CHAPTER XIII--THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE
Elam recovered slowly, for Carrington had choked him intounconsciousness. Out of the blank, dark coma Parsons came, his brainreeling, his body racked with agonizing pains. His hands went to histhroat before he could open his eyes; he pulled at the flesh to ease theconstriction that still existed there; he caught his breath in greatgasps that shrilled through the room. And when at last he succeeded ingetting his breath to come regularly, he opened his eyes and sawCarrington seated in a chair near him, watching him with a cold,speculative smile.
He heard Carrington's voice saying: "Pretty close, wasn't it, Parsons?"But he did not answer; his vocal cords were still partially paralyzed.
He closed his eyes again and stretched out in the chair. Carringtonthought he had fainted, but Parsons was merely resting--and thinking.
His thoughts were not pleasant. Many times during the years of theirassociation he had seen the beast in Carrington's eyes, but this was thefirst time Carrington had even shown it in his presence, naked and ugly.Carrington had told him many times that were he not hemmed in with lawsand courts he would tramp ruthlessly over every obstacle that got in hisway; and Parsons knew now that the man had meant what he said. The beastin him was rampant; his passions were to have free rein; he had thrownoff the shackles of civilization and was prepared to do murder to attainhis aims.
Parsons realized his own precarious predicament. Carrington controlledevery cent Parsons owned--it was in the common pool, which was inCarrington's charge. Parsons might leave Dawes, but his money muststay--Carrington would never give it up. More, Parsons was now afraid toask for an accounting or a division, for fear Carrington would kill him.
Parsons knew he must stay in Dawes, and that from now on he must playlackey to the master who, at last in an environment that suited him, hadso ruthlessly demonstrated his principles.
In a spirit of abject surrender Parsons again opened his eyes and satup. Carrington rose and again stood over him.
"You understand now, Parsons, I'm running things. You stay in thebackground. If you interfere with me I'll kill you. I'll kill you if youlaugh at me again. Your job out here is to take care of Marion Harlan.You're to keep her here. If she gets away I'll manhandle you! Now getout of here!"
An hour later Parsons was sitting on the front porch of the big house,staring vacantly out into the big level below him, his heart full ofhatred and impotent resentment; his brain, formerly full of craft andguile, now temporarily atrophied through its attempts to comprehend thenew character of the man who had throttled him.
In Dawes, Carrington was getting into his clothing. He was smiling, hiseyes glowing with grim satisfaction. At nine o'clock Carringtondescended the stairs, stopped in the hotel lobby to light a cigar; thencrossed the street and went into the courthouse, where he was greetedeffusively by Judge Littlefield. Quinton Taylor, too, was going to thecourthouse.
This morning at ten o'clock, according to information received from NeilNorton--sent to Taylor by messenger the night before--Taylor was to takethe oath of office.
Taylor was conscious of the honor bestowed upon him by the people ofDawes, though at first he had demurred, pointing out that he was notactually a resident of the town--the Arrow lying seven miles southward.But this objection had been met and dismissed by his friends, who hadinsisted that he was a resident of the town by virtue of his largeinterests there, and from the fact that he occupied an apartment abovethe Dawes bank, and that he spent more time in it than he spent in theArrow ranchhouse.
But on the ride to Dawes--on Spotted Tail--(this morning wonderfullydocile despite Tuesday's slander by his master)--Taylor's thoughts dweltnot upon the honor that was to be his, but upon the questionable trickhe had played on Marion Harlan, with the able assistance of the tallyoung puncher, Bud Hemmingway.
He looked down at the foot, now unbandaged, with a frown. The girl'scomplete and matter-of-fact belief in the story of his injury; hersympathy and deep concern; the self-accusation in her eyes; the instantpardon she had granted him for staying at the ranchhouse when he shouldnot have stayed--all these he arrayed against the bald fact that he hadtricked her. And he felt decidedly guilty.
And yet somehow there was some justification for the trick. It was thejustification of desire. The things a man wants are not to be denied bythe narrow standards of custom. Does a man miss an opportunity toestablish acquaintance with a girl he has fallen in love with, merelybecause custom has decreed that she shall not come unattended--save by anegro woman--to his house?
Taylor made desire his justification, and his sense of guilt wasdispelled by half.
Nor was the guilt so poignant that it rested heavily on his consciencesince he had done no harm to the girl.
What harm had been done had been done to Taylor himself. He kept seeingMarion as she sat on the porch, and the spell of her had seized him sofirmly that last night, after she had left, the ranchhouse had seemed tobe nothing more than four walls out of which all the life had gone. Hefelt lonesome this morning, and was in the grip of a nameless longing.
All the humor had departed from him. For the first time in all his daysa conception of the meaning of life assailed him, revealing to him aglimpse of the difficulties of a man in love. For a man may love a girl:his difficulties begin when the girl seems to become unattainable.
Looming large in Taylor's thoughts this morning was Carrington. Havingoverheard Carrington talking of her on the train, Taylor thought he knewwhat Carrington wanted; but he was in doubt regarding the state of thegirl's feelings toward the man. Had she yielded to the man's intensepersonal magnetism?
Carrington was handsome; there was no doubt that almost any girl wouldbe flattered by his attentions. And had Carrington been worthy ofMarion, Taylor would have entertained no hope of success--he would noteven have thought of it.
But he had overheard Carrington; he knew the man's nature was vile andbestial; and already he hated him with a fervor that made his blood riotwhen he thought of him.
When he reached Dawes he found himself hoping that Marion would not bein town to see that his ankle was unbandaged. But he might have savedhimself that throb of perturbation, for at that minute Marion wasstanding in the front room of the big house, looking out of one of thewindows at Parsons, wondering what had happened to make him seem so glumand abstracted.
When Taylor dismounted in front of the courthouse there were several mengrouped on the sidewalk near the door.
Neil Norton was in the group, and he came forward, smiling.
"We're here to witness the ceremony," he told Taylor.
Taylor's greeting to the other men was not that of the professionalpolitician. He merely grinned at them and returned a short: "Well, let'sget it over with," to Norton's remark. Then, followed by his friends, heentered the courthouse.
Taylor knew Judge Littlefield. He had no admiration for the man, and yethis greeting was polite and courteous--it was the greeting of anAmerican citizen to an official.
Taylor's first quick glance about the interior of the courthouse showedhim Carrington. The latter was sitting in an armchair near a windowtoward the rear of the room. He smiled as Taylor's glance swept him, butTaylor might not have seen the smile. For Taylor was deeply interestedin other things.
A conception of the serious responsibility that he was to acceptassailed him. Until now the thing had been entirely personal; histhoughts had centered upon the honor that was to be his--his friends hadselected him for an important position. And yet Taylor was not vain.
Now, however, ready to accept the oath of office, he realized that hewas to become the servant of the municipality; that these friends of hishad elected him not merely to honor him but because they trusted him,because they were convinced that he would administer the affairs of theyoung town capably and in a fair and impartial manner. They dependedupon him for justice, advice, and guidance.
All these things, to be sure, Taylor would give them to the best of hisability. They must have known th
at or they would not have elected him.
These thoughts sobered him as he walked to the little wooden railing infront of the judge's desk; and his face was grave as he looked at theother.
"I am ready to take the oath, Judge Littlefield," he gravely announced.
Glancing sidewise, Taylor saw that a great many men had come into theroom. He did not turn to look at them, however, for he saw a gleam inJudge Littlefield's eyes that held his attention.
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Taylor," he heard the judge say. "Thegovernor, through the attorney-general, has ruled you were not legallyelected to the office you aspire to. Only last night I was notified ofthe decision. It was late, or I should have taken steps to apprise youof the situation."
Taylor straightened. He heard exclamations from many men in the room; hewas conscious of a tension that had come into the atmosphere. Some menscuffled their feet; and then there was a deep silence.
Taylor smiled without mirth. His dominant emotion was curiosity.
"Not legally elected?" he said. "Why?"
The judge passed a paper to Taylor; it was one of those that had beendelivered to the judge by Carrington.
The judge did not meet Taylor's eyes.
"You'll find a full statement of the case, there," he said. "Briefly,however, the governor finds that your name did not appear on theballots."
Norton, who had been standing at Taylor's side all along, now shoved hisway to the railing and leaned over it, his face white with wrath.
"There's something wrong here, Judge Littlefield!" he charged. "Taylor'sname was on every ballot that was counted for him. I personally examinedevery ballot!"
The judge smiled tolerantly, almost benignantly.
"Of course--to be sure," he said. "Mr. Taylor's name appeared on a goodmany ballots; his friends _wrote_ it, with pencil, and otherwise. Butthe law expressly states that a candidate's name must be _printed_.Therefore, obeying the letter of the law, the governor has ruled thatMr. Taylor was not elected." There was malicious satisfaction in JudgeLittlefield's eyes as they met Taylor's. Taylor could see that the judgewas in entire sympathy with the influences that were opposing him,though the judge tried, with a grave smile, to create an impression ofimpartiality.
"Under the governor's ruling, therefore," he continued, "and actingunder explicit directions from the attorney-general, I am empowered toadminister the oath of office to the legally elected candidate, DavidDanforth. Now, if Mr. Danforth is in the courtroom, and will comeforward, we shall conclude."
Mr. Danforth was in the courtroom; he was sitting near Carrington; andhe came forward, his face slightly flushed, with the gaze of everyperson in the room on him.
He smiled apologetically at Taylor as he reached the railing, extendinga hand.
"I'm damned sorry, Taylor," he declared. "This is all a surprise to me.I hadn't any doubt that they would swear you in. No hard feelings?"
Taylor had been conscious of the humiliation of his position. He knewthat his friends would expect him to fight. And yet he felt more likegracefully yielding to the forces which had barred him from office uponthe basis of so slight a technicality. And despite the knowledge that hehad been robbed of the office, he would have taken Danforth's hand, hadhe not at that instant chanced to glance at Carrington.
The latter's eyes were aglow with a vindictive triumph; as his gaze metTaylor's, his lips curved with a sneer.
A dark passion seized Taylor--the bitter, savage rage of jealousy. Theantagonism he had felt for Carrington that day on the train when he hadheard Carrington's voice for the first time was suddenly intensified. Ithad been growing slowly, provoked by his knowledge of the man's evildesigns on Marion Harlan. But now there had come into the firstantagonism a gripping lust to injure the other, a determination to balkhim, to defeat him, to meet him on his own ground and crush him.
For Carrington's sneer had caused the differences between them to becomesharply personal; it would make the fight that was brewing between thetwo men not a political fight, but a fight of the spirit.
Taylor interpreted the sneer as a challenge, and he accepted it. Hiseyes gleamed with hatred unmistakable as they held Carrington's; and thegrin on his lips was the cold, unhumorous grin of the fighter who is notdismayed by odds. His voice was low and sharp, and it carried to everyperson in the room:
"We won't shake, Danforth; you are not particular enough about thecharacter of your friends!"
The look was significant, and it compelled the eyes of all of Taylor'sfriends, so that Carrington instantly found himself the center ofinterest.
However, he did not change color; on his face a bland smile testified tohis entire indifference to what Taylor or Taylor's friends thought ofhim.
Taylor grinned mirthlessly at the judge, spoke shortly to Norton, andled the way out through the front door, followed by a number of hisfriends.
Norton took Taylor into his office, adjoining the courthouse, and threwhimself into a chair, grumbling profanely. Outside they could see thecrowd filing down the street, voicing its opinion of the startlingproceeding.
"An election is an election," they heard one man say--a Taylorsympathizer. "What difference does it make that Taylor's name wasn't_printed_? It's a dawg-gone frame-up, that's what it is!"
But Danforth's adherents were not lacking; and there were arguments inloud, vigorous language among men who passed the door of the _Eagle_office.
"I could have printed the damned ballots, myself--if I had thought itnecessary," mourned Norton. "And now we're skinned out of it!"
Norton's disgust was complete and bitter; he had slid down in the chair,his chin on his chest, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of histrousers.
Yet his dejection had not infected Taylor; the latter's lips were curvedin a faint smile, ironic and saturnine. It was plain to Norton thatwhatever humor there was in the situation was making its appeal toTaylor. The thought angered Norton, and he sat up, demanding sharply:"Well, what in hell are you going to do about it?"
Taylor grinned at the other. "Nothing, now," he said. "We might appealto the courts, but if the law specifies that a candidate's name must beprinted, the courts would sustain the governor. It looks to me, Norton,as though Carrington and Danforth have the cards stacked."
Norton groaned and again slid down into his chair. He heard Taylor goout, but he did not change his position. He sat there with his eyesclosed, profanely accusing himself, for he alone was to blame for thecomplete defeat that had descended upon his candidate; and he could notexpect Taylor to fight a law which, though unjust and arbitrary, was theonly law in the Territory.
Taylor had not gone far. He stepped into the door of the courthouse, tomeet Carrington, who was coming out. Danforth and Judge Littlefield weretalking animatedly in the rear of the room. They ceased talking whenthey saw Taylor, and faced toward him, looking at him wonderingly.
Carrington halted just inside the threshold of the doorway, and he, too,watched Taylor curiously, though there was a bland, sneering smile onhis face.
Taylor's smile as he looked at the men was still faintly ironic, and hiseyes were agleam with a light that baffled the other men--they could notdetermine just what emotion they reflected.
And Taylor's manner was as quietly deliberate and nonchalant as thoughhe had merely stepped into the room for a social visit. His gaze sweptthe three men.
"Framing up--again, eh?" he said, with drawling emphasis. "You sure dida good job for a starter. I just stepped in to say a few words toyou--all of you. To you first, Littlefield." And now his eyes held thejudge--they seemed to squint genially at the man.
"I happen to know that our big, sleek four-flusher here"--nodding towardCarrington--"came here to loot Dawes. Quite accidentally, I overheardhim boasting of his intentions. Danforth was sent here by Carringtonmore than a year ago to line things up, politically. I don't know howmany are in the game--and I don't care. You are in it, Littlefield. Isaw that by the delight you took in informing me of the decision of theattorney-
general. I just stepped in to tell you that I know what isgoing on, and to warn you that you can't do it! You had better pull outbefore you make an ass of yourself, Littlefield!"
The judge's face was crimson. "This is an outrage, Taylor!" hesputtered. "I'll have you jailed for contempt of court!"
"Not you!" gibed Taylor, calmly. "You haven't the nerve! I'd likenothing better than to have you do it. You're a little fuzzy dog thatdoesn't crawl out of its kennel until it hears the snap of its master'sfingers! That's all for you!"
He grinned at Danforth, felinely, and the man flushed under the oddgleam in the eyes that held his.
"I can classify you with one word, Dave," he declared; "you're a crook!That lets you out; you do what you are told!"
He now ignored the others and faced Carrington.
His grin faded quickly, the lips stiffening. But still there was a hintof cold humor in his manner that created the impression that he wascompletely in earnest; that he was keenly enjoying himself and that hedid not feel at all tragic. And yet, underlying the mask of humor,Carrington saw the passionate hatred Taylor felt for him.
Carrington sneered. He attempted to smile, but the malevolent bitternessof his passions turned the smile into a hideous smirk. He had hatedTaylor at first sight; and now, with the jealousy provoked by theknowledge that Taylor had turned his eyes toward Marion Harlan, thehatred had become a lust to destroy the other.
Before Taylor could speak, Carrington stepped toward him, thrusting hisface close to Taylor's. The man was in the grip of a mighty rage thatbloated his face, that made his breath come in great labored gasps. Hehad not meant to so boldly betray his hatred, but the violence of hispassions drove him on.
He knew that Taylor was baiting him, mocking him, taunting him; thatTaylor's words to the judge and to Danforth had been uttered with thegrimly humorous purpose of arousing the men to some unwise andprecipitate action; he knew that Taylor was enjoying the confusion hehad brought.
But Carrington had lost his self-control.
Without a word, but with a smothered imprecation that issued gutturallyfrom between his clenched teeth, he swung a fist with bitter malignanceat Taylor's face.
The blow did not land, for Taylor, self-possessed and alert, had beenexpecting it. He slipped his head sidewise slightly, evading the fist bya narrow margin, and, tensed, his muscles taut, he drove his own rightfist upward, heavily.
Carrington, reeling forward under the impetus of the force he hadexpended, ran fairly into the fist. It crashed to the point of his jawand he was unconscious, rigid, and upright on his feet in the instantbefore he sagged and tumbled headlong out through the open doorway intothe street.
With a bound, his face set in a mirthless grin, Taylor was after him,landing beyond him in the windrowed dust at the edge of the sidewalk,ready and willing to administer further punishment.