'Drag' Harlan

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER XIV

  SHADOWS

  A desire to ride once more in the peaceful sunshine of the land she lovedwas one of the first indications that Barbara was recovering from theshock occasioned by her father's death. For two or three days she had notstirred from her room, except to go downstairs to cook her meals. She hadspent much of her time sitting at a window nursing her sorrow.

  But on this morning she got out of bed feeling more composed than usual,with several new emotions struggling for the mastery. One of thoseemotions was that of intolerance.

  Harlan's assumption of authority enraged her. He had come to the RanchoSeco with no credentials other than his mere word that her father hadforced him to promise to "take hold" of "things." And she intended, thisvery morning, to send Harlan away, and to assume control of the ranchherself.

  This determination held until after she had breakfasted, and then shestood for a long time in the kitchen door, looking out into the brilliantsunshine, afflicted with a strange indecision.

  Harlan _had_ helped to fill the void created by her father's death--thatwas certain. There had been something satisfying in his presence at theranch; it had seemed to mean an assurance for her safety; she had feltalmost as fully protected as when her father had been with her. Itangered her to see him moving about the place as though he had a perfectright to be there, but at the same time she felt comfortably certain thatas long as he was around no harm could come to her.

  Her emotions were so contradictory that she could not reach a decisionregarding the action she should take and she bit her lips with vexationas she stood in the doorway.

  Later, her cheeks a little flushed with the realization that she wassurrendering to an emotion that she could not understand--but which, shedecided guiltily, her face crimson, had its inception in a convictionthat she would regret seeing Harlan ride away, to return no more--shewent to the corral, roped her pony, threw saddle and bridle on it,mounted the animal, and rode away--westward.

  She had not traveled more than half a mile when she heard the rapidbeating of hoofs behind her. Glancing swiftly backward, she saw Purgatorycoming, Harlan in the saddle, smoking a cigarette.

  Her pulses leaped, unaccountably, and the crimson flush again stained hercheeks; but she sat rigid in the saddle, and looked straight ahead,pretending she had not discovered the presence of horse and rider behindher.

  She rode another half mile before the flush died out of her cheeks. Andthen, responding to a swift indignation, she brought Billy to a halt,wheeled him, and sat motionless in the saddle, her face pale, her eyesflashing.

  With apparent unconcern Harlan rode toward her. The big black horse didnot change his pace, nor did Harlan change expression. It seemed to thegirl that in both horse and rider were a steadfastness of purpose thatnothing could change. And despite her indignation, she felt a thrill ofadmiration for both man and horse.

  Yet her eyes were still flashing ominously when Harlan rode to within adozen paces of her and brought the big black to a halt.

  There was an expression of grave respect on Harlan's face; but she saw alurking devil in his eyes--a gleam of steady, quizzical humor--that madeher yearn to use her quirt on him. For by that gleam she knew he hadpurposely followed her; that he expected her to be angry with him fordoing so. And the gleam also told her that he had determined to bear withher anger.

  "Well?" she inquired, icily.

  "Good mornin', ma'am." He bowed to her, sweeping his broad-brimmed hatfrom his head with, it seemed to her, an ironical flourish.

  "Is there something you want to speak to me about?" she asked, her chinelevated, disdain in her eyes. She assured herself that when he glancedat her as he was doing at this instant, she positively hated him. Shewondered why she had tolerated his presence.

  "I wasn't havin' any thoughts about speakin' to you, ma'am. Kind of anice mornin' for a ride, ain't it?"

  "If one rides alone," she returned, significantly.

  "I enjoy ridin' a whole lot better when I've got company," he stated,gravely, with equal significance.

  "Meaning that you have made up your mind to ride with me, I suppose?" shesaid coldly.

  "You've hit it, ma'am."

  "Well," she declared, her voice quivering with passion; "I don't want youto ride with me. You came here and usurped whatever power and authoritythere is; and you are running the Rancho Seco as though it belongs toyou. But you shan't ride with me--I don't want you to!"

  Had she been standing she must have stamped one foot on the ground, sovehement was her manner. And the flashing scorn of her eyes should havebeen enough to discourage most men.

  But not Harlan. His eyelids flickered with some emotion; and hiseyes--she noted now, even though she could have killed him for hismaddening insistence--were blue, and rimmed by heavy lashes that sun andsand had bleached until the natural brown of them threatened to become alight tan.

  She studied him, even while hating him for she saw the force of him--feltit. And though she was thinking spiteful things of him, she found thatshe was forming a new impression of him--of his character, hisappearance, and of the motives that controlled him.

  And she thought she knew why men avoided having trouble with him. Shetold herself that if she were a man and she were facing him with violencein her heart, she would consider seriously before she betrayed it to him.For in his eyes, in the lips, in the thrust of his chin--even in theatmosphere that surrounded him at this instant, was a threat, an unspokenpromise, lingering and dormant, of complete readiness--almost eagerness,she was convinced--for violence.

  She drew a sharp breath as she watched him. And when she saw his lipscurving into a slight smile--wholesome, though grave; with a hint ofboyish amusement in them--she got another quick impression of hischaracter, new and startling and illuminating.

  For behind the hard, unyielding exterior that he presented to men; backof the promise and the threat of violence, was the impulsiveness and thegentleness that would have ruled him had not the stern necessity ofself-preservation forced him to conceal them.

  The smile disarmed her. It _did_ seem ludicrous--that she should try toforce this man to do anything he did not want to do. And she had knownthat he would not obey her, and ride back to the ranchhouse; she wasconvinced that she must either go back or suffer him to follow her as hepleased.

  And she was determined not to give up her ride. She was determined to bevery haughty about it, though; but when she wheeled Billy, to head himagain into the western distance, her eyes twinkled her surrender, and herlips trembled on the verge of a defiant smile.

  Then Billy felt the quirt on his flank; he snorted with astonishment anddisgust, and charged forward, tossing his head intolerantly.

  Looking sidelong, after Billy had traveled two or three hundred yards,Barbara observed that the big black horse was not more than half a dozensteps behind. And curiously, Barbara again experienced that comfortableassurance of protection, and of satisfaction over the nearness of Harlan.

  Moved by an entirely unaccountable impulse, she drew the reins slightlyon Billy, slowing him, almost imperceptibly, so that both horses hadtraveled more than a quarter of a mile before the distance between themlessened noticeably.

  And then, with an impatience that caused her cheeks to glow, Barbaranoted that Purgatory had slowed also, Harlan seemingly accommodating theanimal's pace to her own. It was plain to see that Harlan did not intendto assume that she had relented.

  For another quarter of a mile the distance remained the same, and thesilence was unbroken except by the rhythmical beating of hoofs throughthe rustling, matted mesquite.

  Then Barbara, yielding to an impulse of righteous anger, brought on byHarlan's obvious intention to remain at a respectful distance,deliberately brought Billy to a walk and waited until Harlan rode besideher.

  "You don't need to be a brute--even if I did tell you to go back to theranchhouse!"

  "Meanin' what, ma'am? Why, I don't remember to have done anything. I wasdoin' a heap of thinkin
' just now--if that's what you mean."

  "Thinking mean things of me--I suppose--for what I said to you."

  He had been thinking of her--seriously. And his thoughts were far fromfickle as he watched her now, riding within a few feet of him, herprofile toward him, her head having a rigid set, her chin held high, herlips tight-pressed, and her hair drooping in graceful coils over herears, and bulging in alluring disorder at the nape of her neck.

  He was thinking that he had braved, to answer a mere whim, greaterdangers than he would be likely to meet in defending her from thewolf-pack which circumstances had set upon her. He was thinking thatheretofore his life had been lived without regard to order orsystem--that he had led a will-o'-the-wisp existence, never knowing thatsuch women as she graced the world. He was thinking of what might havehappened to her had not Davey Langan been killed, and if he had notstarted out to avenge him.

  Into his thoughts at this minute flashed a mental picture that paled hisface and brought his lips into straight, hard lines--a picture of Barbaraat the mercy of Deveny.

  With a quick turn he brought Purgatory around in front of Billy, blockingthe animal's further progress westward. The girl started at the rapidmovement, and watched him fearfully, dreading--she knew not what.

  But his smile--grim and mirthless though it was--partially reassured her,and she sat silent, looking at him as he spoke, rapidly, earnestly.

  "I was thinkin' of you; an' I wasn't thinkin' mean things--about you. Iwas thinkin' of Deveny--an' of what your dad told me over there bySentinel Rock.

  "Your dad told me that you was in danger--that Deveny an' Strom Rogersan' some more of them had their eyes turned on you. Your dad made mepromise that I'd come here an' look out for you--an' I mean to do it.That's why I went to Lamo when I had no call to go there an' that's why Ibrought Deveny to a show-down in front of you.

  "There's somethin' goin' on around here that ain't showin' on thesurface--somethin' that's hidden an' sneakin'. You heard some of themguys in Lamo gassin' about the 'Chief' bein' one of the three that sentyour dad over the Divide.

  "Well, your dad told me that, too--that there was three of them pitchedonto him. It was the fellow they call Chief that shot your dad while hewas sleepin'--when it was too dark for your dad to see his face. Your dadmade me promise to hunt that guy up an' square things for him. That'swhat I'm here for. Anyway, it's one reason I'm here. The other reason isthat I'm goin' to see that you get a square deal from them guys.

  "An' you won't get a square deal ridin' out alone, like this--especiallywhen you head toward Sunset Trail, where Deveny an' his gang hang out.An' I'm settin' down hard on you ridin' that way. I'm keepin' you fromrunnin' any chances."

  Silently Barbara had watched Harlan's face while he had been talking.There was no doubt that he was in earnest, and there was likewise nodoubt that he was concerned for her safety. But why? It seemed absurdthat Harlan, an outlaw himself, should protect her from other outlaws.Yet in Lamo he had done just that.

  Behind his actions, his expressed concern for her, must be a motive. Whatwas it? Was it possible that he was doing this thing unselfishly; thatthe promise her father had exacted from him had changed him; that in hisheart at this instant dwelt those finer impulses which must be dormant inall men, however bad?

  The light of that great inquiry was in her eyes; they searched his facefor subtlety and craft and cunning--for something that would give her aclue to his thoughts. And when she could find in his expression only agrave concern she pulled Billy around and started him back toward theranchhouse.

  They had not ridden more than a hundred yards before she stole a glanceat Harlan.

  He was now riding beside her, looking straight ahead, his faceexpressionless. Had he betrayed the slightest sign of triumph she wouldhave changed her mind about going back to the ranchhouse with him.

  As it was, she felt a pulse of rage over her readiness in yielding to hisorders. Yet the rage was softened by a lurking, stealthy joy she got outof his masterfulness.

  "I presume I may ride in another direction--east, for instance--or north,or south?"

  He apparently took no notice of the mockery in her voice.

  "You'll not be ridin' alone, anywhere," he declared.

  "Oh!" she returned, raising her chin and looking at him with a cold scornthat, she thought, would embarrass him; "I am to have a guardian."

  He looked straight back to her, steadily, seemingly unaffected by thehostility of her gaze.

  "It amounts to that. But mebbe I wouldn't put it just that way.Somebody's got to look out for you--to see that you don't go to rushin'into trouble. There was trouble over in Lamo--if you'll remember."

  And now he smiled gravely at her, and her face reddened over the memoryof the incident. She had been eager enough, then, to seek his protection;she had trusted him.

  "That wasn't your fault," he went on gently. "You didn't know then,mebbe, just what kind of a guy Deveny is. But you know now, an' it_would_ be your fault if you run into him again."

  He saw how she took it--how her color came and went, and how her eyesdrooped from his. He smiled soberly.

  "Looks to me that you've got to pin your faith to a mighty small chance,ma'am."

  "What chance?" She looked at him in startled wonderment, for it had notoccurred to her that she faced any real danger, despite the threateningattitude of Deveny, and her isolation. For the great, peaceful world, andthe swimming sunlight were full of the promise of the triumph of rightand virtue; and the sturdy self-reliance of youth was in her heart.

  "What chance?" she repeated, watching him keenly.

  "The chance that me an' Red Linton will be able to get things into shapeto look out for you." He was gravely serious.

  "It must seem a mighty slim chance to you--me comin' here with areputation that ain't any too good, an' Linton, with his red head an' hisfreckles. Seems like a woman would go all wrong, pinnin' her faith to redhair an' freckles an' a hell-raisin' outlaw. But there's been worsecombinations, ma'am--if I do say it myself. An' me an' Red is figurin' tocome through, no matter what you think of us."

  "Red Linton?" she said. "That is the little, short, red-haired man youput in Lawson's place, isn't it? I have never noticed him--particularly.It seems that I have always thought him rather unimportant."

  Harlan grinned. "That's a trick Red's got--seemin' unimportant. Redspends a heap of his time not sayin' anything, an' hangin' around lookin'like he's been misplaced. But when there's any trouble, you'll find Redlike the banty rooster that's figurin' to rule the roost.

  "I knowed him over in Pardo, ma'am--he rode for the T Down for two orthree seasons."

  "You are anticipating trouble--with Deveny?" she asked, a tremor in hervoice.

  "There ain't any use of tryin' to hide it, ma'am. Mebbe your dad thoughtyou'd be better off by him not mentionin' it to you. But I've got adifferent idea. Anyone--man or woman--knows a heap more about how to goabout things if they're sort of able to anticipate trouble. Your dad toldme things was in a mixup over here with Deveny an' some more of his kind;an' I ain't aimin' to let you go ramblin' around in the dark.

  "About half the Rancho Seco men belong to Deveny's gang, Linton says.That's why I put Linton in Lawson's place; an' that's why I'm askin' youto stick pretty close to the Rancho Seco, an' requestin' you not to gorummagin' around the country."

  She rode on silently, her face pale, digesting this disquieting news. Sheremembered now that her father _had_ seemed rather worried at times, andthat upon several occasions he had hinted that he was distrustful of someof the Rancho Seco men. But as Harlan had said, he had never taken hercompletely into his confidence--no doubt because he had not wanted her toworry. That was very like her father--always making life easy for her.

  However, covertly watching Harlan, she was conscious of an emotion thatthe latter did not suspect. The emotion was confidence--not in Harlan,for, though she had seen that he, apparently, was eager to become herchampion, she could not forget that he, too, was an outla
w, with no proofthat he had been sent to the Rancho Seco by her father; with nothing buthis actions to convince her that his motives were founded uponconsideration for her welfare.

  She thought of John Haydon as she rode beside Harlan; and it wasconfidence in him that was expressed in her glances at Harlan; she wasconvinced that she did not have to depend entirely upon Harlan. And when,as they neared the ranchhouse, and she saw a big gray horse standing nearthe entrance to the _patio_, her face reddened and her eyes grewbrilliant with a light that drew a cold smile to Harlan's face.

  "That will be John Haydon's horse, I reckon," he said slowly.

  "Why," she returned, startled; "how did you know?"

  He rode on, not replying. When they reached the ranchhouse, Harlan lopedPurgatory toward one of the bunkhouses, in front of which he saw RedLinton standing. Barbara directed Billy to the _patio_ entrance, anddismounted, her face flushed, to meet a man who came out of the opengateway to greet her, his face wreathed in a delighted smile.