The Ranchman Part 14

He reached town about eight and went directly to Carrington's rooms in the Castle.

Carrington had shaved and washed, and was sitting at a front window, coatless, his hair uncombed, when Parsons knocked on the door.

"You're back, eh?" said Parsons as he took a chair near the window.

"Danforth was telling me you went to see the governor. Did you fix it?"

Carrington grinned. "Taylor was to take the oath today. He won't take it-at least, not the sort of oath he expected."

"It's lucky you knew the governor."

"H-m." The grim grunt indicated that, governor or no governor, Carrington would not be denied.

Parsons smirked. But Carrington detected an unusual quality in the smirk-something more than satisfaction over the success of the visit to the governor. There was malicious amus.e.m.e.nt in the smirk, and antic.i.p.ation. Parsons' expressed satisfaction was not over what _had_ happened, but over what was _going_ to happen.

Carrington knew Parsons, and therefore Carrington gave no sign of what he had seen in Parsons' face. He talked of Dawes and of their own prospects. But once, when Carrington mentioned Marion Harlan, quite casually, he noted that Parsons' eyes widened.

But Parsons said nothing on the subject which had brought him until he had talked for half an hour. Then, noting that his manner had aroused Carrington's interest, he said softly:

"This man, Taylor, seems destined to get in your way, doesn't he?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Carrington shortly.

"Do you remember telling me-on the train, with this man, Taylor, listening-that your story to Marion, of her father having been seen in this locality, was a fairy tale-without foundation?"

At Carrington's nod Parsons continued:

"Well, it seems it was not a fairy tale, after all. For Larry Harlan was in his section for two or three years!"

"Who told you that?" Carrington slid forward in his chair and was looking hard at Parsons.

Parsons was enjoying the other's astonishment, and Parsons was not to be hurried-he wanted to _taste_ the flavor of his news; it was as good to his palate as a choice morsel of food to the palate of a disciple of Epicurus.

"It came in a sort of roundabout way, I understand," said Parsons. "It seems that during your absence Marion made a number of inquiries about her father. Then a man named Ben Mullarky rode over to the house and told her that Larry had been in this country-that he had worked for the Arrow."

"That's Taylor's ranch," said Carrington. A deep scowl furrowed his forehead; his lips extended in a sullen pout.

Parsons was enjoying him. "Taylor again, eh?" he said softly. "First, he appears on the train, where he gets an earful of something we don't want him to hear; then he is elected mayor, which is detrimental to our interests; then we discover that Larry Harlan worked for him. _You'll_ be interested to know that Marion went right over to the Arrow-in fact, she spent part of Monday there, and practically _all_ of yesterday.

More, Taylor has invited her to come whenever she wants to."

"She went alone?" demanded Carrington.

"With Martha, my negro housekeeper. But that-" Parsons made a gesture of derision and went on: "Martha says Taylor was there with her, and that the two of them-with Martha asleep in the house-spent the entire afternoon on the porch, talking rather intimately."

To Parsons' surprise Carrington did not betray the perturbation Parsons expected. The scowl was still furrowing his forehead, his lips were still in the sullen pout; but he said nothing, looking steadily at Parsons.

At last his lips moved slightly; Parsons could see the clenched teeth between them.

"Where's Larry Harlan now?"

Parsons related the story told him by Martha-which had been imparted to the negro woman by Marion in confidence-that Larry Harlan had been accidentally killed, searching for a mine.

When Parsons finished Carrington got up. There was a grin on his face as he stepped to where Parsons sat and placed his two hands heavily on the other's shoulders.

There was a grin on his face, but his eyes were agleam with a slumbering pa.s.sion that made Parsons catch his breath with a gasp. And his voice, low, and freighted with menace, caused Parsons to quake with terror.

"Parsons," he said, "I want you to understand this: I am going to be the law out here. I'll run things to suit myself. I'll have no half-hearted loyalty, and I'll destroy any man who opposes me! Those who are not with me to the last gasp are against me!" He laughed, and Parsons felt the man's hot breath on his face-so close was it to his own.

"I was born a thousand years too late, Parsons!" he went on. "I am a robber baron brought down to date-modernized. I believe that in me flows the blood of a pirate, a savage, or an ancient king; I have all the instincts of a tribal chief whose principles are to rule or ruin!

I'll have no law out here but my own desires; and hypocrisy-in others-doesn't appeal to me!

"You've told me a tale that interested me, but in the telling of it you made one mistake-you enjoyed the discomfiture you thought it would give me. You tingled with malice. Just to show you that I'll not tolerate disloyalty from you-even in thought-I'm going to punish you."

He dropped his big hands to Parsons' throat, shutting off the incipient scream that issued from between the man's lips. Parsons fought with all his strength to escape the grip of the iron fingers at his throat, twisting and squirming frenziedly in the chair. But the fingers tightened their grip, and when the man's face began to turn blue-black, Carrington released him and looked down at his victim, laughing vibrantly.

CHAPTER XIII-THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE

Elam recovered slowly, for Carrington had choked him into unconsciousness. Out of the blank, dark coma Parsons came, his brain reeling, his body racked with agonizing pains. His hands went to his throat before he could open his eyes; he pulled at the flesh to ease the constriction that still existed there; he caught his breath in great gasps that shrilled through the room. And when at last he succeeded in getting his breath to come regularly, he opened his eyes and saw Carrington seated in a chair near him, watching him with a cold, speculative smile.

He heard Carrington's voice saying: "Pretty close, wasn't it, Parsons?"

But he did not answer; his vocal cords were still partially paralyzed.

He closed his eyes again and stretched out in the chair. Carrington thought he had fainted, but Parsons was merely resting-and thinking.

His thoughts were not pleasant. Many times during the years of their a.s.sociation he had seen the beast in Carrington's eyes, but this was the first time Carrington had even shown it in his presence, naked and ugly.

Carrington had told him many times that were he not hemmed in with laws and courts he would tramp ruthlessly over every obstacle that got in his way; and Parsons knew now that the man had meant what he said. The beast in him was rampant; his pa.s.sions were to have free rein; he had thrown off the shackles of civilization and was prepared to do murder to attain his aims.

Parsons realized his own precarious predicament. Carrington controlled every cent Parsons owned-it was in the common pool, which was in Carrington's charge. Parsons might leave Dawes, but his money must stay-Carrington would never give it up. More, Parsons was now afraid to ask for an accounting or a division, for fear Carrington would kill him.

Parsons knew he must stay in Dawes, and that from now on he must play lackey to the master who, at last in an environment that suited him, had so ruthlessly demonstrated his principles.

In a spirit of abject surrender Parsons again opened his eyes and sat up. Carrington rose and again stood over him.

"You understand now, Parsons, I'm running things. You stay in the background. If you interfere with me I'll kill you. I'll kill you if you laugh at me again. Your job out here is to take care of Marion Harlan.

You're to keep her here. If she gets away I'll manhandle you! Now get out of here!"

An hour later Parsons was sitting on the front porch of the big house, staring vacantly out into the big level below him, his heart full of hatred and impotent resentment; his brain, formerly full of craft and guile, now temporarily atrophied through its attempts to comprehend the new character of the man who had throttled him.

In Dawes, Carrington was getting into his clothing. He was smiling, his eyes glowing with grim satisfaction. At nine o'clock Carrington descended the stairs, stopped in the hotel lobby to light a cigar; then crossed the street and went into the courthouse, where he was greeted effusively by Judge Littlefield. Quinton Taylor, too, was going to the courthouse.

This morning at ten o'clock, according to information received from Neil Norton-sent to Taylor by messenger the night before-Taylor was to take the oath of office.

Taylor was conscious of the honor bestowed upon him by the people of Dawes, though at first he had demurred, pointing out that he was not actually a resident of the town-the Arrow lying seven miles southward.

But this objection had been met and dismissed by his friends, who had insisted that he was a resident of the town by virtue of his large interests there, and from the fact that he occupied an apartment above the Dawes bank, and that he spent more time in it than he spent in the Arrow ranchhouse.

But on the ride to Dawes-on Spotted Tail-(this morning wonderfully docile despite Tuesday's slander by his master)-Taylor's thoughts dwelt not upon the honor that was to be his, but upon the questionable trick he had played on Marion Harlan, with the able a.s.sistance of the tall young puncher, Bud Hemmingway.