CHAPTER XXI
THE BLACK-BEARDED MAN
It was Strom Rogers who indicated to the outlaws at the Star thathenceforth Harlan was to exercise authority of a kind that had formerlybeen vested in Haydon and Deveny.
The corral was packed to suffocation with cattle, threatening the healthof the animals; Deveny had sent no word from the Cache regarding thedisposal of the stock, and Haydon's whereabouts were unknown.
Rogers had moved stock on his own initiative in former days--for he hadbeen an able assistant to both leaders. And Rogers could have moved thestock out of the corral and to the point far south where the outlaws hadalways sold them.
But there was malice in Rogers' heart toward the two outlaw leaders, anda perverse devil lurked in him. For many months he had worshiped BarbaraMorgan from a distance, vaguely aware that his passion for her couldnever be realized. But there was a spark of honesty and justice in Rogersdespite his profession, and a sincere admiration for the girl thatadmitted of no thought of evil toward her.
He had almost betrayed his resentment to Deveny when in Lamo, on the dayof the coming of Harlan, Deveny had boldly announced his intentionstoward the girl; and it had been a dread of clashing with Deveny that hadkept him from interfering. The will to protect the girl had been inRogers' mind, but he lacked the physical courage to risk his life forher.
This man who had boldly entered the outlaw camp, after first defyingDeveny in Lamo, had made a stirring appeal to the good in Rogers; and heforesaw that trouble, in which Harlan had a chance to emerge victorious,was certain. And he had decided to align himself with the Pardo gunman.
Therefore, on this morning, when it was certain that the cattle in thecorral must be moved, he deliberately refused to exercise hisprerogative. Instead, he waited until after breakfast--when the men werecongregated outside the bunkhouse door--when he was certain they wouldall hear him.
Harlan had come out, too. He had not visited the Rancho Seco for morethan a week, fearing that his absence might jeopardize the advantage hehad gained over the men through the killing of Latimer.
With the attention of all the men centered upon him, Rogers walked closeto Harlan, speaking loudly:
"Them cattle ought to hit the trail, Harlan. It's up to you--you're theboss. Do we move 'em--an' where?"
A comprehensive light gleamed in Harlan's eyes.
"They move," he said shortly. "Drive them where you've been drivin'them."
As though he had been giving orders to the outlaws all his life, hebriskly mentioned the names of the men who were to form the trail herd.
Not a man dissented. Those whose names were called quickly detachedthemselves from the group, and sought the horse corral; where they ropedtheir horses and began to make preparations to obey Harlan's order. Andlater, when the cattle were driven out of the corral, and the trail herdcrew straggled behind them over the level that led southward, the menwere grinning.
For Harlan had told them that their share of the spoils resulting fromthe sale of the cattle was to be materially increased. He had likewisetold them that they might spend an extra day in "town" before theirreturn.
Only one man besides Harlan remained at the Star after the herd vanishedinto the southern distance. That man was the black-bearded fellow who hadescorted Harlan to the ranchhouse on the occasion of his firstvisit--Lafe Woodward.
This man's admiration for Harlan had never been concealed. He had stayedas close to Harlan as possible; and from his manner Harlan had divinedthat the man was eager to ingratiate himself.
Woodward stood near Harlan as the herd and the men vanished. He hadgrinned widely when, just before the outfit had departed, he had heardRogers whisper to Harlan:
"You've made yourself solid with the bunch, for sure, by offerin' 'em abigger divvy. They've been grumblin' about it for a long time. They'reall sore at Haydon an' Deveny for bein' greedy. But you're sure cookin'up a heap of trouble with Haydon an' Deveny!"
Harlan grinned with grim mirthlessness. It had been his first opportunityto stir up dissension and strife in the outlaw camp, and he had takeninstant advantage of it. He had created factional feeling, and he wasprepared to accept the consequences.
And, later in the day, when he saw Haydon ride in, dismount and cast asurprised glance at the empty corral, he knew that the moment for whichhe had planned, had come.
Woodward was nowhere in sight; and Harlan, who had been in theblacksmith-shop, made himself visible to Haydon by stepping outside.
Haydon called to him, sharply; and Harlan walked slowly to where theoutlaw chief stood, a saturnine grin on his face, his eyes alight with acold humor that might have been illuminating to Haydon had he taken thetrouble to look into them.
Haydon was laboring under some strong passion. He was suppressing it withan effort, but it showed in his tensed muscles and in his flushed face.
"Where are the cattle?" he demanded, his voice a trifle hoarse.
"They're headed for Willow Wells--where you've been sellin' them."
"By whose orders?" Haydon's voice was choked with passion.
"Mine," drawled Harlan. Harlan might have explained that the stock hadbeen suffering in the crowded enclosure, thus assuaging Haydon's wrath.But he gave no explanation--that would have been a revelation ofeagerness to escape blame and the possible consequences of his act.Instead of explaining he looked steadily into Haydon's eyes, his own coldand unblinking.
He saw Haydon's wrath flare up--it was in the heightened color thatspread upward above the collar of his shirt; he saw the man's terrificeffort at self-control; and his look grew bitter with insolence.
"What's botherin' you?" he said.
"The cattle--damn it!" shouted Haydon. "What in hell do you mean bysending them away without orders?"
"I'm havin' my say, Haydon. We agreed to split everything three ways.Authority to give orders goes with that. That was the agreement. A man'sgot to be either a captain or a private, an' I've never played second toany man. I ain't beginnin' now."
"Why, damn you!" gasped Haydon. His eyes were aglare with a terrible rageand hate; he stepped backward a little, bending his right arm, spreadingthe fingers.
Harlan had made no move, but the light in his eyes betrayed his completereadiness for the trouble that Haydon plainly meditated.
"Yes," he said, slowly, drawling his words, a little! "It's come to that,I reckon. You've got to flash your gun now, or take it back. No mancusses me an' gets away with it. Get goin'!"
Haydon stood, swaying from side to side, in the grip of a mightyindecision. The fingers of his right hand spread wider; the handdescended to a point nearer to his pistol holster.
There it poised, the fingers hooked, like the talons of some giant birdabout to clutch a victim.
Had Haydon faced a man with less courage; had Harlan's iron controllacked that quality which permitted him to give an enemy that smallchance for life which he always gave them, death might have reigned atthe Star again. Haydon owed his life to that hesitation which had madeHarlan famous.
And as the strained, tense seconds passed with both men holding thepositions they had assumed, it seemed Haydon was slowly beginning torealize that Harlan was reluctant, was deliberately giving him a chance.
A change came over Haydon. The clawlike fingers began to straighten;imperceptibly at first, and then with a spasmodic motion that flexed themuscles in little jerks. The hand became limp; it dropped slowly to hisside--down beyond the pistol holster. Then it came up, and the man sweptit over his eyes, as though to brush away a vision that frightened him.
His face grew pale, he shuddered; and at last he stood, swaying a little,his mouth open with wonder for the phenomenal thing that had happened tohim.
Harlan's voice, cold and expressionless, startled him:
"You wasn't meanin' to cuss me?"
"No!" The denial was blurted forth. Haydon grinned, faintly, with hideousembarrassment; the knowledge that he had been beaten, and that he owedhis life to Harlan, was plain in his eyes.
He laughed, uncertainly, as he made an effort to stiffen his laggingmuscles.
"I was a bit flustered, Harlan; I talked rather recklessly, I admit. Yousee, I've been used to giving orders myself. I was riled for a minute."
"That goes!" said Harlan, shortly. His voice had changed. The slow drawlhad gone, and a snapping, authoritative sharpness had replaced it.
Haydon gazed at him with a new wonder. He sensed in Harlan's manner theconsciousness of power, the determination to command. At a stroke, itseemed, Harlan had wrenched from him the right to rule. He felt himselfbeing relegated to a subordinate position; he felt at this minute theruthless force of the man who stood before him; he felt oddly impotentand helpless, and he listened to Harlan with a queer feeling of wonderfor the absence of the rage that should have gripped him.
"I'm runnin' things from now on," Harlan said. "I ain't interferin' withthe Star. But I'm runnin' things for the boys. I told Rogers to drive thecattle to Willow's Wells--an' to sell them. I've promised the boys abigger divvy. They get it. I've told them to take a day off, in town,after they turn the cattle over.
"There's got to be a new deal. The boys are fussed up--claimin' theyain't gettin' their share. I'm seein' that they do. You can't run a camplike this an' not treat the boys right."
The wonder that had been aroused in Haydon grew as Harlan talked; itincreased in intensity until, when Harlan's voice died away, it developedinto suspicion.
That was what Harlan had come to the Star for! He wanted to run the camp,to direct the activities of the outlaws in the valley. Power! Authority!Those were the things Harlan craved for.
Haydon saw it all, now. He saw that Harlan wanted to dominate--everything.He wanted to rule the outlaw camp; he wanted to run the Rancho Seco; heintended to get possession of the gold that Morgan had left, and he wantedBarbara Morgan.
The rage that had held Haydon in its clutch when he had called Harlan tohim was reviving. Haydon's face was still white, but the fury in hiseyes--slowly growing--was not to be mistaken.
Harlan saw it, and his lips straightened. He had expected Haydon wouldrage over what he had determined to tell him; and he was not surprised.He had deliberately goaded the man into his present fury. He haddetermined to kill him, and he had been disappointed when he had seenHaydon lose his courage when the crisis arrived. And now his deliberateand premeditated plan was to bear fruit.
Harlan was reluctant to kill, but there seemed to be no other way. Haydonwas a murderer. He had killed Lane Morgan; he was an outlaw whose rulehad oppressed the valley for many months. If Harlan could have devisedsome plan that would make it possible for him to attain his end withoutkilling anybody, he would have eagerly adopted it.
But in this country force must be fought with force. It was a grim game,and the rules were inflexible--kill or be killed.
His own life would be safe in this section so long as he guarded it.Eternal vigilance and the will to take life when his own was threatenedwas a principle which custom had established. If he expected to save thegirl at the Rancho Seco he could not temper his actions with mercy. Andhe knew that if he was to succeed in his design to disrupt the outlawgang he would have to remove the man who stood before him, workinghimself into a new frenzy. There seemed to be no other way.
But Haydon seemed to have control of himself, now, despite the frenziedglare of his eyes. He was outwardly cool; his movements weredeliberate--he had conquered his fear of Harlan, it seemed.
He laughed, harshly.
"Harlan," he said; "you had me going--talking that way. By Heaven! youalmost convinced me that I'd _let_ you run things here. I was beginningto believe I'd lost my nerve. But see here!"
He held out his right hand toward Harlan--it was steady, rigid, not anerve in it quivered.
"You're fast with your guns, but you can't run any whizzer in on me--youcan't intimidate me. You killed Latimer the other day; and you've got theboys with you. But you can't run things here. Have all the boys gone?"
"Woodward's here."
Harlan spoke lowly; his eyes were keenly watchful. This flare-up onHaydon's part was merely a phase of his confused mental condition. He sawthat Haydon did not mean to use his gun--that he intended to ignore it,no doubt planning to regain his authority when the men of the outfitreturned--when he might enlist the support of some of them.
"Woodward's here--eh?" laughed Haydon. He raised his voice, shouting forthe man. And Harlan saw Woodward come from behind an outbuilding, looktoward the ranchhouse, and then walk slowly toward them.
Woodward halted when within several paces of the two, and looked from oneto the other curiously, his eyes narrowed with speculation.
"Woodward," directed Haydon; "hit the breeze after the outfit and tellthem to drive those cattle back here!"
Harlan grinned. "Woodward," he said, gently; "you climb on your cayusean' do as Haydon tells you. Haydon is figurin' on cashin' in when youdo."
Haydon blustered. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that if Woodward goes after the boys I'm goin' to blow you apart.I'm givin' the orders around here!"
Watching Haydon, Harlan saw that he was not exhibiting rage, but intenseinterest. He was not looking at Harlan, but at Woodward. And, turningswiftly, his guns both leaping into his hands with the movement--for hehad a swift suspicion that Woodward might be standing with Haydon againsthim--he saw that Woodward had fallen into a crouch; that the man's righthand was hovering over his pistol holster, and that his eyes weregleaming with a light that could mean only the one thing--murder.
Backing slowly away from both Haydon and Woodward, Harlan watched them,his guns ready for instant action should he catch any sign that wouldindicate trickery toward himself.
He saw no such signs. It became plain to him that Woodward had no eyesfor anyone but Haydon, and that Haydon's attention was fixed uponWoodward with an intentness that meant he had divined that Woodward'speculiar manner had a definite, personal meaning.
Woodward continued to advance on Haydon. He was waving his left hand asthough giving Harlan a silent order to get out of his way, while his gazewas centered upon Haydon with an unspoken promise of violence,fascinating to behold.
It seemed to have fascinated Haydon. Harlan saw him shrink back, thebluster gone out of him, his face the color of ashes. He kept steppingback, until he brought up against the rear wall of the ranchhouse; andthere he stood, watching Woodward, his eyes bulging with dread wonder.
Harlan saw his lips move; heard his voice, hoarse and throaty:
"It's a frame-up--a frame-up. Both of you are out to get me!"
"Frame-up!"
This was Woodward. He was a sinister figure, with his black beard seemingto bristle with passion, his eyes flaming with it; all his muscles tensedand quivering, and his right hand, with clawlike fingers, poised abovethe butt of his pistol.
"Frame-up!" he repeated, laughing hoarsely between his teeth. "Hell'sfire! Do you think it takes two men to 'get' you--you miserable whelp?
"I've been waitin' for this day--waitin' for it, waitin' to get youalone--waitin' for the boys to go so's I could tell you somethin'.
"You know what it is. You ain't guessin', eh? Listen while I tell yousomethin'. The day 'Drag' Harlan got in Lamo he brought news that LaneMorgan had been killed out in the desert. I heard the boys sayin' you hada hand in it. But I thought that was just talk. I didn't believe you wasthat kind of a skunk. I waited.
"Then you sent me over to the edge of the level, near the RanchoSeco--where Harlan found that flattened grass when he rode over here. Youtold me to watch Harlan and Barbara Morgan. You said you thought Harlanwould try some sneak game with her.
"You can gamble I watched. I saw Harlan standin' guard over her; I sawhim follow that sneak Lawson. I heard the shot that killed Lawson, an' Isaw Harlan tote him downstairs, an' then set on the door-sill all night,guardin' Barbara Morgan.
"The sneakin' game was played by you, Haydon. When I saw Harlan headin'toward the valley the day he come here, I lit
out ahead of him. And whenhe got to the timber over there I brought him in.
"An' I heard you talk that day. I heard him sayin' that you killed LaneMorgan. He said my dad told him you fired the shot that killed him."
Harlan started and leaned forward, amazed. But Haydon swayed, and thensteadied himself with an effort, and stared at Woodward with bulging,incredulous eyes.
"Your _dad_?" he almost shrieked; "Lane Morgan was your father?"
Woodward's grin was wolfish. He took two or three steps towardHaydon--panther-like steps that betrayed the lust that was upon him.
"I'm Billy Morgan," he said, his teeth showing in a merciless grin;"Barbara's brother. Flash your gun, Haydon; I'm goin' to kill you!"
Haydon clawed for his pistol, missing the butt in his eagerness, andstriving wildly to draw it. It snagged on a rawhide thong that supportedthe holster and his fingers were loosening in the partial grip when BillyMorgan shot him.
He flattened against the wall of the ranchhouse for an instant, staringwildly around him; then his head sagged forward and he slid down the wallof the ranchhouse into the deep dust that was mounded near it.
'Drag' Harlan Page 21
