'Drag' Harlan by Charles Alden Seltzer (easy to read books for adults list .txt) 📕

“Get goin’.”

Haydon’s smile grew less expansive.

“It’s a rather difficult subject to discuss. It rather seems to be none of my affair. But you will understand, being interested in Barbara’s future, and in the welfare of the ranch, why I am presuming to question you. What do you intend to do with the ranch?”

“Run it.”

“Of course,” smiled Haydon. “I mean, of course, to refer to the financial end of it. Miss Morgan will handle the money, I suppose.”

“You got orders from Miss Barbara to gas to me about the ranch?”

“Well, no, I can’t say that I have. But I have a natural desire to know.”

“I’ll be tellin’ her what I’m goin’ to do.”

Haydon smiled faintly. Twice, during the silence that followed Harlan’s reply, Haydon shifted his gaze from Harlan’s face to the ground between himself and the other, and then back again. It was plain to Haydon that he could proceed no farther in that direction without incurring the wrath that slumbered in Harlan’s heart, revealed by his narrowing eyes.

In Harlan’s heart was a bitter, savage passion. Hatred for this man, which had been aroused by Barbara’s reference to him, and intensified by his visit to the girl, had been made malignant by his appearance now in the rôle of inquisitor.

Jealousy, Harlan would not have admitted; yet the conviction that Haydon was handsome, and that women would like him—that no doubt Barbara already liked him—brought a cold rage to Harlan. He stood, during the momentary silence, his lips curving with contempt, his eyes glinting with a passion that was unmistakable to Haydon.

He stepped down from the doorway and walked slowly to Haydon, coming to a halt within a yard of him. His hands were hanging at his sides, his chin had gone a little forward; and in his manner was the threat that had brought a paralysis of fear to more than one man.

Yet, except for a slow stiffening of his muscles, Haydon betrayed no fear. There was a slight smile on his lips; his eyes met Harlan’s steadily and unblinkingly. In them was a glint of that mysterious humor which other men had seen in them.

“I know you’re lightning on the draw, Harlan,” he said, his faint smile fading a trifle. “I wouldn’t have a chance with you; I’m not a gun-fighter. For that reason I don’t want any disagreement with you. And I’ve heard enough about you to know that you don’t shoot unless the other fellow is out to ‘get’ you.

“We won’t have any trouble. Be fair. As the man who will ultimately take charge of the Rancho Seco—since Miss Barbara has been good enough to encourage me—I would like to know some things. I’ve heard that Lane Morgan was killed at Sentinel Rock, and that you were with him when he died—and just before. Did he give you authority to take charge of the Rancho Seco?”

“He told me to take hold.”

“A written order?”

“His word.”

“He said nothing else; there were no papers on him—nothing of value?”

Neither man had permitted his eyes to waver from the other’s since Harlan had advanced; and they now stood, with only the few feet of space between them, looking steadily at each other.

Harlan saw in Haydon’s eyes a furtive, stealthy gleam as of cupidity glossed over with a pretense of frank curiosity. He sensed greed in Haydon’s gaze, and knowledge of a mysterious quality.

Haydon knew something about Lane Morgan’s errand to Pardo; he knew why the man had started for Pardo, and what had been on his person at the time of his death.

Harlan was convinced of that; and the light in his eyes as he looked into Haydon’s reflected the distrust and the contempt he had for the man.

“What do you think Morgan had in his clothes?” he questioned suddenly.

A slow flush of color stole into Haydon’s cheeks, then receded, leaving him a trifle pale. He laughed, with a pretense of mockery.

“You ought to know,” he said, a snarl in his voice. “You must have searched him.”

Harlan grinned with feline mirthlessness. And he stepped back a little, knowledge and satisfaction in his eyes.

For he had “looked Haydon over,” following Morgan’s instructions. He had purposely permitted Haydon to question him, expecting that during the exchange of talk the man would say something that would corroborate the opinion that Harlan had instantly formed, that Haydon was not to be trusted.

And Haydon’s snarl; the cupidity in his eyes, and his ill-veiled eagerness had convinced Harlan.

Harlan did not resent Haydon’s manner; he was too pleased over his discovery that Haydon possessed traits of character that unfitted him for an alliance with Barbara. And it would be his business to bring those traits out, so that Barbara could see them unmistakably.

He laughed lowly, dropping his gaze to Haydon’s belt; to his right hand, which hung limply near his pistol holster; and to the woolen shirt, with the silk handkerchief at the throat sagging picturesquely.

His gaze roved over Haydon—insolently, contemptuously; his lips twitching with the grim humor that had seized him. And Haydon stood, not moving a muscle, undergoing the scrutiny with rigid body, with eyes that had become wide with a queer sensation of dread wonder that was stealing over him; and with a pallor that was slowly becoming ghastly.

For he had no doubt that at last he had unwittingly aroused the demon in Harlan, and that violence, which he had wished to avoid, was imminent.

But Harlan’s roving gaze, as he backed slightly away from Haydon, came to the breast-pocket of the man’s shirt. His gaze centered there definitely, his eyes narrowing, his muscles leaping a little.

For out of the pocket stretched a gold chain, broken, its upper end—where it entered the buttonhole of the shirt—fastened to the buttonhole with a rawhide thong, as though the gold section were not long enough to reach.

And the gold section of the chain was of the peculiar pattern of the section that Harlan had picked up on the desert near Sentinel Rock.