CHAPTER XXX--PARSONS HAS HUMAN INSTINCTS
Elam Parsons stood on the front porch of the Arrow ranchhouse for a longtime after Marion and Martha departed, watching them as they slowlynegotiated the narrow trail that led toward Dawes. Something of theman's guilt assailed his consciousness as he stood there--a conceptionof the miserable part he had played in the girl's life.
No doubt had not Fate and Carrington played a mean trick on Parsons, inrobbing him of his money and his prospects, the man would not haveentertained the thoughts he entertained at this moment; for successwould have made a reckoning with conscience a remote possibility, dimand far.
And perhaps it was not conscience that was now troubling Parsons; atleast Parsons did not lay the burden of his present thoughts upon sointangible a chimera. Parsons was too much of a materialist to admit hehad a conscience.
But a twinge of something seized Parsons as he watched the girl rideaway, and bitter thoughts racked his soul. He could not, however,classify his emotions, and so he stood there on the porch, undecided,vacillating, in the grip of a vague disquiet.
Parsons sat on the porch until long after noon; for, after Marion andMartha had vanished into the haze of distance, Parsons dropped into achair and let his chin sink to his chest.
He did not get up to prepare food for himself; he did not think ofeating, for the big, silent ranchhouse and the gloomy, vacant appearanceof the other buildings drew the man's attention to the aching emptinessof his own life. He had sought to gain everything--scheming, planning,plotting dishonestly; taking unfair advantage; robbing people withoutcompunction--and he had gained nothing. Yes--he had gained Carrington'scontempt!
The recollection of Carrington's treatment of him fired his passionswith a thousand licking, leaping flames. In his gloomy meditations overthe departure of the girl, he had almost forgotten Carrington. But hethought of Carrington now; and he sat stiff and rigid in the chair,glowering, his lips in a pout, his soul searing with hatred.
But even the nursing of that passion failed to satisfy Parsons.Something lacked. There was still that conviction of utter baseness--hisown baseness--to torture him. And at last, toward evening, he discoveredthat he longed for the girl. He wanted to be near her; he wanted to dosomething for her to undo the wrong he had done her; he wanted to makesome sort of reparation.
So the man assured himself. But he knew that deep in his innerconsciousness lurked the dread knowledge that Taylor was aware of hisbaseness. For Taylor had overheard the conversation between Carringtonand himself on the train, and Parsons feared that should Taylor by anychance escape Keats and his men and return to the Arrow to find Mariongone, he would vent his rage and fury upon the man who had sinnedagainst the woman he loved. That was the emotion which dominated Parsonsas he sat on the porch; it was the emotion that made the man ferventlydesire to make reparation to the girl; it was the emotion that finallymoved him out of his chair and upon a horse that he found in the stable,to ride toward Dawes in the hope of finding her.
Parsons, too, stopped at the Mullarky cabin. He discovered that Marionhad left there shortly before, after having refused Mrs. Mullarky'sproffer of shelter until the charge against Taylor could be disproved.
Parsons listened impatiently to the woman's voluble defense of Taylor,and her condemnation of Keats and all those who were leagued against theArrow owner. And then Parsons rode on.
Far out in the basin, indistinct in the twilight haze, he saw Marion andMartha riding toward Dawes, and he urged his horse in an effort to comeup with them before they reached the bottom of the long, gradual risethat would take them into town.
Parsons had got within half a mile of them when he saw them halt andwait the coming of three horsemen, who advanced toward them from theopposite direction. Parsons did not feel like joining the group, forjust at that moment he felt as though he could not bear to have anyonesee his face--they might have discovered the guilt in it--and so hewaited.
He saw the three men ride close to the other riders; he watched inastonishment while one of the strange riders pursued one of the women,catching her.
Parsons saw it all. But he did not ride forward, for he was in the gripof a mighty terror that robbed him of power to move. For he knew one ofthe strange riders was Carrington. He would have recognized him among athousand other men.
Parsons watched the three men climb the big slope that led to the greathouse on the flat-topped hill. For many minutes after they had reachedthe crest of the hill Parsons sat motionless on his horse, gazingupward. And when he saw a light flare up in one of the rooms of the bighouse, he cursed, his face convulsed with impotent rage.
* * * * *
Marion Harlan did not yield to the overpowering weakness that seized herafter she realized that further resistance to Carrington would beuseless. And instead of yielding to the hysteria that threatened her,she clenched her hands and bit her lips in an effort to retain hercomposure. She succeeded. And during the progress of her captor's horseup the long slope she kept a good grip on herself, fortifying herselfagainst what might come when she and her captor reached the big house.
When they reached the crest of the hill, Carrington ordered the two mento take Martha around to the back of the house and confine her in one ofthe rooms. One man was to guard her. The other was to wait on the frontporch until Carrington called him.
The girl had decided to make one more struggle when Carringtondismounted with her, but though she fought hard and bitterly, she didnot succeed in escaping Carrington, and the latter finally lifted her inhis arms and carried her into the front room, the room in whichCarrington had fought with Taylor the day Taylor had killed the threemen who had ambushed him.
Carrington lighted a lamp--it was this light Parsons had seen from thebasin--placed it on a shelf, and in its light grinned triumphantly atthe girl.
"Well, we are here," he said.
In his voice was that passion that had been in it that other time, whenhe had pursued her into the house, and she had escaped him by hiding inthe attic. She cringed from him, backing away a little, and, noting themovement, he laughed hoarsely.
"Don't worry," he said, "at least for an hour or two. I've got somethingmore important on my mind. Do you know what it is?" he demanded,grinning hugely. "It's Taylor!" He suddenly seemed to remember that hedid not know why she had been abroad at dusk on the Dawes trail, and hecame close to her.
"Did you see Keats today?"
She did not answer, meeting his gaze fairly, her eyes flashing withscorn and contempt. But he knew from the flame in her eyes that she hadseen Keats, and he laughed derisively.
"So you saw him," he jeered; "and you know that he came for Taylor. Didhe find Taylor at the Arrow?"
Again she did not answer, and he went on, suspecting that Taylor had notbeen at the Arrow, and that Keats had gone to search for him. "No, Keatsdidn't find him--that's plain enough. I should have enjoyed being thereto hear Keats tell you that Taylor had killed your father. You heardthat, didn't you? Yes," he added, his grin broadening; "you heard that.So that's why you left the Arrow! Well, I don't blame you for leaving."
He turned toward the door and wheeled again to face her. "You'll enjoythis," he sneered; "you've been so thick with Taylor. Bah!" he added ashe saw her face redden at the insult; "I've known where you stood withTaylor ever since I caught you flirting with him on the station platformthe day we came to Dawes. That's why you went to the Arrow fromhere--refusing my attentions to _give_ yourself to the man who killedyour father!"
He laughed, and saw her writhe under the sound of it.
"It hurts, eh?" he said venomously; "well, this will hurt, too. Keatswent out to get Taylor, but he will never bring Taylor in--alive. He hasorders to kill him--understand? That's why I've got more importantbusiness than you to attend to for the next few hours. I'm going toDawes to find out if Keats has returned. And when Keats comes in withthe news that Taylor is done for, I'm coming back here for you!"
Ca
lling the man who was waiting on the porch, Carrington directed him towatch the girl; and then, with a last grin at her, he went out, mountedhis horse, and rode the trail toward Dawes. And as he rode, he laughedmaliciously, for he had not told her that the charge against Taylor wasa false one, and that, so far as he knew, Taylor was not guilty ofmurdering her father.
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