CHAPTER XXVIII--THE FUGITIVE
One thought dominated Marion Harlan's brain as she packed her belongingsinto the little handbag in her room at the Arrow--an overpowering,monstrous, hideous conviction that she had accepted charity from the manwho was accused of murdering her father! There was no room in her brainfor other thoughts or emotions; she was conscious of nothing but thehorror of it; of the terrible uncertainty that confronted her--of thedread that Taylor _might_ be guilty! She wanted to believe in him--she_did_ believe in him, she told herself as she packed the bag; she couldnot accept the word of Keats as final. And yet she could not stay at theArrow another minute--she could not endure the uncertainty. She must goaway somewhere--anywhere, until the charge were proved, or until shecould see Taylor, to look into his eyes, there to see his guilt orinnocence.
She felt that the charge could not be true; for Taylor had treated herso fairly; he had been so sympathetically friendly; he had seemed toshare her grief over her father's death, and he had seemed so sincere inhis declaration of his friendliness toward the man. He had even seemedto share her grief; and in the hallowed moments during which he hadstood beside her while she had looked into her father's room, he mighthave been secretly laughing at her!
And into her heart as she stood in the room, now, there crept a mightyshame--and the shadow of her mother's misconduct never came so close asit did now. For she, too, had violated the laws of propriety; and whatshe was receiving was not more than her just due. And yet, though shecould blame herself for coming to the Arrow, she could not excuseTaylor's heinous conduct if he were guilty.
And then, the first fierce passion burning itself out, there followedthe inevitable reaction--the numbing, staggering, sorrowing realizationof loss. This in turn was succeeded by a frenzied desire to go away fromthe Arrow--from everybody and everything--to some place where none ofthem would ever see her again.
She started toward the door, and met Parsons--who was looking for her.He darted forward when he saw her, and grasped her by the shoulders.
"What has happened?" he demanded.
She told him, and the man's face whitened.
"I was asleep, and heard nothing of it," he said. "So that man Keatssaid they had plenty of evidence! You are going away? I wouldn't, girl;there may have been a mistake. If I were you----"
Her glance of horror brought Parsons' protests to an end quickly. He,too, she thought, was under the spell of Taylor's magnetism. That, orevery person she knew was a prey to those vicious and fawning instinctsto which she had yielded--the subordination of principle to greed--ofease, or of wealth, or of place.
She shuddered with sudden repugnance.
For the first time she had a doubt of Parsons--a revelation of thatcharacter which he had always succeeded in keeping hidden from her. Shedrew away from him and walked to the door, telling him that _he_ mightstay, but that she did not intend to remain in the house another minute.
She found a horse in the stable--two, in fact--the ones Taylor hadinsisted belonged to her and Martha. She threw saddle and bridle onhers, and was mounting, when she saw Martha standing at the stable door,watching her.
"Yo' uncle says you goin' away, honey--how's that? An' he done saysomethin' about Mr. Squint killin' your father. Doan' you b'lieve nofool nonsense like that! Mr. Squint wouldn't kill nobody's father! Thatdeputy man ain't nothin' but a damn, no-good liar!"
Martha's vehemence was genuine, but not convincing; and the girl mountedthe horse, hanging the handbag from the pommel of the saddle.
"You's sure goin'!" screamed the negro woman, frantic with a dread thatshe was in danger of losing the girl for whom she had formed a deepaffection.
"You wait--you hear!" she demanded; "if you leave this house I's agoin', too!"
Marion waited until Martha led the other horse out, and then, with thenegro woman following, she rode eastward on the Dawes trail, not oncelooking back.
And not a word did she say to Martha as they rode into the space thatstretched to Dawes, for the girl's heart was heavy with self-accusation.
They stopped for an instant at Mullarky's cabin, and Mrs. Mullarky drewfrom the girl the story of the morning's happenings. And like Martha,Mrs. Mullarky had an abiding faith in Taylor's innocence. More--shescorned the charge of murder against him.
"Squint Taylor murder your father, child! Why, Squint Taylor thoughtmore of Larry Harlan than he does of his right hand. An' you ain't goin'to run away from him--for the very good reason that I ain't goin' to letyou! You're upset--that's what--an' you can't think as straight as youought to. You come right in here an' sip a cup of tea, an' take a rest.I'll put your horses away. If you don't want to stay at the Arrow whileTaylor, the judge, an' all the rest of them are pullin' the packin' outof that case, why, you can stay right here!"
Yielding to the insistent demands of the good woman, Marion meeklyconsented and went inside. And Mrs. Mullarky tried to make hercomfortable, and attempted to soothe her and assure her of Taylor'sinnocence.
But the girl was not convinced; and late in the afternoon, despite Mrs.Mullarky's protests, she again mounted her horse and, followed byMartha, set out toward Dawes, intending to take the first east-boundtrain out of the town, to ride as far as the meager amount of money inher purse would take her. And as she rode, the sun went down behind thebig hill on whose crest sat the big house, looming down upon the levelfrom its lofty eminence; and the twilight came, bathing the world withits somber promise of greater darkness to follow. But the darkness thatwas coming over the world could not be greater than that which reignedin the girl's heart.