay doubled oddly in the aisle. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>must</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span> +</p> +<p> +But as the train-crew passed her, she heard one of them +say: +</p> +<p> +“That guy’s a whirlwind with a gun! Didn’t do no +hesitatin’, did he?” +</p> +<p> +And again: +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V—THE UNEXPECTED</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>chaparajos</em>, +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. +</p> +<p> +But this man, though undoubtedly a cow-puncher, was +minus the magnificent raiment of the drawings. And, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span> +paradoxical as it may seem, the absence of any magnificent +trappings made <em>him</em> seem magnificent. +</p> +<p> +But she was not so sure that it was the lack of those +things that gave her that impression. He did not <em>bulge</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>fighting</em> in Taylor’s eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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! +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span> +</p> +<p> +For a time Taylor took no notice of his antics, but they +assailed his consciousness presently, and finally he asked: +</p> +<p> +“What’s eating you, George?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“So you’re a dictionary, eh? Well, explain the meaning +of this.” And he tossed a silver dollar to the other. +</p> +<p> +The dollar in hand, George tilted his head sidewise at +Taylor. +</p> +<p> +“How on earth you know I got somethin’ to tell you?” +</p> +<p> +“How do I know I’ve got two hands?” +</p> +<p> +“By lookin’ at them, boss.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s how I know you’ve got something to tell +me—by looking at you.” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span> +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’.” +</p> +<p> +“And the young lady, George; do you know her +name?” +</p> +<p> +“Them men she’s travelin’ with calls her Marion, boss.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll be in Dawes in five minutes, boss,” he said. +“I’ve toted your baggage to the door.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span> +baggage to that end of the car. But the platform was +empty—his suitcase was at the other end. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Looking up as he walked down the platform with the +two men, he saw a transformed Dawes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +A big American flag topped the ridge of the station; +other flags projected from various angles of the +frame. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Down the street near the Castle Hotel, Taylor saw +transparencies, but he could not make out the words on +them. +</p> +<p> +He grinned, for certainly the victor of yesterday’s +election was outdoing himself. +</p> +<p> +He looked into the face of a man who stood near him +on the platform—who answered his grin. +</p> +<p> +“Our new mayor is celebrating in style, eh?” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Right!” declared the man. +</p> +<p> +He was about to ask the man which candidate had been +victorious—though he was certain it was Neil Norton—when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span> +he saw Marion Harlan, standing a little distance +from him, smiling at him. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span> +the cars, looking at him. The porter and the waiter with +whose faces he was familiar, were grinning at him. +</p> +<p> +Taylor felt that his own grin, as he gazed around at the +faces that were all turned toward him, was vacuous and +foolish. He <em>felt</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +This movement brought him close to Marion Harlan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span> +and her friends, and his further progress was barred by +a man who placed a hand against his chest. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Welcome home—you old son-of-a-gun!” said the +man. +</p> +<p> +His grin was infectious and Taylor answered it, dropping +his suitcase and looking the other straight in the +eyes. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +The color left Taylor’s face; he stared hard at Norton; +he gazed in bewilderment at the faces near him. +</p> +<p> +“Mayor?” he said. “Why, good Lord, man, I wasn’t +here yesterday!” +</p> +<p> +“But your friends were!” yelped the delighted Norton. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span> +He raised his voice, so that it reached far into the crowd +on the street: +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Now I <em>know</em> he overheard you!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span> +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +Keats advanced. He met Taylor’s eyes and his lips +curved with a sneer: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Meaning that I’m a liar, Keats?” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span> +Taylor’s shoulders was a danger signal, a silent warning +that Taylor was ready for action, swift and violent. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Meaning that I’m a liar, Keats?” +</p> +<p> +Again Taylor’s voice was gentle, though this time it +carried a subtle taunt. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon I wasn’t meanin’ just that,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +He turned his back on Keats and looked straight at +Carrington: +</p> +<p> +“Have you got any ideas along the sheriff’s line?” he +asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span> +</p> +<p> +Carrington flushed and his lips went into a sullen pout. +He did not speak, merely shaking his head, negatively. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +And then Taylor was led away by Norton and a committee +of citizens, leaving Carrington, the girl and Parsons +alone on the platform. +</p> +<p> +“Looks like we’re going to have trouble lining things +up,” remarked Parsons. “Danforth——” +</p> +<p> +“You shut up!” snapped Carrington. “Danforth’s an +ass and so are you!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI—A MAN MAKES PLANS</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington’s vision, however, was blurred by the mote +of greed. Dawes was flourishing; he intended to modernize +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span> +it, but in the process of modernization he intended +to be the chief recipient of the material profits. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He had seemed massive in the Pullman, wearing a +traveling suit of some light material, and his corpulent +waist-line had been somewhat accentuated. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington looked to be what he was—a big, virile, +magnetic giant of a man in perfect health. +</p> +<p> +He had not been sitting in the leather chair for more +than fifteen minutes when there came a knock on a door +behind him. +</p> +<p> +“Come!” he commanded. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington had twisted in his chair to get a glimpse +of his visitor; he now grunted, resumed his former position +and said, gruffly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span> +</p> +<p> +“Hello, Danforth!” +</p> +<p> +Danforth stepped over to the bay, and without invitation +drew up a chair and seated himself near Carrington. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He grinned shallowly at Carrington when the latter +turned and looked at him. +</p> +<p> +He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve heard +about it?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span> +</p> +<p> +“Too much Taylor,” smirked the other. +</p> +<p> +“But what else?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing else—just Taylor.” +</p> +<p> +Carrington exclaimed profanely. +</p> +<p> +“Why, the man didn’t even know he was a candidate! +He was on the train I came in on!” +</p> +<p> +“It was Neil Norton’s scheme,” explained Danforth. +“I had <em>him</em> 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! +</p> +<p> +“Norton owns a newspaper here—the only one in +the county—the <em>Eagle</em>.” +</p> +<p> +“Why didn’t you buy him?” +</p> +<p> +Danforth grinned sarcastically: “I didn’t feel that +reckless.” +</p> +<p> +“Honest, eh?” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington continued to stare out into the street. Danforth +watched him furtively, in silence. +</p> +<p> +At last, not opening his lips, Carrington spoke: +</p> +<p> +“Tell me about this man, Taylor.” +</p> +<p> +“Taylor owns the Arrow ranch, in the basin south of +here. His ranch covers about twenty thousand acres. He +has a clear title. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +So far as Carrington could see, everybody in Dawes +swore by Taylor. Carrington grimaced. +</p> +<p> +“That isn’t what I want to know,” he flared. “How +long has he been here; what kind of a fellow is he?” +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span> +had clouded every title, and figured to grab the whole +county, it seems. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Taylor any interests besides his ranch?” +</p> +<p> +“A share in the water company, I believe. He owns +some land in town; and he is usually on all the public +committees here.” +</p> +<p> +“About thirty, isn’t he?” +</p> +<p> +“Twenty-eight.” +</p> +<p> +Carrington looked at the other with a sidelong, sneering +grin: +</p> +<p> +“Have any ladies come into his young life?” +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +“H-m!” Carrington’s lips went into a pout as he +stared straight ahead of him. +</p> +<p> +Danforth at last broke a long silence with: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, we got licked, all right. What’s going to happen +now? Are you going to quit?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t mean that the governor is in this thing?” +said Danforth. +</p> +<p> +“Why not?” demanded Carrington. “Bah! Do you +think I came in with my eyes closed!” +</p> +<p> +There was a new light in Danforth’s eyes—the flame +of renewed hope. +</p> +<p> +“Then we’ve still got a chance,” he declared. +</p> +<p> +Carrington laughed. “A too-popular mayor is not a +good thing for a town,” he said significantly. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII—THE SHADOW OF THE PAST</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span> +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, <em>et +cetera</em>.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Oh,” she exclaimed delightedly, “isn’t it great! Oh, +I love it!” +</p> +<p> +Elam Parsons grinned at her—the habitual smirk with +which he recognized all emotion not his own. +</p> +<p> +“It <em>does</em> look like a good field for business,” he +conceded. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The first impression it gave her was that of spaciousness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span> +For though only one story in height, the house +contained many rooms. Those, however, she saw later. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The negro woman grinned broadly at her astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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! +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span> +I’se mad at him—which was mostly all the time—he, +he, he!” +</p> +<p> +The girl’s face whitened. Was she never to escape the +atmosphere she loathed? She shuddered and Martha +patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII—CONCERNING “SQUINT”</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span> +away—he did not know where. Carrington would not +return for a week or two, he inferred. +</p> +<p> +Parsons had bought some horses. A little bay, short-coupled +but wiry, belonged to her, Parsons said—it was +a present from Carrington. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span> +</p> +<p> +But the spirit of the young, unfettered country had +got into her soul, and she went her way unmindful of +Westwood’s opinions. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>was</em> a stranger, she leaned +close and whispered to her own animal: +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Billy; what if it <em>should</em> be!” +</p> +<p> +An instant later she was watching the stranger dismount +within a few feet of where she was standing. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span> +</p> +<p> +With the bridle-rein in the crook of his elbow and his +hat in his hand, he bowed elaborately to the girl. +</p> +<p> +“Would ye be Miss Harlan, ma’am?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” she breathed, her face alight with eagerness, +for now since the man had spoken her name the presentiment +of news grew stronger. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said the girl eagerly. +</p> +<p> +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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span> +</p> +<p> +“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: +</p> +<p> +“I <em>knowed</em> him, ma’am,” she drew a quick, full breath +and her face whitened. +</p> +<p> +“You knew him,” she said slowly. “Does that +mean——” +</p> +<p> +Mullarky scratched his head and looked downward, not +meeting her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +Mullarky did not attempt to disturb her; he stood, +looking glumly at her, reproaching himself for his awkwardness +in breaking the news to her. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span> +</p> +<p> +“The same, ma’am.” He turned and pointed southward, +into the big, level country that she admired so +much. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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: +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span> +you are, she’ll be tickled to give you a snack an’ a cup of +tea. She liked Larry herself.” +</p> +<p> +The girl watched Mullarky ride away. He turned in +the saddle, at intervals, to grin at her. +</p> +<p> +Then, when Mullarky had gone she leaned against +Billy and stood for a long time, her shoulders quivering. +</p> +<p> +At last, though, she mounted the little animal and sent +him down the slope. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She came at last to Mullarky’s shack, and a stout, motherly +woman, with an ample bosom and a kindly face, +welcomed her. +</p> +<p> +“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: +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span> +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’.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +And as she stared at the door, it swung inward and +Quinton Taylor appeared in the opening. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX—A MAN LIES</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>she</em> did not care to mention the matter <em>he</em> would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span> +not. His face was grave as he stepped across the porch +and stood before her. And he said merely: +</p> +<p> +“Are you looking for someone, ma’am?” +</p> +<p> +“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.) +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span> +made inquiries, thus discovering that there was truth in +Carrington’s statement. +</p> +<p> +He got a chair for her and seated himself on the porch +railing. +</p> +<p> +“You came to see me?” he said, encouragingly. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +So far as she could see, there was no sign of emotion +on Taylor’s face. He nodded, looking steadily at her. +</p> +<p> +“And you are seeking news of your father,” he said. +“Who told you to come to me?” +</p> +<p> +“A man named Ben Mullarky. He said my father +had worked for you—that you had been his best friend.” +</p> +<p> +She saw his lips come together in straight lines. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Larry. You knew he died, Miss Harlan?” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“And Larry Harlan loved his daughter,” said Taylor +softly. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span> +Mountains; of the injury Larry had suffered, and how +the man had died while he himself had been taking him +toward civilization and assistance. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span> +a cent of the money to the girl as long as they held the +slightest influence over her. +</p> +<p> +Again he mentally quoted from Larry’s note to him: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Then you were with him when he died. Did—did +he mention anyone—my mother—or me?” +</p> +<p> +“He said: ‘Squint, there is a daughter’”—Taylor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“I am not surprised.” There was no disappointment +in her voice, and therefore Taylor knew she was not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span> +avaricious—though he knew he had not expected her to be. +“Then he left nothing but his personal belongings?” she +added. +</p> +<p> +Taylor nodded. +</p> +<p> +The girl sat for a long time, looking out over the river +into the vast level that stretched away from it. +</p> +<p> +“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: +</p> +<p> +“I should like to see his room—may I?” +</p> +<p> +“You sure can!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span> +And a half-interest in the ranch. I was going to offer +your father an interest in it—if he had lived——” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“What had father done to deserve an interest in your +ranch?” she demanded. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“I couldn’t expect that, of course,” he said boldly; +“but I owe Harlan something for what he did for me, +and I thought——” +</p> +<p> +“You thought you would be charitable to the daughter,” +she finished for him, with a smile in which there was +gratitude and understanding. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +This last bit of information, volunteered by Marion, +provoked Taylor to a rage that made him grit his teeth. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +As a concession to propriety, she was to bring Martha, +the Huggins housekeeper, with her. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X—THE FRAME-UP</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington passed the interval renewing some acquaintances, +and fuming with impatience in the barroom, the +billiard-room, and the lobby of his hotel. +</p> +<p> +But he was the first visitor admitted to the governor’s +office when the latter returned. +</p> +<p> +The governor was a big man, flaccid and portly, and +he received Carrington with a big Stetson set rakishly on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“Worried about that man Taylor, in Dawes, eh?” he +went on, as Carrington smoked. “Well, it <em>was</em> too bad +that Danforth didn’t trim him, wasn’t it? But”—and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span> +his eyes narrowed—“I’m still governor, and Taylor isn’t +mayor yet—and never will be!” +</p> +<p> +Carrington smiled. “You saw the mistake, too, +eh?” +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span> +</p> +<p> +“He’s got a house right next to the courthouse—on +your left, from here,” the clerk told him. +</p> +<p> +A few minutes later Carrington was seated opposite +Judge Littlefield, with a table between them, in the front +room of the judge’s residence. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +The judge answered the smile with a beaming smirk. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<em>will</em> confuse things—won’t they? Now, if Norton +and his friends had come to <em>me</em> before they decided to +enter Taylor’s name, this thing would not have happened.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m glad it <em>did</em> happen,” laughed Carrington. “The +chances are that even Norton would have beaten Danforth, +and then the governor could not have interfered.” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span> +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?” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly,” smiled the judge. “The law is not to be +assailed.” +</p> +<p> +Smilingly he bowed Carrington out. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI—“NO FUN FOOLING HER”</h2> +<p> +Accompanied by Martha, who rode one of the +horses Parsons had bought, Marion Harlan began +her trip to the Arrow shortly after dawn. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Marion entered the house with a strange feeling of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +But Martha’s voice directly behind her, reassured her. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“For a ghost you shuah does eat plenty, honey,” she +said. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span> +the rolling stride so peculiar to his kind, toward the +porch. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“The boss wants to know how you are gettin’ along, +ma’am, an’ if there’s anything you’re wantin’?” +</p> +<p> +“We are enjoying ourselves immensely, thank you; +and there is nothing we want—particularly.” +</p> +<p> +The puncher had turned to go before the girl thought +of the significance of the “boss.” +</p> +<p> +Her face was a trifle pale as she called to the puncher. +</p> +<p> +“Who is your boss—if you please?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +The puncher wheeled, a slow grin on his face. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Squint Taylor, ma’am.” +</p> +<p> +She sat erect. “Do you mean that Mr. Taylor is +here?” +</p> +<p> +“He’s in the bunkhouse, ma’am.” +</p> +<p> +She got up, and, holding her head very erect, began +to walk toward the room in which she had left her hat. +</p> +<p> +But half-way across the porch the puncher’s voice +halted her: +</p> +<p> +“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ashamed, I suppose,” she said coldly. +</p> +<p> +She was facing the puncher now, and she saw him grin. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Is—is his ankle badly sprained?” she hesitatingly +asked the now sober-faced puncher. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span> +</p> +<p> +“And it is warm here; it must be terribly hot in that +little place!” +</p> +<p> +She was at the edge of the porch now, her face radiating +sympathy. +</p> +<p> +“I am not surprised that he should swear!” she told +the puncher, who grinned and muttered: +</p> +<p> +“He’s sure first class at it, ma’am.” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Well, talk, you damned grinning inquisitor!” was +Taylor’s greeting to the puncher. “What did she +say?” +</p> +<p> +“At first she didn’t seem to be a heap overjoyed to +know that you was in this country,” said the other; “but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span> +when she heard you’d been hurt she sort of stampeded, +invitin’ you to come an’ set on the porch with her.” +</p> +<p> +Taylor got up and started for the door, the bandaged +foot dragging clumsily. +</p> +<p> +“Shucks,” drawled the puncher; “if you go to <em>runnin’</em> +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!” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I <em>was</em> a little eager,” grinned Taylor. +</p> +<p> +An instant later he stepped out of the bunkhouse door, +leaning heavily on the puncher’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Then, with a face almost the color of the scarlet +neckerchief he wore, Taylor watched the retreat of the +puncher. +</p> +<p> +His face became redder when Miss Harlan drew another +rocker close to his and demanded to be told the +story of the accident. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She watched him as he talked of the accident. And +now for the first time she understood why he had acquired +the nickname Squint. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Whatever had been expressed in the eyes had been +sufficient to deter Carrington from his announced purpose +to “knock hell out of” their owner. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +All the visible signs were, however, glossed over with +the deep, slow humor that radiated from him, that glowed +in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Her cheeks were glowing as she looked at him, and her +eyes, half veiled by the drooping lashes, were dancing +with mischief. +</p> +<p> +“You were in that hot bunkhouse all morning,” she +said. “Why didn’t you send word before?” +</p> +<p> +“You were careful to tell me that you didn’t want me +around when you came.” +</p> +<p> +There was a gleam of reproach in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“But you were injured!” +</p> +<p> +“Look how things go in the world,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +“Spotted Tail?” she interrupted. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>worried</em> +because you were afraid I would discover you were +here?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +She threw a demure glance at him. “I am afraid you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span> +are in great danger; you do not look nearly as well as +when I saw you, the first time, on the train.” +</p> +<p> +He looked gravely at her. +</p> +<p> +“The porter threw them out of the window,” he said. +“That is, I gave him orders to.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” she said, perplexed. “I don’t understand. +What did the porter throw out of the window?” +</p> +<p> +“My dude clothes,” he said. +</p> +<p> +So he <em>had</em> observed the ridicule in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +She met his gaze, and both laughed. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Twice during their talk Martha cleared her throat significantly +and loudly, trying to attract their attention. +</p> +<p> +The efforts bore no fruit, and Martha might have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span> +entirely forgotten if she had not finally got to her feet +and laid a hand on Marion’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +Martha was sitting on her horse close by, and her eyes +were dancing. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The puncher grinned. “Takin’ ’em off now, boss?” +he asked. +</p> +<p> +He pointed to the bandages on Taylor’s right foot. +In one of the young puncher’s hands was Taylor’s right +boot. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” returned Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor drew on the sock which the puncher drew from +the boot; then he pulled on the boot and stood up. +</p> +<p> +The puncher was grinning hugely, but no smile was on +Taylor’s face. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“I ain’t a heap tickled,” declared Taylor glumly. +“There’s no fun in fooling <em>her</em>!” +</p> +<p> +Which indicated that Taylor’s thoughts were now +serious. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII—LIFTING THE MASK</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +It was not long, however, before Parsons remembered. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Later he saw them, Marion leading, coming up the +slope that led to the level upon which the house stood. +</p> +<p> +Marion had retired early, and after she had gone to her +room Parsons had questioned Martha. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span> +</p> +<p> +Twice while getting into his clothes this morning Parsons +chuckled audibly. There was malicious amusement +in the sound. +</p> +<p> +Once he caught himself saying aloud: +</p> +<p> +“I knew it would come, sooner or later. And she’s +picked out the clodhopper! This will tickle Carrington!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He breakfasted alone—early—chuckling his joy. +And shortly after he left the table he was on a horse, +riding toward Dawes. +</p> +<p> +He reached town about eight and went directly to Carrington’s +rooms in the Castle. +</p> +<p> +Carrington had shaved and washed, and was sitting at +a front window, coatless, his hair uncombed, when +Parsons knocked on the door. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +Carrington grinned. “Taylor was to take the oath +today. He won’t take it—at least, not the sort of oath +he expected.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s lucky you knew the governor.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span> +</p> +<p> +“H-m.” The grim grunt indicated that, governor or +no governor, Carrington would not be denied. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>had</em> happened, +but over what was <em>going</em> to happen. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“This man, Taylor, seems destined to get in your way, +doesn’t he?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” demanded Carrington shortly. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +At Carrington’s nod Parsons continued: +</p> +<p> +“Well, it seems it was not a fairy tale, after all. For +Larry Harlan was in his section for two or three years!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span> +</p> +<p> +“Who told you that?” Carrington slid forward in +his chair and was looking hard at Parsons. +</p> +<p> +Parsons was enjoying the other’s astonishment, and +Parsons was not to be hurried—he wanted to <em>taste</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s Taylor’s ranch,” said Carrington. A deep +scowl furrowed his forehead; his lips extended in a sullen +pout. +</p> +<p> +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. <em>You’ll</em> be interested to know that Marion went +right over to the Arrow—in fact, she spent part of Monday +there, and practically <em>all</em> of yesterday. More, Taylor +has invited her to come whenever she wants to.” +</p> +<p> +“She went alone?” demanded Carrington. +</p> +<p> +“With Martha, my negro housekeeper. But that—” +Parsons made a gesture of derision and went on: “Martha +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +At last his lips moved slightly; Parsons could see the +clenched teeth between them. +</p> +<p> +“Where’s Larry Harlan now?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span> +felt the man’s hot breath on his face—so close was +it to his own. +</p> +<p> +“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! +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII—THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He heard Carrington’s voice saying: “Pretty close, +wasn’t it, Parsons?” But he did not answer; his vocal +cords were still partially paralyzed. +</p> +<p> +He closed his eyes again and stretched out in the chair. +Carrington thought he had fainted, but Parsons was +merely resting—and thinking. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +In a spirit of abject surrender Parsons again opened +his eyes and sat up. Carrington rose and again stood +over him. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But on the ride to Dawes—on Spotted Tail—(this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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? +</p> +<p> +Taylor made desire his justification, and his sense of +guilt was dispelled by half. +</p> +<p> +Nor was the guilt so poignant that it rested heavily on +his conscience since he had done no harm to the girl. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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? +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +When Taylor dismounted in front of the courthouse +there were several men grouped on the sidewalk near the +door. +</p> +<p> +Neil Norton was in the group, and he came forward, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +“We’re here to witness the ceremony,” he told Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +A conception of the serious responsibility that he was +to accept assailed him. Until now the thing had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“I am ready to take the oath, Judge Littlefield,” he +gravely announced. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span> +decision. It was late, or I should have taken steps to apprise +you of the situation.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor smiled without mirth. His dominant emotion +was curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Not legally elected?” he said. “Why?” +</p> +<p> +The judge passed a paper to Taylor; it was one of those +that had been delivered to the judge by Carrington. +</p> +<p> +The judge did not meet Taylor’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +The judge smiled tolerantly, almost benignantly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course—to be sure,” he said. “Mr. Taylor’s +name appeared on a good many ballots; his friends <em>wrote</em> +it, with pencil, and otherwise. But the law expressly +states that a candidate’s name must be <em>printed</em>. Therefore, +obeying the letter of the law, the governor has ruled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He smiled apologetically at Taylor as he reached the +railing, extending a hand. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span> +taken Danforth’s hand, had he not at that instant chanced +to glance at Carrington. +</p> +<p> +The latter’s eyes were aglow with a vindictive triumph; +as his gaze met Taylor’s, his lips curved with a +sneer. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“We won’t shake, Danforth; you are not particular +enough about the character of your friends!” +</p> +<p> +The look was significant, and it compelled the eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span> +of all of Taylor’s friends, so that Carrington instantly +found himself the center of interest. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“An election is an election,” they heard one man say—a +Taylor sympathizer. “What difference does it make +that Taylor’s name wasn’t <em>printed</em>? It’s a dawg-gone +frame-up, that’s what it is!” +</p> +<p> +But Danforth’s adherents were not lacking; and there +were arguments in loud, vigorous language among men +who passed the door of the <em>Eagle</em> office. +</p> +<p> +“I could have printed the damned ballots, myself—if +I had thought it necessary,” mourned Norton. “And now +we’re skinned out of it!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Yet his dejection had not infected Taylor; the latter’s +lips were curved in a faint smile, ironic and saturnine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span> +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?” +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor’s smile as he looked at the men was still faintly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span> +ironic, and his eyes were agleam with a light that baffled +the other men—they could not determine just what +emotion they reflected. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +The judge’s face was crimson. “This is an outrage, +Taylor!” he sputtered. “I’ll have you jailed for contempt +of court!” +</p> +<p> +“Not you!” gibed Taylor, calmly. “You haven’t the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +He grinned at Danforth, felinely, and the man flushed +under the odd gleam in the eyes that held his. +</p> +<p> +“I can classify you with one word, Dave,” he declared; +“you’re a crook! That lets you out; you do what +you are told!” +</p> +<p> +He now ignored the others and faced Carrington. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span> +not meant to so boldly betray his hatred, but the violence +of his passions drove him on. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But Carrington had lost his self-control. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV—THE FACE OF A FIGHTER</h2> +<p> +Slouching in his chair, in an attitude of complete +dejection, Neil Norton was glumly digesting the +dregs of defeat. +</p> +<p> +The <em>Eagle</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +He sat erect, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. +Then he got up, walked to the front door of the <em>Eagle</em> +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. +</p> +<p> +Norton exclaimed his astonishment, and he saw Taylor +turn toward him, a broad, mirthless grin on his face. +</p> +<p> +“Good Heavens!” breathed Norton, “he’s started a +ruckus!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Therefore, having disposed of Danforth, he grinned at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span> +the eager, excited faces that hemmed him about, and +wheeled toward Carrington. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The blow missed, Carrington turning clear around +from the force of the blow and tumbling headlong into +the dust near Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Norton, pale and watchful, fearing just such a contingency, +shoved forward to the center, shouting: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span> +</p> +<p> +“Hold on, men! None of that! It’s a fair fight! +Keep off, there—do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The concerted action which had threatened was, by the +tacit consent of the prospective belligerents, postponed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span> +for the instant. The gaze of every partisan—and of all +the non-partisans—was directed at Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Men,” said Taylor, in the silence that greeted him as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span> +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?” +</p> +<p> +“No—o,” was Littlefield’s hesitating reply. +</p> +<p> +“Who did start it?” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Carrington.” +</p> +<p> +“You saw him?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“What did he do?” +</p> +<p> +“He—er—struck at you.” +</p> +<p> +“And Danforth?” +</p> +<p> +“He attacked you while you were in the street.” +</p> +<p> +“And I’m not to blame?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +Taylor grinned and released the judge’s ear. “That’s +all, gentlemen,” he said; “court is dismissed!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The victor looked around at the faces in the crowd +that were turned to his, and his grin grew eloquent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span> +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve started something, Squint. After you left I +went into the <em>Eagle</em> 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!” +</p> +<p> +Taylor laughed. “How long does it take for a sprained +ankle to mend, Norton?” +</p> +<p> +Norton looked sharply at Taylor’s feet. +</p> +<p> +“You sprain one of yours?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“Lord, no!” denied Taylor. “I was just wondering. +How long?” he insisted. +</p> +<p> +“About two weeks. Say, Squint, your brain wasn’t +injured in that ruckus, was it?” he asked solicitously. +</p> +<p> +“It’s as good as it ever was.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span> +</p> +<p> +“I don’t believe it!” declared Norton. “Here you’ve +started something serious, and you go to rambling about +sprained ankles.” +</p> +<p> +“Norton,” said Taylor slowly, “a sprained ankle is a +mighty serious thing—when you’ve forgotten which one +it was!” +</p> +<p> +“What in——” +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +<em>“She?”</em> groaned Norton, looking at his friend with +bulging eyes that were haunted by a fear that Taylor’s +brain <em>had</em> cracked under the strain of the excitement he +had undergone. He remembered now, that Taylor <em>had</em> +acted in a peculiar manner during the fight; that he had +grinned all through it when he should have been in deadly +earnest. +</p> +<p> +“Plumb loco!” he muttered. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span> +</p> +<p> +“Lord!” he sighed, “you sure had me going. And +you don’t know which ankle you sprained?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve clean forgot. And now she’ll find out that I’ve +lied to her.” +</p> +<p> +“<em>She?</em>” said Norton significantly. +</p> +<p> +“Marion Harlan,” grinned Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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?” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +When Taylor concluded, Norton lay back in his chair +and regarded his friend blankly. +</p> +<p> +“And you mean to tell me that all the time you were +fighting Carrington and Danforth you were thinking +about that ankle?” +</p> +<p> +“Mostly all the time,” Taylor admitted. +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV—GLOOM—AND PLANS</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +For a long time she could not understand, and she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +She knew now. A name sprang to her lips, and she +murmured it aloud, softly: “Quinton Taylor.” +</p> +<p> +Later she appeared to Martha—a vision that made +the negro woman gasp with amazement. +</p> +<p> +“What happen to you, honey? You-all git good news? +You look light an’ airy—like you’s goin’ to fly!” +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +Martha looked sharply at her, a sidelong glance that +had quite a little subtle knowledge in it. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon that ‘Squint’ Taylor make a good many +girls change their mind, honey—he, he, he!” +</p> +<p> +“Martha!” +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +Marion escaped Martha as quickly as she could; and +after breakfast began systematically to rearrange the furniture +to suit her artistic ideals. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span> +</p> +<p> +Concerned, Marion went out to him. +</p> +<p> +Parsons did not hear her; he was still moodily and +resentfully reviewing the incident of the morning. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” he demanded. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“I’m not exactly well,” he muttered. “It’s the damned +atmosphere, I suppose.” +</p> +<p> +“Martha tells me that it <em>does</em> affect some persons,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +The girl’s soft voice irritated Parsons. +</p> +<p> +“Go away!” he ordered crossly; “I want to think!” +</p> +<p> +It was not the first time the girl had endured his moods. +She smiled tolerantly, and softly withdrew, busying herself +inside the house. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span> +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But Parsons was determined to be revenged upon Carrington, +and he was convinced that he could secure his +revenge without boldly announcing his plans. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span> +received of her father, and she told him of her visits to +the Arrow. +</p> +<p> +He had watched her narrowly, and he saw the flush +that came into her cheeks each time Taylor was mentioned. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? Do you mean that Mr. Taylor +is not in sympathy with Carrington’s plans concerning +Dawes?” +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +Here the girl interrupted, and Parsons was forced to +relate the tale in its entirety. +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Elam,” she said when Parsons paused, “are +you certain that Carrington’s intentions toward Dawes +are honorable?” +</p> +<p> +Parsons smiled crookedly behind a palm, and then +uncertainly at the girl. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, Marion. Carrington is a rather hard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” he resumed, “Taylor <em>is</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” she said, “why did he choke you?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I frankly told him I did not approve of his +methods,” lied Parsons, smirking virtuously. “He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span> +showed his hand, unmistakably, and his methods mean +evil to Dawes.” +</p> +<p> +The girl stiffened. “I shall go directly to Dawes and +tell Carrington what I think of him!” she declared. +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>anything</em> 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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI—A MAN BECOMES A BRUTE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Therefore, Carrington had no choice, and he instantly +accepted Taylor’s challenge. After reentering the courthouse, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” grinned Carrington, darkly; “I’ll find another +way to get him!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span> +office-holders inevitable to a system of government which +permits the practice. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“This is good-night,” he said to Danforth as he raised +his glass. “I’ve got to see Parsons tonight.” +</p> +<p> +Yet it was not Parsons who was uppermost in his mind +when he left the Castle, mounted on his horse; the face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span> +view the beauties without danger of interruption. Above +all, she wanted to think. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span> +And the interpretation of the people of Dawes would be +no more charitable than that of the people of Westwood! +They would think—— +</p> +<p> +She got up quickly, her face pale, and started toward +the house, determined to ask her uncle. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She meant to find out, and if Carrington owned the +house, she would not stay in it another night—not even +tonight. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She turned, intending to enter the house from one of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +Her voice was a little tremulous when she answered: +</p> +<p> +“I was looking for Uncle Elam. He must have +gone in.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“That’s good. I’m glad he did go in; I did not come +to see Parsons.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“I must go in. I—I promised Martha——” +</p> +<p> +His voice interrupted her; she felt one of his hands on +her arm, the fingers gripping it tightly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span> +</p> +<p> +“No, you don’t,” he said, hoarsely; “I came here to +have a talk with you, and I mean to have it!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” she asked. She was rigid and +erect, but she could not keep the quaver out of her voice. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +He heard her draw her breath sharply and he mocked +her, gloating: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +She did not answer, standing rigid in his grasp, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +His grip on her arm relaxed and he leaned forward +to whisper: +</p> +<p> +“That’s the girl. No fuss, no heroics. We’ll get +along; we’ll——” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span> +from that direction—and then Martha was at the girl’s +side, whispering to her—excitedly comforting her. +</p> +<p> +“The damn trash—houndin’ you this way! He ain’ +goin’ to hurt you, honey—not one bit!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Open up, here!” came Carrington’s voice through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span> +the door, muffled, but resonant. “Open the door, damn +you, or I’ll tear it down!” +</p> +<p> +“Tear away, white man!” giggled Martha softly. +“They’s a big ’sprise waitin’ you when you git in heah!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +This time Carrington did not fall with the door, but +reeled through the opening, erect, big, a vibrant, mirthless +laugh on his lips. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington was disconcerted by the presence of Martha +when he had expected to see Marion. He stepped back, +cursing. +</p> +<p> +Martha giggled softly. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span> +</p> +<p> +“Where’s Marion Harlan?” he demanded. “Tell me, +you black devil, or I’ll choke hell out of you!” +</p> +<p> +Martha was not frightened; she giggled mockingly. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The man’s wild rage seemed to have left him; he was +calm—polite, even. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +He stepped through the doorway and, going again to a +window and drawing back the curtain slightly, Martha +watched him. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +For another half-hour Martha watched the Dawes trail +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span> +from a window. Then she drew a deep breath and went +into Marion’s room, standing under the trap-door. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon you kin come down now, honey—he’s +gone.” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>an’</em> men—an’ I knowed a nigger once that +was——” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span> +protect you. ’Cause you’s goin’ to need protection, honey—an’ +don’t you forgit it!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII—THE WRONG ANKLE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Lordy, I’m hungry!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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! +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span> +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 <em>she</em> +was asleep, for no girl in her waking moments would permit +her hat to rest upon her head in that negligent manner. +</p> +<p> +Bad scratched his head many times while hurriedly +getting into his clothing. +</p> +<p> +“I’m bettin’ <em>they</em> didn’t wait for flapjacks <em>this</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Git up, you sufferin’ fool!” he whispered hoarsely; +“they’re here!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He yawned sleepily, stretching his arms wide. +</p> +<p> +“The outfit, eh? Well, tell Bothwell I’ll see him——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span> +</p> +<p> +“Bothwell, hell!” sneered Bud. “It ain’t the outfit! +It ain’t no damned range boss! It’s <em>her</em>, I tell you! An’ +if you’re figgerin’ on gittin’ that ankle bandaged before— That +starts you to runnin’, eh?” he jeered. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Bud,” he said, “I’ve a notion to manhandle you! +Didn’t I tell you to have me up early?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +Taylor was getting into his clothes. Bud watched him, +marveling at his deft movements. “You’re sure a wolf at +hustlin’ when <em>she’s</em> around!” he offered. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Shut up, and get the bandage on!” he directed. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span> +</p> +<p> +“Which ankle was it I bandaged before?” he demanded; +“I’ve forgot!” +</p> +<p> +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 <em>his</em> poor memory. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve forgot!” he blurted at Bud. “Why, damn it, +you ought to know which one it was—you bandaged it!” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” grinned Bud gleefully, “it was <em>your</em> ankle, +wasn’t it? Strikes me that if I busted one of <em>my</em> ankles I +wouldn’t forget which one it was! Leastways, if I’d +busted it just to hang around a girl!” +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span> +</p> +<p> +“It won’t do,” objected Taylor; “I couldn’t lie that +heavy an’ keep a straight face.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor looked apologetically at his ankle, his cheeks +tinged with a flush of embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span> +resentful emotions that had dwelt in her heart during the +night, twitched mightily at her lips and threatened to +curve them into a smile. +</p> +<p> +For during her last visit to the Arrow she had noted +particularly that it had been Taylor’s <em>right</em> ankle which +had been bandaged, and now he appeared before her with +the <em>left</em> swathed in white cloth! +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But she looked straight at him, betraying nothing of the +emotions that had seized her. +</p> +<p> +“Does it pain you <em>very</em> much?” she inquired. +</p> +<p> +Had not Taylor been so eager to make his case strong, +he might have noted the exceedingly light sarcasm of her +voice. +</p> +<p> +“It hurts a heap, ma’am,” he declared. “Why, last +night——” +</p> +<p> +“I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to lie about an +ankle,” she said, coldly. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She rose from her chair, and now she turned from Taylor +and stood looking out over the big level, while behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span> +her Taylor shifted his feet, scowled and felt decidedly +uncomfortable. +</p> +<p> +From where Taylor watched her she looked very rigid +and indignant—with her head proudly erect and her +shoulders squared; and he could almost <em>feel</em> that her eyes +were flashing with resentment. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“There’s lies—<em>and</em> lies,” he offered palliatively, breaking +a painful silence. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>good</em> 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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span> +</p> +<p> +“How?” It was a strained voice that answered him. +</p> +<p> +“By manhandling Bud Hemmingway for wrapping +up the wrong ankle, ma’am!” he declared. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t play any more tricks—on you,” he declared. +“You ain’t holding it against me?” +</p> +<p> +“If you will promise not to harm Bud,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“That goes,” he agreed, and went into the house to +get his discarded boot. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He stepped close to her and peered sharply at her, +standing erect instantly, his face grave. +</p> +<p> +“Shucks!” he said, accusingly; “I wouldn’t be called +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span> +hospitable—now, would I? Standing here, talking a +lot of nonsense, and you—you must have started <em>early</em> +to get here by this time!” Again he flashed a keen +glance at her, and his voice leaped. +</p> +<p> +“Something has happened, Miss Harlan! What is it?” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“But, look here,” he added. “What’s wrong? There’s +something——” +</p> +<p> +“Plenty, Mr. Squint.” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span> +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Was your uncle there with you, Miss Harlan?” +</p> +<p> +She nodded, and saw his lips curve with a mirthless +smile. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span> +Taylor’s manner portended violence, and she did not want +him to risk his life fighting Carrington—for her. +</p> +<p> +“You see,” she explained, “Mr. Carrington did not +really <em>do</em> 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——” +</p> +<p> +“That’s enough, Miss Harlan. So Carrington didn’t +do anything.” His voice was vibrant with some sternly +repressed passion. +</p> +<p> +“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: +</p> +<p> +“Bud!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Rustle some breakfast—quick! And hoe out that +spare bedroom. Jump!” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span> +to him because he had spared her the horror of +explaining further. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XVIII—THE BEAST AGAIN</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span> +big man’s eyes warned Danforth and he shut his half-opened +lips and departed on his errand. +</p> +<p> +In an hour he returned, telling Carrington that his +orders had been obeyed. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +At last, after a silence that lasted long, Carrington said, +shortly: +</p> +<p> +“What do you know about Taylor?” +</p> +<p> +“What I told you before—the first day. And that +isn’t much.” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think he told a straight story?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +He watched Danforth intently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span> +</p> +<p> +“Hell, yes!” declared the other. “He’s too square +to lie!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +In the courtroom early the next morning he leaned over +Judge Littlefield’s desk, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Did you ever hear of Quinton Taylor being connected +with a mining venture?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, rather.” +</p> +<p> +“Where?” +</p> +<p> +“At Nogel—in the Sangre de Christo Mountains.” +</p> +<p> +“How far is that?” +</p> +<p> +“About ten miles—due west.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you know about the mine?” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +“There is no determining that until an investigation +is made.” Carrington laughed as he left the judge. +</p> +<p> +Later he got on his horse and rode to the big house. +On the front porch, seated in a chair, smoking, he saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>had</em> +fled seized him; he scowled and leaped to the door of +Parsons’ room, pounding heavily upon it. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span> +</p> +<p> +With a bound Carrington reached Parsons’ side and +gripped the man by the collar of his coat. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“She’s gone,” whispered Parsons tremulously. “I—I +tried to stop her, knowing you wouldn’t want it, but—she +went away—anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, Jim; for God’s sake, don’t! You’re hurting +me! I—I couldn’t help it; I couldn’t stop her!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Where did she go—damn you!” +</p> +<p> +“To the Arrow.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He shrieked when Carrington struck him; a sound +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t hit me again, Jim!” he pleaded. “Jim, I’ve +never done anything to you!” +</p> +<p> +“Bah!” Carrington leaned over the other, grinning +malevolently. +</p> +<p> +“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span> +And tell her that I am coming for her—and for +Taylor, too! Now, get out!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>CHAPTER XIX—THE AMBUSH</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Don’t rile Taylor!” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Evidently he doesn’t want to congratulate Carrington +about anything,” the clerk confided to a bystander. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p>CITY HALL.</p> +</div> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Where’s Carrington?” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t seen Carrington this morning,” lied Danforth, +for he <em>had</em> 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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span> +would not set Taylor on the other’s trail without first +warning Carrington. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor rode to the <em>Eagle</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +“What’s up with Taylor?” asked a man who knew +him. “Looks sort of riled.” +</p> +<p> +Taylor found Carrington in none of the places in which +he looked. He returned to the <em>Eagle</em> office, and found +Norton there. He greeted Norton with a short: +</p> +<p> +“Seen Carrington?” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +Briefly Taylor told him, and when the tale was ended, +Norton’s eyes were blazing with indignation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span> +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“His—now,” said Taylor; “that’s what makes it +worse. Well,” he added as he stepped toward the door, +“I’ll be going.” +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a one-man job,” grinned Taylor mirthlessly. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll promise you won’t be thinking of that ankle—this +time?” said Norton seriously. +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span> +to leave. And they were to report to him immediately +if anyone came. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Following Marion,” Carrington assured himself, with +a crooked smile. “Well, I’ll know where to get both of +them when I want them.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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—— +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Half a mile from the house, riding through a timber +grove, he met the man Danforth had sent to him. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span> +latter gave Carrington the message he carried, which was +merely: “Taylor is looking for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Coming here?” he asked the man sharply. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Sneak back—by a roundabout trail. Don’t let Taylor +see you!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>CHAPTER XX—A FIGHT TO A FINISH</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Within a hundred feet of the spot where Carrington’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“He’s settled by now,” he said. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span> +black horse was within fifty feet of him, and still coming +at a speed which there was no gauging, Carrington leveled +the pistol. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington ran into the dining-room, shoved the dining-room +table in Taylor’s way as Taylor tried to reach +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Had it not been for his previous encounter with Taylor, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He began to mutter in a whining, vicious monotone; +twice he kicked at Taylor, and twice he was knocked down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Panting from his exertions, Taylor drew his guns and +ran to one of the front windows. They opened upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span> +out, flattening himself against the wall, but this time the +arms were hanging more limply. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXI—A MAN FACES DEATH</h2> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“One kick an’ I blow the top of your head off!” +Carrington stopped short and wheeled, to face Ben +Mullarky. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Then he started, traveling as swiftly as possible down +the big slope toward his own house, not so very far away. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span> +</p> +<p> +In this manner, with Spotted Tail a few paces in his +rear, Mullarky, still tenderly carrying his burden, reached +his cabin. +</p> +<p> +He stilled Mrs. Mullarky’s hysterical questions with a +short command: +</p> +<p> +“Hitch up the buckboard while I’m gettin’ him in +shape!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“You’d be lettin’ him ride on them hard boards!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“So it was Carrington that mauled you, eh?” she said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span> +“Well, he’s a mighty evil man—the divvle take his +sowl!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span> +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +But Parsons had not seen Mullarky. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Mrs. Mullarky, what has happened?” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +They took Taylor into his own room and laid him on +the bed; a long, limp figure, pitifully shattered, lying +very white and still. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“O Lord, save him—save him for—for me!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXII—LOOKING FOR TROUBLE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“I’m takin’ a look!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span> +them. For it was known that they were reckless, hardy +spirits when the mood came upon them, and that they +worshiped Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“There’s been trouble at the Huggins house, and I’m +sending these men to investigate.” +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +“In his rooms—under a doctor’s care. He’s hit—bad. +A bullet in his side.” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +And so they returned to the Arrow, to find that the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span> +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 <em>you</em>—damn +you!” And then he would try to sit erect, swinging +his arms as though he were trying to hit someone. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’m still a going it,” he said weakly. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +“You are!” declared the doctor. “That is,” he +amended, “if you keep your trap shut and do a lot of +sleeping.” +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +“You did,” grinned the doctor. “Bothwell rode over +there to find out—and Mullarky saw them. Mullarky +brought you back—and got me.” +</p> +<p> +“Carrington?” inquired the patient. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span> +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +“You didn’t,” she said, her eyes eloquent with joy +over the improvement in him. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXIII—A WORLD-OLD LONGING</h2> +<p> +Looking back upon the long period of Taylor’s +convalescence, Marion Harlan could easily understand +why she had surrendered to the patient. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Marion was not looking at the mountains; she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span> +watching Taylor’s profile—and blushing over thoughts +that came to her. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Squint,” she suddenly demanded; “what are you +thinking about?” +</p> +<p> +He turned and looked full at her, his eyes glowing +with a grave humor. +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>anything</em> +I can do to show you that I love you—that I want you +more than any man ever wanted a woman?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—there is.” Her smile was tantalizing. +</p> +<p> +“Name it!” he demanded, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“From me, I suppose?” he said, gloomily. +</p> +<p> +He had turned his head and she shot a quick, eloquent +glance at him. “From you—and several others,” she +said, deliberately. +</p> +<p> +There was a resentful, hurt look in his eyes when he +turned and looked at her. “Just how many?” he demanded, +somewhat gruffly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span> +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“Love isn’t silly,” he declared. He looked rather +fiercely at her. “What kind of a man do you like best?” +he demanded. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>him</em>. I like a +man who is jealous of the reputation of the woman he +<em>professes</em> 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.” +</p> +<p> +“Could you name such a man?” he said. There was a +scornful gleam in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I am looking at him this minute!” she said. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span> +</p> +<p> +“I’ll never speak to you again if you catch me!” she +warned, her eyes flashing. +</p> +<p> +“But you told me——” +</p> +<p> +“That I liked you,” she interrupted. “And liking a +man isn’t——” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +Taylor slipped off the rock and started toward Bud, +feigning resentment. +</p> +<p> +Bud, his face agitated by a broad grin, deliberately +winked at Miss Harlan—though he spoke to Taylor. +</p> +<p> +“I’d be a little careful about how I went to jumpin’ +off boulders—you might bust your ankle again!” +</p> +<p> +And then Taylor grinned at Miss Harlan—who pretended +a severity she did not feel; while Bud, cackling +mirthfully, went toward the ranchhouse. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXIV—A DEATH WARRANT</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span> +had been whispered broadcast—he boarded a westbound +train. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +And on the platform of one of the coaches, Carrington, +grinning wickedly, gave the man a number of yellow-backed +treasury notes. +</p> +<p> +“You think I won’t have to come back—to testify +against him?” asked the man, smiling coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not!” declared Carrington. “You’ve +signed his death warrant this time!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington grinned maliciously as he halted at Littlefield’s +side and laid a hand on the other’s arm. +</p> +<p> +“We’ve got him, Littlefield!” he said. “Get busy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +The judge cleared his throat and looked with shifting +eyes at the other. +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXV—KEATS LOOKS FOR “SQUINT”</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll be looking, too,” declared Norton. “The <em>Eagle</em> +forms are ready for the press, and there isn’t much to do.” +</p> +<p> +Later, Taylor, mounted on Spotted Tail, and Norton +on a big, rangy sorrel, the two men rode away. Taylor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +For several seconds Bud watched intently, straining his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +Returning to the bunkhouse door, he stood in it for a +time, watching the approaching men. Then he scowled, +muttering: +</p> +<p> +“It’s that damned Keats an’ some of his bunch! What +in hell are they wantin’ at the Arrow?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Hello, Hemmingway!” he greeted, gruffly. “I take +it the outfit ain’t in?” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“What’s eatin’ you guys?” demanded Bud. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span> +</p> +<p> +“Plenty!” stated Keats importantly. He turned to +the men. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +Keats’s face flamed with sudden passion. With a snap +of his wrist he drew his gun and trained its muzzle on +Bud. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Taylor, eh?” he said. “What you wantin’ with +Taylor?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span> +</p> +<p> +“I’m wantin’ him for murderin’ Larry Harlan!” +snapped Keats. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Get out of the way—I’m goin’ in!” ordered Keats. +</p> +<p> +The girl moved aside to let him pass, and as he crossed +the threshold she asked, weakly: +</p> +<p> +“How do you—how do they know Mr. Taylor killed +Larry Harlan?” +</p> +<p> +Keats turned on her, grinning mirthlessly. +</p> +<p> +“How do we know anything?” he jeered. “Evidence—that’s +what—an’ plenty of it!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Gaining the stable, Bud worked fast; throwing a saddle +and bridle upon King, the speediest horse in the Arrow +outfit, excepting Spotted Tail. +</p> +<p> +With movements that he tried hard to make casual, +but with an impatience that made his heart pound heavily, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span> +he got King out and led him to the rear of the +stable. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Passing behind the blacksmith-shop, Bud heard a voice +saying: +</p> +<p> +“Dead or alive, Keats says; an’ they’d admire to have +him dead. I heard Carrington tellin’ Keats!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Where’s that guy I left standin’ there? Where’s he—Hemmingway?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the girl dully. +</p> +<p> +Keats cursed and ran to the edge of the porch. With +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span> +his gaze sweeping the buildings, the pasture, the corrals, +and the wide stretch of plain westward, he stiffened, +calling angrily to his men: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXVI—KEATS FINDS “SQUINT”</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span> +that nothing would happen to him or King, except possibly +a slip into a gopher hole. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +When the sides of the big hills surrounding the level +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor had ridden toward Bud, and was a hundred +feet in advance of Norton when Bud pulled King to a +halt, shouting: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Who accused me of murdering Harlan?” +</p> +<p> +“Keats didn’t say. But I heard a guy sayin’ that Carrington +was wantin’ Keats to take you dead!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span> +a quick, quizzical look at the two men, “if one of you is +determined to stay.” +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Bud’s face was flushed and Norton was grinning. And +at just the instant Taylor came in sight of them Norton +was saying: +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you insist, I suppose I shall have to go to +Kelso. There isn’t time to argue.” +</p> +<p> +Norton wheeled his horse, and, with a quick grin at +Taylor, sent the animal clattering down the gorge. +</p> +<p> +Bud’s grin at Taylor was pregnant with guilt. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span> +</p> +<p> +“Norton didn’t want me to stay. There’s lots of stubborn +cusses in the world—now, ain’t they?” +</p> +<p> +Taylor’s answering smile showed that he understood. +</p> +<p> +“Get King back here with Spotted Tail, Bud!” he +directed. “And take that pile of rocks for cover. They’re +coming!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span> +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 +<em>might</em> happen in a pursuit of this character. +</p> +<p> +But the thing that <em>did</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span> +</p> +<p> +And so he sat motionless, slowly and respectfully raising +his hands. Noting his action, his men did likewise. +</p> +<p> +“That’s polite,” came Taylor’s voice coldly. “Hemmingway +says you’re looking for me. What for?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got a warrant for you, chargin’ you with murderin’ +Larry Harlan.” +</p> +<p> +“Who accused me?” +</p> +<p> +“Mint Morton, of Nogel.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Who issued the warrant?” +</p> +<p> +“Judge Littlefield.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Taylor, “you can take it right back to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span> +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 <em>you</em>, Keats! Slope!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXVII—BESIEGED</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Taylor gave some reasons for his disinclination to adopt +Hemmingway’s suggestions. +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>would</em> 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!” +</p> +<p> +So Hemmingway said no more on that subject. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span> +slowly above them, finally blazing down from a point +directly overhead. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“If a man could eat now,” he remarked once, while +the sun was directly overhead, “why, it wouldn’t be so +bad!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Norton ought to have been back with Bothwell and +the bunch, now.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s an hour overdue,” said Taylor, without looking +at Bud. +</p> +<p> +“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——” +</p> +<p> +“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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +Lying flat on his stomach, he watched the rock-knob he +had mentioned. +</p> +<p> +“Slick as an Indian,” he remarked once, while Bud, +having ceased his discontented mutterings, kept his gaze +on the rock also. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“They’ll know they can’t get careless, now,” grinned +Taylor, working the ejector of his rifle. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“It’s comin’ on night, Squint. Somethin’s sure happened +to Norton.” He wriggled impatiently, adding: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span> +“If we’re here when night comes we’ll have a picnic +keepin’ them guys off of us.” +</p> +<p> +Taylor said nothing until the gorge began to darken +with the shadows of twilight. Then he looked at Bud, his +face grim. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“There’s a chance yet—for you. You take Spotted +Tail and make a run for the basin. I’ll cover you.” +</p> +<p> +“What about you?” grumbled Bud. +</p> +<p> +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?” +</p> +<p> +“But if a man was hungry,” said Taylor, “and he knew +there was grub with the outfit——” +</p> +<p> +“I ain’t hungry no more,” declared Bud; “I’ve quit +thinkin’ of flapjacks for more than——” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“It’s the outfit!” said Taylor. +</p> +<p> +And Bud, rolling over and over in an excess of joy +over the coming of the Arrow men, hugged an imaginary +form and yelled: +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Bothwell, you old son-of-a-gun! How I love +you!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII—THE FUGITIVE</h2> +<p> +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 <em>might</em> be guilty! She wanted to believe in +him—she <em>did</em> 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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span> +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! +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“What has happened?” he demanded. +</p> +<p> +She told him, and the man’s face whitened. +</p> +<p> +“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——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +She shuddered with sudden repugnance. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>he</em> might stay, but +that she did not intend to remain in the house another +minute. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +Martha’s vehemence was genuine, but not convincing; +and the girl mounted the horse, hanging the handbag +from the pommel of the saddle. +</p> +<p> +“You’s sure goin’!” screamed the negro woman, frantic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span> +with a dread that she was in danger of losing the girl +for whom she had formed a deep affection. +</p> +<p> +“You wait—you hear!” she demanded; “if you leave +this house I’s a goin’, too!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +Yielding to the insistent demands of the good woman, +Marion meekly consented and went inside. And Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span> +Mullarky tried to make her comfortable, and attempted +to soothe her and assure her of Taylor’s innocence. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span><a name='chXXIX' id='chXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXIX—THE CAPTIVE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Carrington had not seen the house since the fight with +Taylor in the front room, and the wreck and ruin that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span> +met his gaze as he stood in the door brought a sullen +pout to his lips. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +He felt that by this time Keats and his men should +have settled with Taylor. After that, he, himself, would +make the girl pay. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Moving slowly, so that he might not attract the attention +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +Marion halted her horse. Martha’s voice had startled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span> +her, for she had not been thinking of the present; her +thoughts had been centered on Taylor. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“So it <em>is</em> 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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span><a name='chXXX' id='chXXX'></a>CHAPTER XXX—PARSONS HAS HUMAN INSTINCTS</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span> +and so he stood there on the porch, undecided, vacillating, +in the grip of a vague disquiet. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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! +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Well, we are here,” he said. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t worry,” he said, “at least for an hour or two. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Did you see Keats today?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“So you saw him,” he jeered; “and you know that +he came for Taylor. Did he find Taylor at the Arrow?” +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span> +attentions to <em>give</em> yourself to the man who killed your +father!” +</p> +<p> +He laughed, and saw her writhe under the sound of it. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span><a name='chXXXI' id='chXXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXXI—A RESCUE</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The sight brought a murderous passion into Parsons’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Entering the big room, Parsons saw Marion’s eyes +widen as she looked full at him. He shook his head at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span> +her; her face grew whiter, and she began to talk to the +other man. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Together they flew outside, where they found the girl’s +horse tethered near a tree, and Parsons’ animal standing +where he had left it. +</p> +<p> +Mounting, the girl whispered to Parsons. She was +trembling, and her voice broke with a wailing quaver +when she spoke: +</p> +<p> +“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 <em>way</em> to escape +him?” +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span> +And the experience filled him with the spirit to do other +good and unselfish deeds. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +It <em>had</em> 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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span> +</p> +<p> +At the instant Parsons heard her voice she was confronting +the man, her eyes popping with fury. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Outside, the man ran toward the stable. For an instant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span><a name='chXXXII' id='chXXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXXII—TAYLOR BECOMES RILED</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Bud turned his gaze up the gorge and saw them. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Bothwell, big and grim, rode to where Taylor was +standing, his voice booming as he looked sharply at +Taylor. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span> +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Come a runnin’, you yaps! That ornery bunch can’t +git out of this section without hittin’ the basin trail!” +</p> +<p> +Bothwell and the others fled down the gorge like a +devastating whirlwind before Taylor could offer a word +of objection. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span> +the girl’s faith in him would be destroyed—the faith that +he had been nurturing, and upon which he had built his +hopes. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span><a name='chXXXIII' id='chXXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXXIII—RETRIBUTION</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But Martha forgot her pains and misery once she was +in the saddle again, and she rode fast, trembling with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +Martha headed her horse straight for the Mullarky +cabin, guided by a faint shaft of light that issued from +one of its windows. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +She started while Martha was again painfully mounting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span> +raged through him, and then with a laugh of bitter humor +he leaped on Spotted Tail. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span> +reached the foot of the long slope that led to the big +house, and sent Spotted Tail tearing upward with rapid, +desperate leaps. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +The man brazenly announced that Martha had escaped +him, omitting certain details and substituting others from +his imagination. +</p> +<p> +“If she hadn’t been a woman, now,” added the man +in self-extenuation. +</p> +<p> +Carrington laughed lowly. “We didn’t need <em>her</em>, anyway,” +he said, and the other laughed with him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span> +</p> +<p> +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 <em>would</em> have +paused on the porch had it not been that the intensity +of his desires drove him to concentrate all his senses upon +Marion. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span> +for she must know that <em>he</em> ruled Dawes—Parsons must +have told her that—and that if she went to Dawes, she +would be merely postponing her surrender to him. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Cursing again, though his face was ghastly with the +fear that had seized him, Carrington slipped from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +But Taylor made no such signs; he had not spent the +greater part of his life in the open to be outdone in this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span> +grim strategy by an eastern man. He grinned wickedly +at the thought. +</p> +<p> +He suspected that Carrington might try the very trick +he himself was trying, and that thought made him wary. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 <em>had</em> gone to the Arrow, that +she had told Taylor what had happened to her, and that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span> +Taylor had come straight to the big house to punish +him for his misdeeds. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Before he could swing his own horse to escape, the +big, black horse was beside his own, and one of Taylor’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Now, you miserable whelp!” said Taylor. +</p> +<p> +He lunged forward and the bodies of the two men made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span> +a swaying blot out of which came the sounds of blows, +bitter and savage. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +Still watching the front porch, he saw Carrington run +for his horse, leap upon it and sink down the side of the +slope. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span><a name='chXXXIV' id='chXXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXXIV—THE WILL OF THE MOB</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span> +with Marion. And when Parsons and Marion rode into +Dawes fear, stark, abject, and naked, was in the man’s +soul. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306'></a>306</span> +odd, strained silence. Then a man far back in the room +guffawed loudly: +</p> +<p> +“Plumb loco. Too much forty-rod!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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’.” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m for stringin’ the scum up!” yelled another man. +“This town can git along without guys that go around +abductin’ wimmen!” +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307'></a>307</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Let’s fan it to the big house an’ git him!” +</p> +<p> +“There’s too many crooks in this town—let’s run +’em out!” +</p> +<p> +“What in hell did he come here for?” +</p> +<p> +“Judge Littlefield is just as bad—he cheated Taylor out +of the election!” “That’s right,” answered another +voice. “Taylor’s our man!” +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308'></a>308</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309'></a>309</span> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310'></a>310</span> +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Where’s my boss—Squint Taylor?” And before +anyone could answer—“Where’s that damned coyote +Carrington? Where’s Danforth? What’s wrong here?” +</p> +<p> +It was Parsons who answered him. Parsons, again +clambering into the saddle from which he had spoken, +now shrieking shrilly: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +There was a short silence as Parsons slid again to the +ground, and then the man growled profanely: +</p> +<p> +“Let’s run the whole bunch out of town! Start somethin’, +Bothwell!” +</p> +<p> +Bothwell laughed, a booming bellow of grim mirth +that stirred the crowd to movement. “We’ve been startin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311'></a>311</span> +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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312'></a>312</span> +the light still burned, his soul was still in the grip of a +lust to slay. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +The man shouted at him: +</p> +<p> +“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313'></a>313</span> +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: +</p> +<p> +“It’s Squint Taylor, boys! Squint Taylor! Stand +back an’ let ol’ Squint take a hand in this here deal!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“Ah, then you <em>do</em> believe in him, my dear!” +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314'></a>314</span> +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. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315'></a>315</span><a name='chXXXV' id='chXXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXXV—TRIUMPH AT LAST</h2> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“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. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Taylor,” he answered, imparting to the “Mrs.” +exactly the emphasis the voice had placed on the other. +</p> +<p> +There was a laugh behind him, and then the voice +again, slightly reproachful: “Oh, that sounds so <em>awfully</em> +formal, Squint!” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” he said, “you started it.” +</p> +<p> +“I like ‘Squint’ better,” said the voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316'></a>316</span> +</p> +<p> +“I’m hoping you keep on liking Squint all the days +of your life,” he returned. +</p> +<p> +“I was speaking of names,” declared the voice. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“Martha!” said the first voice in laughing reproof, +“I vow I shall send you away some day!” +</p> +<p> +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: +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you think you had better get ready to go to +Dawes, dear?” she suggested. +</p> +<p> +“I like that better than ‘Squint’ even,” he grinned. +</p> +<p> +For a long time they stood in the doorway very close +together. And then Mrs. Taylor looked up with grave +eyes at her husband. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317'></a>317</span> +</p> +<p> +“Won’t you please let me look at <em>all</em> of father’s note +to you, Squint?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“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!” +</p> +<p> +“But what did it say—that part that you wouldn’t +let me read?” she insisted. +</p> +<p> +“It said,” he quoted, “‘I want you to marry her, +Squint.’ And I have done so—haven’t I?” +</p> +<p> +“Was that <em>all</em>?” she persisted. +</p> +<p> +“I’d call that plenty!” he laughed. +</p> +<p> +“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?” +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318'></a>318</span> +“lazy” Bud Hemmingway, who stood outside the bunkhouse +grinning at them. +</p> +<p> +“Well, good luck!” Bud called after them as they +rode toward Dawes. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +“We got that from Lazette,” grinned Norton. “We +had to have <em>some</em> 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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319'></a>319</span> +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.” +</p> +<p> +Norton paused, out of breath. +</p> +<p> +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.” +</p> +<p> +“And if you stay faithful,” added the moist-eyed +woman. +</p> +<p> +“And if you fall in love,” supplemented Taylor. +</p> +<p> +“And when the people of a town want to honor you,” +added Norton significantly. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>EDGAR RICE BURROUGH’S NOVELS</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +TARZAN THE UNTAMED +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan +proves his right to ape kingship. +</p> +<p> +A PRINCESS OF MARS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE GODS OF MARS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE WARLORD OF MARS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THUVIA, MAID OF MARS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK. +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>ZANE GREY’S NOVELS</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> + THE MAN OF THE FOREST<br /> + THE DESERT OF WHEAT<br /> + THE U. P. TRAIL<br /> + WILDFIRE<br /> + THE BORDER LEGION<br /> + THE RAINBOW TRAIL<br /> + THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT<br /> + RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE<br /> + THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS<br /> + THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN<br /> + THE LONE STAR RANGER<br /> + DESERT GOLD<br /> + BETTY ZANE<br /> +</p> +<p> +LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody +Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey. +</p> +<p> +ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS +</p> +<p> + KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE<br /> + THE YOUNG LION HUNTER<br /> + THE YOUNG FORESTER<br /> + THE YOUNG PITCHER<br /> + THE SHORT STOP<br /> + THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES<br /> +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S STORIES OF ADVENTURE</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +THE RIVER’S END +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A story of the Royal Mounted Police. +</p> +<p> +THE GOLDEN SNARE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland. +</p> +<p> +NOMADS OF THE NORTH +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of a bear-cub and a dog. +</p> +<p> +KAZAN +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The tale of a “quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky” torn +between the call of the human and his wild mate. +</p> +<p> +BAREE, SON OF KAZAN +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his +battle with Captain Plum. +</p> +<p> +THE DANGER TRAIL +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North. +</p> +<p> +THE HUNTED WOMAN +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A tale of a great fight in the “valley of gold” for a woman. +</p> +<p> +THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of Fort o’ God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness +is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France. +</p> +<p> +THE GRIZZLY KING +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of Thor, the big grizzly. +</p> +<p> +ISOBEL +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A love story of the Far North. +</p> +<p> +THE WOLF HUNTERS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness. +</p> +<p> +THE GOLD HUNTERS +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds. +</p> +<p> +THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women. +</p> +<p> +BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made +from this book. +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>FLORENCE L. BARCLAY’S NOVELS</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she +had lost her lover, enters a convent. He returns, and interesting +developments follow. +</p> +<p> +THE UPAS TREE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful +author and his wife. +</p> +<p> +THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy +in ages vanished into insignificance before the +convincing demonstration of abiding love. +</p> +<p> +THE ROSARY +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE BROKEN HALO +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>ETHEL M. DELL’S NOVELS</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +THE LAMP IN THE DESERT +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +GREATHEART +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals +a noble soul. +</p> +<p> +THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A hero who worked to win even when there was only +“a hundredth chance.” +</p> +<p> +THE SWINDLER +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of a “bad man’s” soul revealed by a +woman’s faith. +</p> +<p> +THE TIDAL WAVE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Tales of love and of women who learned to know the +true from the false. +</p> +<p> +THE SAFETY CURTAIN +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A very vivid love story of India. The volume also +contains four other long stories of equal interest. +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>“STORM COUNTRY” BOOKS BY GRACE MILLER WHITE</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +JUDY OF ROGUES’ HARBOR +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A haunting story with its scene laid near the country +familiar to readers of “Tess of the Storm Country.” +</p> +<p> +ROSE O’ PARADISE +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +“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. +</p> +<p> +<em>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</em> +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. +</p> +<p> +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +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. +</p> +<p> +<em>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</em> +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES</span> +</p> +<p> +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list +</p> +<p> +SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The California Redwoods furnish the background for this +beautiful story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice. +</p> +<p> +POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Frontispiece by George Gibbs. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the +Years” and “The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now shown in +moving pictures. +</p> +<p> +JOSSELYN’S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for +happiness and love. +</p> +<p> +MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions. +</p> +<p> +THE HEART OF RACHAEL. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come +with a second marriage. +</p> +<p> +THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure +and lonely, for the happiness of life. +</p> +<p> +SATURDAY’S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through +sheer determination to the better things for which her soul +hungered? +</p> +<p> +MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background +of every girl’s life, and some dreams which came true. +</p> +<p> +<em>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</em> +</p> +<p> +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York +</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ranchman, by Charles Alden Seltzer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RANCHMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 37204-h.htm or 37204-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/2/0/37204/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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