'Drag' Harlan Part 25

"I'm sayin' so-long to you, ma'am," smiled Harlan.

"Oh!" she said, aware of the flatness of her tone. "Are you going away?"

"I'm figurin' to go. I ain't used to hangin' around one place very long.

But I'm comin' back some day. Red Linton an' the boys will be seein' that things go smooth with you. You can depend on Red, and all the boys.

They're Simon-pure, dyed-in-the-wool, eighteen-carat men." And now he grinned, gravely. "Remember this, Barbara: A man will do things when he's handlin' a gold chain--things that he wouldn't do if there didn't happen to be any chain."

He doffed his hat and slapped Purgatory sharply, heading the animal westward, toward the yawning mouth of the big basin that stretched its mighty length into the mystery of distance.

But his words left her with a conviction that she had again misjudged him, and that when he had appeared to fawn on Haydon he had been merely acting, merely pretending. She watched him, regretfully, longingly, a.s.sailed by emotions that she could not understand--until he and Purgatory grew small in the gulf of distance; until horse and rider were swallowed in the glowing haze.

CHAPTER XIX

HARLAN JOINS THE GANG

At the edge of the big level, where it merged into the floor of the basin, Harlan drew Purgatory to a halt. For an instant he sat in the saddle scrutinizing a section of buffalo gra.s.s that fringed a clump of willows near the almost dry bed of the river that doubled slightly as it came from the basin. Something in the appearance of the gra.s.s had attracted his attention--it was matted, as though something had lain or rolled in it.

He rode closer, cautiously, for the little trees formed a covert behind which any one of several dangers might lie concealed--and looked down at the gra.s.s. As he examined the place his lips twisted into a grim smile, and his eyes grew bright with comprehension.

He rode around the clump of trees, making sure it was not occupied; then he dismounted.

Someone had been concealed in the covert for many days--a man. For he saw the imprints of heels, and indentations where spurs had gashed the earth.

The marks were all fresh--recently made. While he watched he saw some blades of the long gra.s.s slowly rise--as though, relieved from some pressure that had been upon them, they were eager to regain an upright position. He also saw sc.r.a.ps of food--jerked beef and biscuit--scattered here and there.

He frowned, convinced that for days a man had occupied the covert, watching the Rancho Seco; convinced also, that the mystery he had sensed some days ago had been man-made, as he had felt. The man who had been there had been a sentinel, a spy, sent by Deveny or Haydon to observe his movements, and to report them, of course, to one or the other of the two outlaws.

Harlan remounted Purgatory. His caution had not been wasted, and his vigilance in guarding the ranchhouse must have been irritating to the man who had been watching.

He urged Purgatory on again--heading him westward, as before. And when he reached the crest of a slight rise in the valley--from where he could see the trail as it twisted and undulated around hills and into depressions--he saw, far up the valley--and yet not so far, either--not more than two miles--a horseman, riding slowly--away from him.

The horseman was the spy, of course. Harlan had no doubt that if he lingered in the vicinity of the covert long enough he would discover the place where the horse had been concealed. But that was not important, now that he had discovered enough to satisfy himself that there had been a spy--and so he rode on, smiling faintly, knowing that the rider was headed into the valley--possibly to the outlaw rendezvous to appraise Deveny and the others of his coming.

The trail was clearly defined, and there were places where it ran over broad levels of gra.s.s where he presented a good target to men who might be eager to send a shot at him. There were other spots where the trail led into timber clumps and through tangles of brush where an ambuscade might be planned in perfect safety by an enemy; and there were the bastioned cliffs that towered above the trail at intervals, offering admirable hinding-places for any man with hostile intentions.

Harlan, however, rode steadily, outwardly unconcerned; inwardly convinced that no attempt would be made to ambush him. For Haydon has pa.s.sed that way on his return to the Star, and Harlan had no doubt that since the incident of the smile and the wink, Haydon had pa.s.sed word that he was not to be molested.

Haydon would be curious--as he had been curious at the Rancho Seco--to learn the significance of the smile and the wink. Haydon would want to discover just how much Harlan knew about the murder of Lane Morgan; and he would want to know what Harlan knew of the gold that Morgan had secreted. And so Harlan rode on, watching the country through which he pa.s.sed, but feeling a.s.sured there would be no shot to greet him from one of the many natural vantage-points he encountered.

He rode for an hour, not making very good time, for it was a new trail, and he was examining the country intently as he pa.s.sed, fixing it in his memory for future convenience, perhaps--no one ever knew just when it might be necessary to use one's knowledge--when he reached a low ridge which crossed the valley.

Here he halted Purgatory and gazed about him.

Before him stretched a green gra.s.s level, about two miles long, running the entire width of the valley. It was dotted with mesquite, sage, and here and there the th.o.r.n.y blade of a cactus rose. Some cattle were grazing on the level; they were several miles south, and he could see some hors.e.m.e.n near them.

He decided he must be close to the Star; and he urged Purgatory on again, down upon the level, toward some timber that grew at the farther edge of the level. Just as he slipped down the slope of the ridge, he saw, far ahead of him, the horseman he had seen when he had entered the valley.

The horseman was on the crest of a bald hill--low, and small--but Harlan caught a glimpse of him as he crossed it, riding fast.

Harlan smiled again, and rode on his way, resuming his scrutiny of the country.

The valley was mighty, magnificent; it deserved all the praise Barbara Morgan had heaped upon it. From the low mountain range on the north to the taller mountains southward, it was a virgin paradise in which reigned a peace so profound that it brought a reverent awe into the soul of the beholder.

It thrilled Harlan despite the certain blase, matter-of-fact att.i.tude he had for all of nature's phenomena; he found himself admiring the majestic b.u.t.tes that fringed it; there was a glint of appreciation in his eyes for the colossal bigness of it--for the gigantic, sweeping curves which seemed to make of it an oblong bowl, a cosmic hollow, boundless, hinting of the infinite power of its builder.

The trail that ran through it, drawled to threadlike proportions by the mightiness of the s.p.a.ce through which it ran, was, for the greater part of the distance traveled by Harlan, a mere scratch upon a low rock ridge.

And as he rode he could look down upon the floor of the valley, green and inviting.

When he entered the timber at the edge of the gra.s.s level, he was conscious of a stealthy sound behind him. He turned quickly in the saddle, to see a man standing at the edge of some brush that fringed the trail.

The man was big, a heavy black beard covered his chin and portions of his cheeks; his hat was drawn well down over his forehead, partially shielding his eyes.

A rifle in his hands was held loosely, and though it appeared that the man did not intend to use the weapon immediately, Harlan could see that his right forefinger was touching the trigger, and that the muzzle of the weapon was suggestively toward him.

For the past few miles of his ride Harlan had been expecting an apparition of this sort to appear, and so he now gave no sign of surprise. Instead, he slowly raised both hands until they were on a level with his shoulders--and, still twisted about in the saddle, he grinned faintly at the man.

"From now on I'm to have company, eh?" he said.

The man smirked grimly at him.

"You've hit it," he answered. "You're Harlan, ain't you? 'Drag' Harlan, the Pardo two-gun man?"

The man's eyes were glowing with interest--critical, almost cynical, and they roved over Harlan with a probing intensity that left no doubt in Harlan's mind that the man had heard of him and was examining him with intent to discover what sort of a character he was.

Apparently satisfied--and also plainly impressed with what he saw, the man grinned--this time almost genially--and answered Harlan's affirmative nod with:

"Well, Haydon is expectin' you. You c'n let your paws down--takin' a heap of care not to go to foolin' with your guns. I ain't takin' them; Haydon didn't say anything about it. You're ridin' that trail that forks off to the left."

Harlan lowered his hands, resting them on the pommel of his saddle, and rode on, taking, as advised, a narrow trail that diverged from the other a short distance from where he had met the man. As he struck the other trail he heard the man coming behind him--on a horse.

There were no further words. Harlan kept to the trail, riding slowly; the man behind him following at a short distance.

In this manner they rode for perhaps a mile. Then the timber grew spa.r.s.e, and Purgatory and his rider at last emerged upon a level that extended about a hundred feet and then sloped down abruptly to another level, through which flowed a narrow stream of water, shallow and clear.

Close to the bank of the stream was an adobe ranchhouse, and surrounding it were several other buildings. At a slight distance from the house was a corral in which were several horses. In front of a bunkhouse were several men who, when they saw Harlan and the other man coming, faced toward them and stood, motionless, watching.

The men maintained silence as Harlan rode to the ranchhouse and sat in the saddle, awaiting the pleasure of his escort. He saw the latter grin at the other men as he pa.s.sed them; and he grinned at Harlan as he brought his horse to a halt near Purgatory and dismounted.

"I reckon you're to git off an' visit," he said; "Haydon is inside." As he dismounted and trailed the reins over the head of his beast he cast a sharp, critical eye over Purgatory.

"There's a heap of hoss in that black, eh?"

"Plenty." Harlan got down and ran a hand over Purgatory's neck, while trailing the reins over his head. "Man-killer," he warned. "Don't touch him. He ain't been rode by n.o.body but me, an' he won't stand for n.o.body foolin' around him."

Harlan had raised his voice until he was sure the men in front of the bunkhouse heard him; then he grinned genially at them all and followed the black-bearded man into the ranchhouse.