CHAPTER XV--GLOOM--AND PLANS
Elam Parsons sat all day on the wide porch of the big house nursing hisresentment. He was hunched up in the chair, his shoulders were slouchedforward, his chin resting on the wings of his high, starched collar, hislips in a pout, his eyes sullen and gleaming with malevolence.
Parsons was beginning to recover from his astonishment over the attackCarrington had made on him. He saw now that he should have knownCarrington was the kind of man he had shown himself to be; for now thatParsons reflected, he remembered little things that Carrington had donewhich should have warned him.
Carrington had never been a real friend. Carrington had used him--thatwas it; Carrington had made him think he was an important member of thepartnership, and he had thought so himself. Now he understoodCarrington. Carrington was selfish and cruel--more, Carrington was abeast and an ingrate. For it had been Parsons who had made it possiblefor Carrington to succeed--for he had used Parsons' money allalong--having had very little himself.
So Parsons reflected, knowing, however, that he had not the courage tooppose Carrington. He feared Carrington; he had always feared him, butnow his fear had become terror--and hate. For Parsons could still feelthe man's fingers at his throat; and as he sat there on the porch hisown fingers stroked the spot, while in his heart flamed a great yearningfor vengeance.
* * * * *
Marion Harlan had got up this morning feeling rather more interested inthe big house than she had felt the day before--or upon any day that shehad occupied it. She, like Parsons, had awakened with a presentiment ofimpending pleasure. But, unlike Parsons, she found it impossible todefinitely select an outstanding incident or memory upon which to baseher expectations.
Her anticipations seemed to be broad and inclusive--like a clear,unobstructed sunset, with an effulgent glow that seemed to embrace thewhole world, warming it, bringing a great peace.
For upon this morning, suddenly awakening to the pure, white light thatshone into her window, she was conscious of a feeling of satisfactionwith life that was strange and foreign--a thing that she had neverbefore experienced. Always there had been a shadow of the past to darkenher vision of the future, but this morning that shadow seemed to havevanished.
For a long time she could not understand, and she snuggled up in bed,her brow thoughtfully furrowed, trying to solve the mystery. It was notuntil she got up and was looking out of the window at the mighty basinin which--like a dot of brown in a lake of emerald green--clustered thebuildings of the Arrow ranch, that knowledge in an overwhelming floodassailed her. Then a crimson flush stained her cheeks, her eyes glowedwith happiness, and she clasped her hands and stood rigid for a longtime.
She knew now. A name sprang to her lips, and she murmured it aloud,softly: "Quinton Taylor."
Later she appeared to Martha--a vision that made the negro woman gaspwith amazement.
"What happen to you, honey? You-all git good news? You look light an'airy--like you's goin' to fly!"
"I've decided to like this place--after all, Martha. I--I thought atfirst that I wouldn't, but I have changed my mind."
Martha looked sharply at her, a sidelong glance that had quite a littlesubtle knowledge in it.
"I reckon that 'Squint' Taylor make a good many girls change their mind,honey--he, he, he!"
"Martha!"
"Doan you git 'sturbed, now, honey. Martha shuah knows the signs. I donediscover the signs a long while ago--when I fall in love with a worflessnigger in St. Louis. He shuah did captivate me, honey. I done try towiggle out of it--but 'tain't no use. Face the fac's, Martha, face thefac's, I tell myself--an' I done it. Ain't no use for to try an' foolthe 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 ahe-man from the groun' up!"
Marion escaped Martha as quickly as she could; and after breakfast begansystematically to rearrange the furniture to suit her artistic ideals.
Martha helped, but not again did Martha refer to QuintonTaylor--something in Marion's manner warned her that she could trespasstoo far in that direction.
Some time during the morning Marion saw Parsons ride up and dismount atthe stable door; and later she heard him cross the porch. She looked outof 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.
The girl did not pause in her work long enough to partake of the lunchthat Martha set for her--so interested was she; and therefore she didnot know whether or not Parsons came into the house. But along aboutfour o'clock in the afternoon, wearied of her task, Marion entered thekitchen. From Martha she learned that Parsons had not stirred from thechair on the porch during the entire day.
Concerned, Marion went out to him.
Parsons did not hear her; he was still moodily and resentfully reviewingthe incident of the morning.
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.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Don't you feel well, Uncle Elam?" she inquired. Her hand rose from hisshoulder to his head, and her fingers ran through his hair with a light,gentle touch that made him shiver with repugnance. There were times whenParsons hated this living image of his brother-in-law with a fervor thatseemed to sear his heart. Now, however, pity for himself had ratherdulled the edge of his hatred. A calamity had befallen him; he wascrushed under it; and the sympathy of one whom he hated was not entirelyundesirable.
No sense of guilt assailed the man. He had never betrayed his hate toher, and he would not do so now. That wasn't his way. He had alwaysmasked it from her, making her think he felt an affection for her whichwas rather the equal of that which custom required a man should feel fora niece. Yet he had always hated her.
"I'm not exactly well," he muttered. "It's the damned atmosphere, Isuppose."
"Martha tells me that it _does_ affect some persons," said the girl."And lack of appetite seems to be one of the first symptoms--in yourcase. For Martha tells me you have not eaten."
The girl's soft voice irritated Parsons.
"Go away!" he ordered crossly; "I want to think!"
It was not the first time the girl had endured his moods. She smiledtolerantly, and softly withdrew, busying herself inside the house.
Parsons did not eat supper; he slunk off to bed and lay for hours in hisroom brooding over the thing that had happened to him.
He got up early the next morning, mounted his horse and left the housebefore Marion could get a glimpse of him. It was still rather early whenhe reached Dawes. There, in a saloon, he overheard the story of thefight in the street in front of the courthouse, and with tinglingeagerness and venomous satisfaction he listened to a man telling anotherof the terrible punishment inflicted upon Carrington by Quinton Taylor.
Parsons did not go to see Carrington, for he feared a repetition ofCarrington's savage rage, should he permit the latter to observe hissatisfaction over the incident of yesterday. He knew he could not faceCarrington and conceal the gloating triumph that gripped him.
So he returned to the big house. And for the greater part of the day hesat in the rocker on the porch, his soul filled with a vindictive joy.
He ate heartily, too; and his manner indicated that he had quiterecovered from the indisposition that had affected him the previous day.He even smiled at Marion when she told him he was "looking better."
But his bitter yearning for vengeance had not been satisfied by theknowledge that Taylor had thrashed Carrington. He knew, now thatCarrington had ruthlessly cast him aside, that he was no longer tofigure importantly in the scheme to loot the town; he knew that it wasCarrington's intention to rob him of every dollar he had entrusted tothe man. He knew, too, that Carrington would not hesitate to murder himshould he offer the slightest objection, or should
he make any visibleresistance to Carrington's plans.
But Parsons was determined to be revenged upon Carrington, and he wasconvinced that he could secure his revenge without boldly announcing hisplans.
As for that, he had no plans. But while sitting in the rocker on theporch during the long afternoon, the vindictive light in his eyessuddenly deepened, and he grinned evilly.
That night after supper he exerted himself to be agreeable to Marion.During the interval between sunset and darkness he walked with the girlalong the edge of the butte above the big valley which held theirrigation dam. And while standing in a timber grove at the edge of thebutte, he questioned her deftly about the news she had received of herfather, and she told him of her visits to the Arrow.
He had watched her narrowly, and he saw the flush that came into hercheeks each time Taylor was mentioned.
"He is a remarkably forceful man," he observed once, when he mentionedTaylor. "And if I am not mistaken, Carrington is going to have his handsfull with him."
"What do you mean? Do you mean that Mr. Taylor is not in sympathy withCarrington's plans concerning Dawes?"
"I mean just that. And if you had happened to be in Dawes yesterday youmight have witnessed a demonstration of Taylor's lack of sympathy withCarrington's plans. For"--and now Parsons' eyes gleamedmaliciously--"after Judge Littlefield, acting under instructions fromthe governor, had refused to administer the oath of office toTaylor--inducting his rival, Danforth, into the position instead----"
Here the girl interrupted, and Parsons was forced to relate the tale inits entirety.
"Uncle Elam," she said when Parsons paused, "are you certain thatCarrington's intentions toward Dawes are honorable?"
Parsons smiled crookedly behind a palm, and then uncertainly at thegirl.
"I don't know, Marion. Carrington is a rather hard man to gauge. He hasalways been mighty uncommunicative and headstrong. He is gettingruthless and domineering, too. I am rather afraid--that is, my dear, Iam beginning to believe we made a mistake in Carrington. He doesn't seemto be the sort of man we thought him to be. If he were like that manTaylor, now----" He paused and glanced covertly at the girl, noting theglow in her eyes.
"Yes," he resumed, "Taylor _is_ a man. My dear," he addedconfidentially, "there is going to be trouble in Dawes--I am convincedof that; trouble between Carrington and Taylor. Taylor thrashedCarrington yesterday, but Carrington isn't the kind to give up. I havewithdrawn 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 sounddisloyal to you--but look here!" He showed her several black and bluemarks on his throat. "Carrington did that--the day before yesterday.Choked me." His voice quavered with self-pity, whereat the girl caughther breath in quick sympathy and bent to examine the marks. When shestood erect again Parsons saw her eyes flashing with indignation, and heknew that whatever respect the girl had had for Carrington had beenforever destroyed.
"Oh!" she said, "why did he choke you?"
"Because I frankly told him I did not approve of his methods," liedParsons, smirking virtuously. "He showed his hand, unmistakably, and hismethods mean evil to Dawes."
The girl stiffened. "I shall go directly to Dawes and tell Carringtonwhat I think of him!" she declared.
"No--for God's sake!" protested Parsons. "He would kill me! He wouldknow, instantly, that I had been talking. My life would not be worth asnap of your fingers! Don't let on that I have said _anything_ to you!Let him come here, and treat him as you have always treated him. Butwarn Taylor. Taylor may know something--it is certain he suspectssomething--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 ifCarrington says anything to you about going there, tell him I opposedit. That will mislead him."
When Parsons and the girl reached the house, Parsons stood near thekitchen door and watched her enter. He did not go in, himself; he walkedaround to the front and sat on the edge of the porch, grinningmaliciously. For he knew something of the tortures of jealousy, and hewas convinced that he had added something to the antagonism that alreadyhad been the cause of one clash between Carrington and Taylor. AndParsons was convinced that both he and Carrington had made a mistake inplanning to loot Dawes; that despite the connivance of the governor andJudge Littlefield, Quinton Taylor would defeat them.
Parsons might lose his money; but the point was that Carrington wouldalso lose. And if Parsons was wise and cautious--and did not antagonizeTaylor--there was a chance that he might gain more through hisfriendship--a professed friendship--for Taylor, than he would have wonhad he been loyal to Carrington. At the least, he would have thesatisfaction of working against Carrington in the dark. And to a man ofParsons' character that was a satisfaction not to be lightly considered.
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