The Ranchman

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER XVI--A MAN BECOMES A BRUTE

  During the days that Parsons had passed nursing his resentment,Carrington had been busy. Despite the bruises that marked his face(which, by the way, a clever barber had disguised until they were hardlyvisible) Carrington appeared in public as though nothing had happened.

  The fight at the courthouse had aroused the big man to the point ofvolcanic action. The lust for power that had seized him; the implacableresolution to rule, to win, to have his own way in all things; hispassionate hatred of Taylor; his determination to destroy anyone who gotin his path--these were the forces that drove him.

  Taylor had brought matters to a sudden and unexpected crisis. Carringtonhad planned to begin his campaign differently, to insinuate himself intothe political life of Dawes; and he had gone to the courthouse intendingto keep in the background, but Taylor had forced him into the open.

  Therefore, Carrington had no choice, and he instantly accepted Taylor'schallenge. After reentering the courthouse, following the departure ofTaylor, Carrington had insisted that Judge Littlefield have Taylor takeninto custody on a contempt of court charge. Littlefield had flatlyrefused, and the resulting argument had been what Neil Norton hadoverheard. But Littlefield had not yielded to Carrington's insistence.

  "That would be ridiculous, after what has happened," the judge declared."The whole country would be laughing at us. More, you can see thatpublic sentiment is with Taylor. And he forced me to publicly admit thatyou were to blame. I simply won't do it!"

  "All right," grinned Carrington, darkly; "I'll find another way to gethim!"

  And so for the instant Carrington dismissed Taylor from his thoughts,devoting his attention to the task of organizing his forces for thecampaign he was to make against the town.

  He held many conferences with Danforth and with three of five men whohad been elected to the new city council--that political body havingalso been provided under the new charter. Three of themembers--Cartwright, Ellis, and Warden--were Danforth men, cogs of thatsecret machine which for more than a year Danforth had been perfectingat Carrington's orders.

  Some officials were appointed by Mayor Danforth--at Carrington'sdirection; a chief of police, a municipal judge, a town clerk, atreasurer--and a host of other office-holders inevitable to a system ofgovernment which permits the practice.

  Carrington dominated every conference; he made it plain that he was torule Dawes--that Danforth and all the others were subject to his orders.

  Only one day was required to perfect Carrington's organization, and onThursday evening, with everything running smoothly, Carrington appearedin the palm-decorated foyer of the Castle, a smugly complacent smile onhis face. For he had won the first battle in the war he was to wage. Tobe sure, he had been worsted in a physical encounter with Taylor, as thebruises still on his face indicated, but he intended to repay Taylor forthat thrashing--and his lips went into an ugly pout when his thoughtsdwelt upon the man.

  He had almost forgotten Parsons; he did not think of the other untilabout eight o'clock in the evening, when, with Danforth in the barroomof the Castle, Danforth mentioned his name. Then Carrington rememberedthat he had not seen Parsons since he had throttled the man. He orderedanother drink, not permitting Danforth to see his eyes, which wereglowing with a flame that would have betrayed him.

  "This is good-night," he said to Danforth as he raised his glass. "I'vegot to see Parsons tonight."

  Yet it was not Parsons who was uppermost in his mind when he left theCastle, mounted on his horse; the face of Marion Harlan was in themental picture he drew as he rode toward the Huggins house, and thereran in his brain a reckless thought--which had been uttered to Parsonsat the instant before his fingers had closed around the latter's throata few days before:

  "I was born a thousand years too late, Parsons! I am a robber baronbrought down to date--modernized. I believe that in me flows the bloodof a pirate, a savage, or an ancient king. I have all the instincts of atribal chief whose principles are to rule or ruin! I'll have no law outhere but my own desires!"

  And tonight Carrington's desires were for the girl who had accompaniedhim to Dawes; the girl who had stirred his passions as no woman had everstirred them, and who--now that he had seized the town's government--wasto be as much his vassal as Parsons, Danforth--or any of them. Hegrinned as he rode toward the Huggins house--a grin that grew to a laughas he rode up the drive toward the house; low, vibrant, hideous with itsthreat of unrestrained passion.

  The night had been too beautiful for Marion Harlan to remain indoors,and so, after darkness had swathed the big valley back of the house, shehad slipped out, noting that her uncle had gone again to the chair onthe front porch. She had walked with Parsons along the butte above thevalley, but she wanted to be alone now, to view the beauties withoutdanger of interruption. Above all, she wanted to think.

  For the news that Parsons had communicated to her had affected herstrangely; she felt that her uncle's revelations of Carrington'scharacter amounted to a vindication of her own secret opinion of theman.

  He had been a volcanic wooer, and she had distrusted him all along. Shehad never permitted that distrust to appear on the surface, however, outof respect for her uncle--for she had always thought he and Carringtonwere firm friends. She saw now, though, that she had always suspectedCarrington of being just what her uncle's revelation had proved him tobe--a ruthless, selfish, domineering brute of a man, who would have nomercy upon any person who got in his way.

  Reflecting upon his actions during the days she had known him inWestwood--and upon his glances when sometimes she had caught him lookingat her, and at other times when his gaze--bold, and flaming with nakedpassion--had been fixed upon her, she shuddered, comparing him withQuinton Taylor, quiet, polite, and considerate.

  Loyally, she hated Carrington now for the things he had done to Parsons.She mentally vowed that the next time she saw Carrington she would tellhim exactly what she thought of him, regardless of the effect her frankopinion might have on her uncle's fortunes.

  But still she had not come to the edge of the butte for the purpose ofdevoting her entire thoughts to Carrington; there was another face thatobtruded insistently in the mental pictures she drew--Quinton Taylor's.And she found a grass knoll at the edge of the butte, twisted around sothat she could look over the edge of the butte and into the big basinthat slumbered somberly in the mysterious darkness, staring intentlyuntil she discovered a pin-point of light gleaming out of it. Thatlight, she knew, came from one of the windows of the Arrow ranchhouse,and she watched it long, wondering what Taylor would be doing about now.

  For she was keeping no secrets from herself tonight. She knew that sheliked Taylor better than she had ever liked any man of her acquaintance.

  At first she had told herself that her liking for the man had beenaroused merely because he had been good to her father. But she knew nowthat she liked Taylor for himself. There was no mistaking the namelesslonging that had taken possession of her; the insistent and yearningdesire to be near him; the regret that had affected her when she hadleft the Arrow at the end of her last visit. Taylor would never know hownear she had come to accepting his invitation to share the Arrow withhim. Had it not been for propriety--the same propriety which hadinseparably linked itself with all her actions--which she must observepunctiliously despite the fact that girls of her acquaintance hadviolated it openly without hurt or damage to their reputations; had itnot been that she must bend to its mandates, because of the shadow thathad always lurked near her, she would have gone to live at the Arrow.

  For she knew that she could have stayed at the Arrow without danger.Taylor was a gentleman--she knew--and Taylor would never offend her inthe manner the world affected to dread--and suspect. But she could notdo the things other girls could do--that was why she had refusedTaylor's invitation.

  She had thought she had conquered her aversion for the big house--theaversion that had been aroused because of the story Martha had told herregarding its former inh
abitants, but that aversion recurred to her withdisquieting insistence as she sat there on the edge of the butte.

  It seemed to her that the serpent of immorality which had dragged itstrail across hers so many times was never to leave her, and she foundherself wondering about the house and about Carrington and her uncle.

  Carrington had bought the horse for her--Billy; and she had accepted itafter some consideration. But what if Carrington had bought the house?That would mean--why, the people of Dawes, if they discovered it--ifCarrington had bought it--might place their own interpretation upon thefact that she was living in it. And the interpretation of the people ofDawes would be no more charitable than that of the people of Westwood!They would think----

  She got up quickly, her face pale, and started toward the house,determined to ask her uncle.

  Walking swiftly toward the front porch, where she had seen Parsons go,she remembered that Parsons had told her he had arranged for the house,but that might not mean that he had personally bought it.

  She meant to find out, and if Carrington owned the house, she would notstay in it another night--not even tonight.

  She was walking fast when she reached the edge of the porch--almostrunning; and when she got to the nearest corner, she saw that the porchwas quite vacant; Parsons must have gone in.

  She stood for an instant at the porch-edge, a beam of silvery moonlightstreaming upon her through a break in the trees overhead, convinced thatParsons had gone to bed; and convinced, likewise, that, were she todisturb him now to ask the question that was in her mind, he would laughat her.

  She decided she would wait until the morning, and she was about toreturn to the edge of the butte, when she realized that it had grownrather late. She had not noticed how quickly the time had fled.

  She turned, intending to enter the house from one of the rear doorsthrough which she had emerged, when a sound reached her ears--the rapiddrumming of a horse's hoofs. She wheeled, facing the direction fromwhich the sound came--and saw Carrington riding toward her, not morethan fifty feet distant.

  He saw her at the instant her gaze rested on him--an instant before, shesurmised, for there was a huge grin on his face as she turned to him.

  He was at her side before she could obey a sudden impulse to run--forshe did not wish to talk to him tonight--and in another instant he haddismounted and was standing close to her.

  "All alone, eh?" he laughed. "And enjoying the moon? Do you know thatyou made a ravishing picture, standing there with the light shining onyou? I saw you as you started to turn, and I shall remember the pictureall my life! You are more beautiful than ever, girl!"

  Carrington was breathing fast. The girl thought he had been riding hard.But, despite that explanation for the repressed excitement under whichhe seemed to be laboring, the girl thought she detected the presence ofrestrained passion in his eyes, and she shrank back a little.

  She had often seen passion in his eyes, identical with what glowed inthem now, but she had always felt a certain immunity, a masterfulnessover him that had permitted her to feel that she could repulse him atwill. Now, however, she felt a sudden, cringing dread of him. The dread,no doubt, was provoked by her uncle's revelation of the man's character;and, for the first time during her acquaintance with Carrington, shefelt a fear of him, and became aware of the overpowering force andvirility of the man.

  Her voice was a little tremulous when she answered:

  "I was looking for Uncle Elam. He must have gone in."

  His face was not very distinct to her, for he was standing in a shadowcast by a near-by tree, and she could not see the bruises that marredthe flesh, but it seemed to her that his face had never seemed sorepulsive. And the significance of his grin made her gasp.

  "That's good. I'm glad he did go in; I did not come to see Parsons."

  She had meant to take him to task for what he had done to her uncle, butthere was something in his voice that made thoughts of defending Parsonsseem futile--a need gone in the necessity to conserve her voice andstrength for an imminent crisis.

  For Carrington's voice, thick and vibrant, smote her with a presentimentof danger to herself. She looked sharply at him, saw that his face wasred and bloated with passion and, taking a backward step, she saidshortly:

  "I must go in. I--I promised Martha----"

  His voice interrupted her; she felt one of his hands on her arm, thefingers gripping it tightly.

  "No, you don't," he said, hoarsely; "I came here to have a talk withyou, and I mean to have it!"

  "What do you mean?" she asked. She was rigid and erect, but she couldnot keep the quaver out of her voice.

  "Playing the innocent, eh?" he mocked, his voice dry and light. "You'veplayed innocent ever since I saw you the first time. It doesn't goanymore. You're going to face the music." He thrust his face close tohers and the expression of his eyes thrilled her with horror.

  "What do you suppose I brought you here for?" he demanded. "I'll tellyou. I bought the house for you. Parsons knows why--Dawes knowswhy--everybody knows. You ought to know--you shall know." He laughed,sneeringly. "Westwood could tell you, or the woman who lived in theHuggins house before you came. Martha could tell you--she livedhere----"

  He heard her draw her breath sharply and he mocked her, gloating:

  "Ah, Martha has told you! Well, you've got to face the music, I tellyou! I've got things going my way here--the way I've wanted things to gosince I've been old enough to realize what life is. I've got thegovernor, the mayor, the judges--everything--with me, and I'm going torule. I'm going to rule, my way! If you are sensible, you'll have thingspretty easy; but if you're going to try to balk me you're going topay--plenty!"

  She did not answer, standing rigid in his grasp, her face chalk-white.He did not notice her pallor, nor how she stood, paralyzed with dread;and he thought because of her silence that she was going to passivelysubmit. He thought victory was near, and he was going to be magnanimousin his moment of triumph.

  His grip on her arm relaxed and he leaned forward to whisper:

  "That's the girl. No fuss, no heroics. We'll get along; we'll----"

  Her right hand struck his face--a full sweep of the arm behindit--burning, stinging, sending him staggering back a little from itsvery unexpectedness. And before he could make a move to recover hisequilibrium she had gone like a flash of light, as elusive as themoonbeam in which she had stood when he had first come upon her.

  He cursed gutturally and leaped forward, running with great leaps towardthe rear of the house, where he had seen her vanish. He reached the doorthrough which she had gone, finding it closed and locked against him.Stepping back a little, he hurled himself against the door, sending itcrashing from its hinges, so that he tumbled headlong into the room andsprawled upon the floor. He was up in an instant, tossing the wreck ofthe door from him, breathing heavily, cursing frightfully; for he hadcompletely lost his senses and was in the grip of an insane rage overthe knowledge that she had tricked him.

  Parsons heard the crash as the door went from its hinges. He got out ofbed in a tremor of fear and opened the door of his room, peering intothe big room that adjoined the dining-room. From the direction of thekitchen he caught a thin shaft of light--from the kerosene-lamp thatMartha had placed on a table for Marion's convenience. A big formblotted out the light, casting a huge, gigantic shadow; and Parsons sawthe shadow on the ceiling of the room into which he looked.

  Huge as the shadow was, Parsons had no difficulty in recognizing it asbelonging to Carrington; and with chattering teeth Parsons quicklyclosed his door, locked it, and stood against it, his knees knockingtogether.

  Martha, too, had heard the crash. She bounded out of bed and ran to thedoor of her room, swinging it wide, for instinct told her something hadhappened to Marion. Her room was closer to the kitchen, and she sawCarrington plainly, as he was rising from the debris. And she was justin time to see Marion slipping through the doorway of her own room. Andby the time Carrington got to his feet, Martha had heard Marion's
doorclick shut, heard the lock snap home.

  Martha instantly closed the door of her own room, fastened it and ran toanother door that connected her room with Marion's. She swung that dooropen and looked into the girl's room; heard the girl stifle ashriek--for the girl thought Carrington was coming upon her from thatdirection--and then Martha was at the girl's side, whispering toher--excitedly comforting her.

  "The damn trash--houndin' you this way! He ain' goin' to hurt you,honey--not one bit!"

  Outside the door they could hear Carrington walking about in the room.There came to the ears of the two women the scratch of a match, and thena steady glimmer of light streaked into the room from the bottom of thedoor, and they knew Carrington had lighted a lamp. A little later, whileMartha stood, her arms around the girl, who leaned against the negrowoman, very white and still, they heard Carrington talking with Parsons.They heard Parsons protesting, Carrington cursing him.

  "He ain' goin' to git you, honey," whispered Martha. "That man come heahthe firs' day, an' I knowed he's a rapscallion." She pointed upward, towhere a trap-door, partly open, appeared in the ceiling of the room.

  "There's the attic, honey. I'll boost you, an' you go up there an' hidefrom that wild man. You got to, for that worfless Parsons am tellin' himwhich room you's in. You hurry--you heah me!"

  She helped the girl upward, and stood listening until the trap-doorgrated shut. Then she turned and grinned at the door that led into thebig room adjoining the kitchen. Carrington was at it, his shoulderagainst it; Martha could hear him cursing.

  "Open up, here!" came Carrington's voice through the door, muffled, butresonant. "Open the door, damn you, or I'll tear it down!"

  "Tear away, white man!" giggled Martha softly. "They's a big 'sprisewaitin' you when you git in heah!"

  For an instant following Carrington's curses and demands there was asilence. It was broken by a splintering crash, and the negro woman sawthe door split so that the light from the other room streaked throughit. But the door held, momentarily. Then Carrington again lunged againstit and it burst open, pieces of the lock flying across the room.

  This time Carrington did not fall with the door, but reeled through theopening, erect, big, a vibrant, mirthless laugh on his lips.

  The light from the other room streamed in past him, shining full uponMartha, who stood, her hands on her hips, looking at the man.

  Carrington was disconcerted by the presence of Martha when he hadexpected to see Marion. He stepped back, cursing.

  Martha giggled softly.

  "What you doin' in my room, man; just when I'se goin' to retiah? You gitout o' heah--quick! Yo' heah me? Yo' ain't got no business bustin' mydoor down!"

  "Bah!" Carrington's voice was malignant with baffled rage. With one stephe was at Martha's side, his hands on her throat, his muscles rigid andstraining.

  "Where's Marion Harlan?" he demanded. "Tell me, you black devil, or I'llchoke hell out of you!"

  Martha was not frightened; she giggled mockingly.

  "That girl bust in heah a minute ago; then she bust out ag'in, runnin'fit to kill herself. I reckon by this time she's done throw herself offthe butte--rather than have you git her!"

  Carrington shoved Martha from him, so that she staggered and fell; andwith a bound he was through the door that led into Martha's room.

  The negro woman did not move. She sat on the floor, a malicious grin onher face, listening to Carrington as he raged through the house.

  Once, about five minutes after he left, Carrington returned and stuckhis head into the room. Martha still sat where Carrington had thrownher. She did not care what Carrington did to the house, so long as hewas ignorant of the existence of the trap-door.

  And Carrington did not notice the door. For an hour Martha heard himraging around the house, opening and slamming doors and overturningfurniture. Once when she did not hear him for several minutes, she gotup and went to one of the windows. She saw him, out at the stable,looking in at the horses.

  Then he returned to the house, and Martha resumed her place on thefloor. Later, she heard Carrington enter the house again, and after thatshe heard Parsons' voice, raised in high-terrored protest. Then therewas another silence. Again Martha looked out of a window. This time shesaw Carrington on his horse, riding away.

  But for half an hour Martha remained at the window. She fearedCarrington's departure was a subterfuge, and she was not mistaken. For alittle later Carrington returned, riding swiftly. He slid from his horseat a little distance from the house and ran toward it. Martha was in thekitchen when he came in. He did not speak to her as he came into theroom, but passed her and again made a search of the house. PassingMartha again he gave her a malevolent look, then halted at the outsidedoor.

  The man's wild rage seemed to have left him; he was calm--polite, even.

  "Tell your mistress I am sorry for what has occurred. I am afraid I wasa bit excited. I shall not harm her; I won't bother her again."

  He stepped through the doorway and, going again to a window and drawingback the curtain slightly, Martha watched him.

  Carrington went to the stable, entered, and emerged again presently,leading two horses--Parsons' horse and Billy. He led the animals towhere his own horse stood, climbed into the saddle and rode away, thetwo horses following. At the edge of the wood he turned and looked back.Then the darkness swallowed him.

  For another half-hour Martha watched the Dawes trail from a window. Thenshe drew a deep breath and went into Marion's room, standing under thetrap-door.

  "I reckon you kin come down now, honey--he's gone."

  A little later, with Marion standing near her in the room, the lightfrom the kerosene-lamp streaming upon them through the shattered door,Martha was speaking rapidly:

  "He acted mighty suspicious, honey; an' he's up to some dog's trick,shuah as you'm alive. You got to git out of heah, honey--mighty quick!'Pears he thinks you is hid somewhares around heah, an' he's figgerin'on makin' you stay heah. An' if you wants to git away, you's got towalk, for he's took the hosses!" She shook her head, her eyes wide witha reflection of the complete stupefaction that had descended upon her."Laws A'mighty, what a ragin' devil that man is, honey! I'se seen men_an'_ men--an' I knowed a nigger once that was----"

  But Martha paused, for Marion was paying no attention to her. The girlwas pulling some articles of wearing apparel from some drawers, packingthem hurriedly into a small handbag, and Martha sprang quickly to helpher, divining what the girl intended to do.

  "That's right, honey; doan you stay heah in this house another minit!You git out as quick as you kin. You go right over to that Squint man'shouse an' tell him to protect you. 'Cause you's goin' to needprotection, honey--an' don't you forgit it!"

  The girl's white face was an eloquent sign of her conception of thedanger that confronted her. But she spoke no word while packing herhandbag. When she was ready she turned to the door, to confront Martha,who also carried a satchel. Together the two went out of the house,crossed the level surrounding it, and began to descend the long slopethat led down into the mighty basin in which, some hours before, thegirl had seen the pin-point of light glimmering across the sea ofdarkness toward her. And toward that light, as toward a beacon thatpromised a haven from a storm, she went, Martha following.

  From a window of the house a man watched them--Parsons--in the grip of aparalyzing terror, his pallid face pressed tightly against the glass ofthe window as he watched until he could see them no longer.