'Drag' Harlan - Charles Alden Seltzer (best ebook for manga .TXT) 📗

score it must have been removed by a memory of the manner in which his men had received the news that Harlan had left the Rancho Seco and was on his way up the valley.

The rider Harlan had seen had come in with that news—and Haydon had been standing with the group at the bunkhouse when the man arrived. And he had not failed to note the nervous glances of some of the men, and the restless eagerness, not unmixed with anxiety, with which they watched the trail.

And now, facing Harlan, he felt the man’s greatness—his especial fitness for the career he had adopted. Harlan was the ideal outlaw. He was cool, deep, subtle. He was indomitable; he felt no fear; his will was inflexible, adamant. Haydon felt it. The fear he had experienced at his first meeting with Harlan had endured until this minute—it was strong as ever.

Yet he admired the man; and knew that since he had come to the valley he must be considered an important factor. Haydon could not flatly tell him to get out of the valley; he could not order him away from the Rancho Seco. Harlan was in control there—for the rider who had come in with the news that Harlan had set out for the valley had also apprised Haydon of the coming, to the Rancho Seco, of the men of the T Down outfit.

The rider had not been able to tell Haydon who the men were, of course; but it made little difference. They were friends of Harlan’s, for they had come from the direction of the desert—from Pardo.

It was plain to Haydon that Harlan had come to the valley to stay. It was equally plain that he must be either propitiated or antagonized. He felt that Harlan was giving him his choice.

“What do you want—if you throw in with us?” Haydon asked, following the trend of his own thoughts.

“That’s straight talk,” said Harlan. “I’m givin’ you a straight answer. If I join your bunch I join on the same footing with you an’ Deveny—nothin’ less. We split everything three ways—the other boys takin’ their regular share after we take ours. I bring my boys in under the rules you’ve got that govern the others. I run the Rancho Seco—no one interferin’. When I rustle up that gold old Morgan hid, we split it three ways. Barbara Morgan goes with the ranch—no one interferin’.”

Color surged into Haydon’s face.

“You don’t want much, do you?” he sneered.

“I want what’s comin’ to me—what I’m goin’ to take, if I come in. That’s my proposition. You can take it or leave it.”

Haydon was silent for an instant, studying Harlan’s face. What he saw there brought a frown to his own.

“Harlan,” he said softly, “some of the boys feel a little resentful over the way you sent Dolver and Laskar out. There are several friends of those two men outside now. Suppose I should call them in and tell them that the bars are down on you—eh?”

If Haydon expected his threat to intimidate Harlan, he was mistaken. Harlan sat, motionless, watching the outlaw chief steadily. And into his eyes came a glitter of that cold contempt which Haydon had seen in them on the day he had faced Harlan near the bunkhouse at the Rancho Seco.

“You’re doin’ the honors, Haydon,” he said. “If you’re that kind of a coyote I don’t want to deal with you. If you think you want to pass up a share of that hundred thousand, start yappin’ to them boys. It’s likely there’s some of them hangin’ around, close. Mebbe you’ve got some of them peekin’ around corners at me now. I ain’t runnin’ from no trouble that comes my way. Get goin’ if you’re yearnin’ to requisition the mourners.”

Rage over the threat was now plain in his eyes, for they were aflame with a cold fire as he got up from his chair and stood, crouching a little, his hands lingering near the butts of his guns.

Haydon did not move, but his face grew pallid and he smiled nervously, with shallow mirth.

“You are not in a joking mood today, Harlan?” he said.

“There’s jokes, an’ jokes, Haydon. I’ve come here in good faith. I’ve been in camps like this before—in Kelso’s, Dave Rance’s, Blondy Larkin’s, an’ some others. Them men are outlaws—like you an’ me; an’ they’ve done things that make them greater than you an’ me—in our line. But I’ve visited them, free an’ easy—goin’ an’ comin’ whenever I pleased. An’ no man threatenin’ me.

“Your manners is irritatin’ to me—I’m tellin’ you so. I’m through! You’re takin’ me out, now—back to the Rancho Seco. You’re ridin’ behind me—minus your guns, your mouth shut tighter than you ever shut it before. An’ if there’s any shootin’ you’ll know it—plenty!”

Harlan had brought matters to a crisis—suddenly, in a flash. The time for pretense had gone. Haydon could accept Harlan upon the terms he had mentioned, or he could take up the man’s challenge with all it implied—bitter warfare between the two factions, which would be unprofitable to both, and especially to Haydon.

It was for Haydon to decide; and he sat for some seconds motionless in the chair, before he spoke.

Then he got up—taking care to keep his right hand at a respectable distance from the butt of his pistol, and smilingly held out his hand.

“It goes your way, Harlan—we take you in on your terms. I beg your pardon for saying what I did. That was just to try you out. I’ve heard a lot about you, and I wanted to see if you were in earnest—if you really wanted to come in. I’m satisfied.”

They shook hands; their gaze meeting as they stood close together. The gaze endured for an instant; and then Haydon’s fell. The handshake lasted for several seconds, and it was curious to see how Haydon’s eyes, after they had become veiled from Harlan’s by the drooping lids, glowed with a malignant triumph and cunning.

It was also curious to note that something of the same passion was revealed in Harlan’s eyes as they rested on the partially closed lids of the other—for there was triumph there, too—and comprehension, and craft of a kind that might have disturbed Haydon, had he seen it.

Then their hands parted, mutually, and Haydon grinned smoothly and with apparent cordiality at Harlan. He grasped Harlan by an elbow and urged him toward the door through which the latter had entered.

“I’ll give you a knockdown to the boys, now—those that are here,” he said.

An hour later—after Haydon and the dozen men to whom he had introduced Harlan had watched Harlan ride eastward through the valley toward the Rancho Seco—Haydon rode westward, accompanied by several of the men.

They rode for many miles into the heart of the big basin, coming at last to a gorge that wound a serpentine way southward, through some concealing hills, into a smaller basin. A heavy timber clump grew at the mouth of the gorge, hiding it from view from the trail that ran through the valley. Some rank underbrush that fringed the timber gave the mouth of the gorge the appearance of a shallow cave, and a wall of rock, forming a ragged arch over the entrance, heightened the impression. At first glance the place seemed to be impenetrable.

But the horsemen filed through easily enough, and the underbrush closed behind them, so that, had they been seen, the watcher might have been startled by their sudden disappearance.

Near the center of the little basin stood a huge cabin, built of adobe, with a flat roof. In a small corral were a number of cattle. Grazing upon the grass, with which the place was carpeted, were many horses; and lounging in the grass near the cabin, and upon some benches that ranged its walls, were perhaps a dozen men, heavily armed.

Several of the men grinned as the newcomers rode in and dismounted, and one or two spoke a short greeting to Haydon, calling him “Chief.”

Haydon did not linger to talk with the men, though; he dismounted and entered the cabin, where, an instant later, he was talking with Deveny.

Haydon’s eyes were still triumphant—glowing with a malignant satisfaction.

“He’s wise—and dead tickled to join,” he told Deveny, referring to Harlan. “And I took him in on his own terms. We’ll play him along, making him believe he’s regular and right, until we get what we want. Then we’ll down him!”

At about the time Haydon was talking with Deveny, Harlan was dismounting at the Rancho Seco corral.

The T Down men were variously engaged—some of them in the corral; others in the stable, and still others in the blacksmith-shop—all attending to their new duties—and only Red Linton was at the corral gate to greet Harlan.

Triumph was in Harlan’s eyes as he grinned at Linton.

“I’m a Simon-pure outlaw now, Red,” he stated. “Haydon didn’t hesitate none. He’s a sneakin’, schemin’ devil, an’ he hates me like poison. But he took me in, reckonin’ to play me for a sucker. Looks like things might be interestin’.” He grinned. “I’m yearnin’ for grub, Red.”

Later, while Harlan was seated at a table in the cook shanty, he became aware of a shadow at the door; and he wheeled, to see Barbara Morgan looking in at him, her face flushed, a glow in her eyes that was entirely comprehensible to Harlan.

She was glad he had returned—any man with half Harlan’s wisdom could have told that! And color of a kind not caused by the wind and sun suffused Harlan’s face.

She had seen him from one of the kitchen windows, and curiosity—and an impatience that would not permit of delay—had brought her to search for him.

“Why,” she said, “I—I thought—didn’t you say that you were going away?”

“Didn’t I go?” he grinned.

“For a day,” she taunted, her voice leaping.

“A day,” he said gravely; “why, it was longer than that, wasn’t it? Seems that I ain’t seen you for years an’ years!”

He got up, his hunger forgotten. But when he reached the door he saw her running toward the ranchhouse, not even looking back. He stood watching her until she opened a door and vanished. Then he grinned and returned to his neglected food, saying aloud, after the manner of men who spend much time in open places: “I’ll sure take care of her, Morgan.”