CHAPTER X
ON GUARD
The man whose soul held no love of the poetic sat for two or three hourson the threshold of the bunkhouse door, his gaze on the ranchhouse. Hewas considering his "reputation," and he had reached the conclusion thatBarbara Morgan had reason to fear him--if rumor's tongues had related toher all of the crimes that had been attributed to him. And he knew shemust have heard a great many tales about him, for rumor is a tirelessworker.
And for the first time in his life Harlan regretted that he had permittedrumor to weave her fabric of lies. For not one of the stories thatluridly portrayed him in the role of a ruthless killer and outlaw wastrue.
It was easy enough for him to understand how he had gained thatreputation. He grinned mirthlessly now, as he mentally reviewed a pastwhich _had_ been rather like the record of a professional man-killer. Andyet, reviewing his past--from the day about five years ago, when he hadshot a Taos bully who had drawn a gun on him with murderous intent, untiltoday, when he had sent Laskar to his death--he could not remember oneshooting affray for which he could be blamed. As a matter of fact, hehad--by the courts in some instances, and by witnesses in others, wherethere were no courts--been held blameless.
There had been men who had seen Harlan draw his weapons with deadlyintent--men who insisted that the man's purpose was plain, to goad anenemy to draw a weapon, permitting him partially to draw it, and then todepend upon his superior swiftness and unerring aim. And this theory ofHarlan's character had gone abroad.
And because the theory had been accepted, Harlan's name became associatedwith certain crimes which are inseparable from the type of characterwhich the popular imagination had given him. Strangers--criminals--incertain towns in the Territory and out of it must have heard withconsiderable satisfaction that their depredations had been charged toHarlan. Only once had Harlan been able to refute the charge of rumor.That was when, having passed a night in the company of Dave Hallowell,the marshal of Pardo, word was brought by a stage-driver that "Drag"Harlan had killed a man in Dry Bottom--a town two hundred milesnorth--and that Harlan had escaped, though a posse had been on his trail.
Even when the driver was confronted by Harlan in the flesh he wasdoubtful, surrendering grudgingly, as though half convinced that Harlanhad been able to transport himself over the distance from Dry Bottom toPardo by some magic not mentioned.
So it had gone. But the terrible record of evil deeds attributed toHarlan had not affected him greatly. In the beginning--when he had killedthe Taos bully--he had been reluctant to take life; and he had avoided,as much as possible, company in which he would be forced to kill toprotect himself.
And through it all he had been able to maintain his poise, hisself-control. The reputation he had achieved would have ruined somemen--would have filled them with an ambition to fulfil the specificationsof the mythical terror men thought him. There was a danger there; Harlanhad felt it. There was a certain satisfaction in being pointed out as aman with whom other men dared not trifle; respect of a fearsome equalitywas granted him--he had seen it in the eyes of men, as he had seen anawed adulation in the eyes of women.
He had felt them all--all the emotions that a real desperado could feel.He had experienced the impulse to swagger, to pose--really to live thepart that his ill-fame had given him.
But he had resisted those impulses; and the glow in his eyes when in thepresence of men who feared him was not the passion to kill, but ahumorous contempt of all men who abased themselves before him.
On the night he had been with Dave Hallowell, the marshal of Pardo, hehad listened with steady interest to a story told him by the latter. Itconcerned the Lamo region and the great basin at which he and BarbaraMorgan had been looking when the girl had accused him of a lack of poeticfeeling.
"I've heard reports about Sunset Valley," Hallowell had said, squintinghis eyes at Harlan. "I've met Sheriff Gage two or three times, an' he'shad somethin' to say about it. Accordin' to Gage, everything ain't on thesurface over there; there's somethin' behind all that robbin' an'stealin' that's goin' on. There's somethin' big, but it's hid--an' no manain't ever been able to find out what it is. But it's somethin'.
"In the first place, Deveny's gang ain't never been heard of as pullin'off anything anywheres else but in Sunset Valley. As for that, there'splenty of room in the valley for them without gettin' out of it. But itseems they'd get out once in a while. They don't--they stay right in thevalley, or close around it. Seems to me they've got a grudge ag'in' themSunset Valley ranchers, an' are workin' it off.
"Why? That question has got Gage guessin'. It's got everybody guessin'.Stock is bein' run off in big bunches; men is bein' murdered without nocause; no man is able to get any money in or out of the valley--an'they're doin' other things that is makin' the cattlemen feel nervous an'flighty.
"They've scared one man out--a Pole named Launski--from the far end. Hepulled stakes an' hit the breeze runnin' sellin' out for a song to a guynamed Haydon. I seen Launski when he clumb on the Lamo stage, headin'this way, an' he sure was a heap relieved to get out with a whole skin."
Hallowell talked long, and the mystery that seemed to surround SunsetValley appealed to Harlan's imagination. Yet he did not reveal hisinterest to Hallowell until the latter mentioned Barbara Morgan. Then hiseyes glowed, and he leaned closer to the marshal.
And when Hallowell remarked that Lane Morgan, of the Rancho Seco haddeclared he would give half his ranch to a trustworthy man who could bedepended upon to "work his guns" in the interest of the Morgan family,the slow tensing of Harlan's muscles might have betrayed the man'semotions--for Hallowell grinned faintly.
Hallowell had said more. But he did not say that word had come to himfrom Sheriff Gage--an appeal, rather--to the effect that Morgan had sentto him for such a man, and that Gage had transmitted the appeal toHallowell. Hallowell thought he knew Harlan, and he was convinced that ifhe told Harlan flatly that Morgan wanted to employ him for that definitepurpose, Harlan would refuse.
And so Hallowell had gone about his work obliquely. He knew Harlan moreintimately than he knew any other man in the country; and he was awarethat the chivalric impulse was stronger in Harlan than in any man heknew.
And he was aware, too, that Harlan was scrupulously honest and square,despite the evil structure which had been built around him by rumor. Hehad watched Harlan for years, and knew him for exactly what he was--animaginative, reckless, impulsive spirit who faced danger with the steady,unwavering eye of complete unconcern.
As Hallowell had talked of the Rancho Seco he had seen Harlan's eyesgleam; seen his lips curve with a faint smile in which there was a hintof waywardness. And so Hallowell knew he had scattered his words onfertile mental soil.
And yet Harlan would not have taken the trail that led to the Rancho Secohad not the killing of his friend, Davey Langan, followed closely uponthe story related to him by the marshal.
Harlan had ridden eastward, to Lazette--a matter of two hundredmiles--trailing a herd of cattle from the T Down--the ranch where he andLangan were employed.
When he returned he heard the story of the killing of his friend byDolver and another man, not identified, but who rode a horse branded withthe L Bar M--which was the Rancho Seco brand.
It was Hallowell who broke the news of the murder to Harlan, togetherwith the story of his pursuit of Dolver and the other man, and of hisfailure to capture them.
There was no thought of romance in Harlan's mind when he mountedPurgatory to take up Dolver's trail; and when he came upon Dolver atSentinel Rock--and later, until he had talked with Lane Morgan--he had nothought of offering himself to Morgan, to become that trustworthy man whowould "work his guns" for the Rancho Seco owner.
But after he had questioned Laskar--and had felt that Laskar was not theaccomplice of Dolver in the murder of Langan--he had determined to go tothe ranch, and had told Morgan of his determination.
Now, sitting on the threshold of the Rancho Seco bunkhouse, he realizedthat his talk with Morg
an had brought him here in a different role thanhe had anticipated.
From where he sat he had a good view of all the buildings--low,flat-roofed adobe structures, scattered on the big level with no regardfor system, apparently--erected as the needs of a growing ranch required.Yet all were well kept and substantial, indicating that Lane Morgan hadbeen a man who believed in neatness and permanency.
The ranchhouse was the largest of the buildings. It was two stories highon the side fronting the slope that led to the river, and anothersection--in what appeared to be the rear, facing the bunkhouse, also hada second story--a narrow, boxlike, frowning section which had theappearance of a blockhouse on the parapet wall of a fort.
And that, Harlan divined, was just what it had been built for--fordefensive purposes. For the entire structure bore the appearance of age,and the style of its architecture was an imitation of the Spanish type.It was evident that Lane Morgan had considered the warlike instincts ofwandering bands of Apache Indians when he had built his house.
The walls connecting the fortlike section in the rear with the two-storyfront were about ten feet in height, with few windows; and the entirestructure was built in a huge square, with an inner court, or _patio_,reached by an entrance that penetrated the lower center of the two-storysection in front.
Harlan's interest centered heavily upon the ranchhouse, for it was therethat Barbara Morgan had hidden herself, fearing him.
She had entered a door that opened in the wall directly beneath thefortlike second story, and it was upon this door that Harlan's gaze wasfixed. He smiled wryly, for sight of the door brought Barbara into histhoughts--though he was not sure she had been out of them since the firstinstant of his meeting with her in Lamo.
"They've been tellin' her them damn stories about me bein' ahell-raiser--an' she believes 'em," he mused. And then his smile faded."An she ain't none reassured by my mug."
But it was upon the incident of his meeting with Barbara, and the oddcoincidence of his coming upon her father at Sentinel Rock, that histhoughts dwelt longest.
It was odd--that meeting at Sentinel Rock. And yet not so odd, either,considering everything.
For he had been coming to the Rancho Seco. Before he had reached SentinelRock he had been determined to begin his campaign against the outlaws atthe Rancho Seco. It was his plan to ask Morgan for a job, and to spend asmuch of his time as possible in getting information about Deveny and hismen, in the hope of learning the identity of the man who had assisted inthe murder of Langan.
What was odd about the incident was that Morgan should attempt to crossto Pardo to have his gold assayed at just about the time Harlan haddecided to begin his trip to the Rancho Seco.
Harlan smiled as his gaze rested on the ranchhouse. He was glad he hadmet Lane Morgan; he was glad he had headed straight for Lamo afterleaving Morgan. For by going straight to Lamo he had been able to balkDeveny's evil intentions toward the girl who, in the house now, was soterribly afraid of him.
He had told Morgan why he was headed toward the Rancho Seco section, buthe had communicated to Morgan that information only because he had wantedto cheer the man in his last moments. That was what had made Morgan'sface light up as his life had ebbed away. And Harlan's eyes glowed nowwith the recollection.
"The damned cuss--how he did brighten up!" he mused. "He sure was a heaptickled to know that the deck wasn't all filled with dirty deuces."
And then Harlan's thoughts went again to Lamo, and to the picture Barbarahad made running toward him. It seemed to him that he could still feelher in his arms, and a great regret that she distrusted him assailed him.
He had sat for a long time on the threshold of the bunkhouse door, andafter a time he noted that the moon was swimming high, almost overhead.He got up, unhurriedly, and again walked to the stable door, looking inat Purgatory. For Harlan did not intend to sleep tonight; he hadresolved, since the Rancho Seco seemed to be deserted except for his andBarbara's presence, to guard the ranchhouse.
For he knew that the passions of Deveny for the girl were thoroughlyaroused. He had seen in Deveny's eyes there in Lamo a flame--when Devenylooked at Barbara--that told him more about the man's passions thanDeveny himself suspected. He grinned coldly as he leaned easily againstthe stable door; for men of the Deveny type always aroused him--theirpersonality had always seemed to strike discord into his soul; had alwaysfanned into flame the smoldering hatred he had of such men; had alwaysbrought into his heart those savage impulses which he had sometimes feltwhen he was on the verge of yielding to the urge to become what men hadthought him--and what they still thought him--a conscienceless killer.
His smile now was bitter with the hatred that was in his heart forDeveny--for Deveny had cast longing, lustful eyes upon BarbaraMorgan--and the smile grew into a sneer as he drew out paper and tobaccoand began to roll a cigarette.
But as he rolled the cigarette his fingers stiffened; the paper and thetobacco in it dropped into the dust at his feet; and he stiffened, hislips straightening, his eyes flaming with rage, his muscles tensing.
For a horseman had appeared from out of the moonlit haze beyond theriver. Rigid in the doorway--standing back a little so that he might notbe seen--Harlan watched the man.
The latter brought his horse to a halt when he reached the far corner ofthe ranchhouse, dismounted, and stole stealthily along the wall of thebuilding.
Harlan was not more than a hundred feet distant, and the glare of themoonlight shining full on the man as he paused before the door into whichBarbara Morgan had gone, revealed him plainly to Harlan.
The man was Meeder Lawson. Harlan's lips wreathed into a grin of coldcontempt. He stepped quickly to Purgatory, drew his rifle from its saddlesheath and returned to the doorway. And there, standing in the shadows,he watched Lawson as the latter tried the door and, failing to open it,left it and crept along the wall of the building, going toward a window.
The window also was fastened, it seemed, for Lawson stole away from itafter a time and continued along the wall of the house until he reachedthe southeast corner. Around that, after a fleeting glance about him,Lawson vanished.
Still grinning--though there was now a quality in the grin that mighthave warned Lawson, had he seen it--Harlan stepped down from the doorway,slipped into the shadow of the corral fence, and made his way toward thecorner where Lawson had disappeared.