'Drag' Harlan by Charles Alden Seltzer (easy to read books for adults list .txt) đ
And now, convinced that the men had cornered an animal of some kind, and that they feared it too greatly to face it openly, the rider laughed loudly and called to the men, his voice freighted with sarcasm.
"Scared?" he said. "Oh, don't be. If you'll back off a little an' give him room, he'll just naturally slope, an' give you a chance to get to your cayuses."
Both men wheeled almost at the same instant. The man at the base of the rock snarled--after the first gasp of astonishment, baring his teeth in hideous mirth and embarrassment; the other man, startled and caught off ba
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He watched while the man unbuckled his cartridge belt and threw itâthe pistol still in the holsterâinto the sand at Purgatoryâs hoofs. Then he stepped to the man, sheathed one of his pistols, and ran the free hand over the otherâs clothing in search of other weapons. Finding none, he stooped and took up Dolverâs pistol and rifle that had fallen from the manâs hands when he had tumbled off the rock, throwing them near where the cartridge belt had fallen.
âYou freeze there while I take a look around this rock!â he commanded, with a cold look at the man.
Half a dozen steps took him around the base of the rock. He went boldly, though his muscles were tensed and his eyes alert for surprises. But he had not taken a dozen steps in all when he halted and stiffened, his lips setting into straight, hard lines.
For, stretched out on his left side in the sand close to the base of the rockâunder the flattened summit which had afforded him protection from the bullets the man with the rifle had been sending at himâwas a man.
The man was apparently about fifty, with a seamed, pain-lined face. His beard was stained with dust, his hair was gray with it; his clothing looked as though he had been dragged through it. He was hatless, and one of his boots was off. The foot had been bandaged with a handkerchief, and through the handkerchief the dark stains of a wound appeared.
The manâs shirt was open in front; and the rider saw that another wound gaped in his chest, near the heart. The man had evidently made some attempt to care for that wound, too, for a piece of cloth from his shirt had been cut away, to permit him to get at the wound easily.
The manâs left side seemed to be helpless, for the arm was twisted queerly, the palm of the hand turned limply upward; but when the rider came upon him the man was trying to tuck a folded paper into one of the cylinders of a pistol.
He had laid the weapon in the sand, and with his right hand was working with the cylinder and the paper. When he saw the rider he sneered and ceased working with the pistol, looking up into the riderâs face, his eyes glowing with defiance.
âNo chance for that even, eh?â he said, glancing at the paper and the pistol. âThings is goinâ plumb wrong!â
He sagged back, resting his weight on the right elbow, and looked steadily at the riderâthe look of a wounded animal defying his pursuers.
âGet goinâ!â he jeered. âDo your damnedest! I heard that sneak, Dolver, yappinâ to you. Youâre âDragâ Harlanâgun-fighter, outlaw, killer! Iâve heard of you,â he went on as he saw Harlan scowl and stiffen. âYour reputation has got all over. I reckon youâre in the game to salivate me.â
Harlan sheathed his gun.
âYouâre talkinâ extravagant, mister man.â And now he permitted a cold smile to wreathe his lips. âIf itâll do you any good to know,â he added, âIâve just put Dolver out of business.â
âI heard that, too,â declared the man, laughing bitterly. âI heard you tellinâ Dolver. He killed your partnerâor somethinâ. Thatâs personal, anâ I ainât interested. Get goinââthe sooner the better. If youâd hand it to me right now, Iâd be much obliged to you; for Iâm goinâ fast. This hole in my chestâwhich I got last night while I was sleepinââwill do the business without any help from you.â
After a pause for breath, the man began to speak again, railing at his would-be murderers. He was talking ramblingly when there came a sound from the opposite side of the rockâa grunt, a curse, and, almost instantly, a shriek.
The wounded man raised himself and threw a glance of startled inquiry at Harlan: âWhatâs that?â
Harlan watched the man steadily.
âI reckon thatâll be that man Laskar,â he said slowly. âI lifted his gun anâ his rifle, anâ Dolverâs gun, anâ throwed them under Purgatoryâmy horse. Laskar has tried to get them, anâ Purgatoryâs raised some objection.â
He stepped back and peered around the rock. Laskar was lying in the sand near the base of the rock, doubled up and groaning loudly, while Purgatory, his nostrils distended, his eyes ablaze, was standing over the weapons that lay in the sand, watching the groaning man malignantly.
Harlan returned to the wounded man, to find that he had collapsed and was breathing heavily.
For some minutes Harlan stood, looking down at him; then he knelt in the sand beside him and lifted his head. The manâs eyes were closed, and Harlan laid his head down again and examined the wound in his chest.
He shook his head as he got up, went to Purgatory, and got some water, which he used to wipe away the dust and blood which had become matted over the wound. He shook his head again after bathing the wound. The wound meant death for the man within a short time. Yet Harlan forced some water into the half-open mouth and bathed the manâs face with it.
For a long time after Harlan ceased to work with him the man lay in a stupor-like silence, limp and motionless, though his eyes opened occasionally, and by the light in them Harlan knew the man was aware of what he had been doing.
The sun was going now; it had become a golden, blazing ball which was sinking over the peaks of some distant mountains, its fiery rays stabbing the pale azure of the sky with brilliantly glowing shafts that threw off ever-changing seas of color that blended together in perfect harmony.
Harlan alternately watched the wounded man and Laskar.
Laskar was still groaning, and finally Harlan walked to him and pushed him with a contemptuous foot.
âGet up, you sneak!â he ordered. And Laskar, groaning, holding his chestâwhere Purgatoryâs hoofs had struck himâstaggered to his feet and looked with piteously pleading eyes at the big man who stood near him, unmoved by the spectacle of suffering he presented.
And when he found that Harlan gave him no sympathy, he cursed horribly. This drew a cold threat from Harlan.
âShut your rank mouth or Iâll turn Purgatory loose on youâagain. Lookinâ for sympathy, eh? How much sympathy did you give that hombre whoâs cashinâ in behind the rocks? Noneâdamn you!â
It was the first flash of feeling Harlan had exhibited, and Laskar shrank from him in terror.
But Harlan followed him, grasping him by a shoulder and gripping it with iron fingers, so that Laskar screamed with pain.
âWho is that man?â Harlan motioned toward the rock.
âLane Morgan. He owns the Rancho Secoâabout forty miles south of Lamo,â returned Laskar after a long look into Harlanâs eyes.
âWho set you guys onto himâwhat you wantinâ him for?â
âI donât know,â whined Laskar. âDay before yesterday Dolver anâ me meets up in Lamo, anâ Dolver asks me to help him give Morgan his pass-out checks on the ride over to Pardoâwhich Morganâs intendinâ to make. I ainât got any love for Morgan, anâ so I took Dolver up.â
âYouâre a liar!â
Harlanâs fingers were sinking into Laskarâs shoulder again, and once more the man screamed with pain and impotent fury.
âI swearââ began Laskar.
Harlanâs grin was bitterly contemptuous. He placed the other hand on Laskarâs shoulder and forced the man to look into his eyes.
âYouâre a liar, but Iâm lettinâ you off. Youâre a sneak with Greaser blood in you. I donât ever want to see you again. Iâm goinâ to Lamoâsoon as this man Morgan cashes in. Iâll be there some time tomorrow. Lamo wouldnât please me none if I was to find you there when I ride in. You slope, nowâanâ keep on hittinâ the breeze until there ainât no more of it. Iâd blow you apart if this man Morgan was anything to me. But it ainât my game unless I see you again.â
He watched until Laskar, still holding his chest, walked to where the two horses were concealed, and mounted one of them. When Laskar, leaning over the pommel of the saddle, had grown dim in the haze that was settling over the desert, Harlan scowled and returned to the wounded man.
To his astonishment, Morgan was consciousâand a cold calmness seemed to have come over him. His eyes were filled with a light that told of complete knowledge and resignation. He half smiled as Harlan knelt beside him.
âIâm about due, I reckon,â he said. âI heard you talkinâ to the man you just let get away. It donât make any differenceâabout him. I reckon he was just a tool, anyway. Thereâs someone behind this bigger than Dolver anâ that man Laskar. He didnât tell you?â
Harlan shook his head negatively, watching the other intently.
âI didnât reckon he would,â said Morgan. âBut thereâs somebody.â He gazed long into Harlanâs face, and the latter gazed steadily back at him. He seemed to be searching Harlanâs face for signs of character.
Harlan stood the probing glance wellâso that at last Morgan smiled, saying slowly: âItâs funnyâdamned funny. About faces, I mean. Your reputationâitâs bad. Iâve been hearinâ about you for a couple of years now. Anâ Iâve been lookinâ at you anâ tryinâ to make myself say, âYes, heâs the kind of a guy which would do the things they say heâs done.â
âI canât make myself say it; I canât even make myself think it. Either youâre a mighty good actor, or youâre the worst-judged man I ever met. Which is it?â
âMostly all of us get reputations we donât deserve,â said Harlan lowly.
Morganâs eyes gleamed with satisfaction. âMeaninâ that you donât deserve yours?â he said.
âI reckon thereâs been a heap of lyinâ goinâ on about me.â
For a long time Morgan watched the other, studying him. The long twilight of the desert descended and found themâMorgan staring at Harlan; the latter enduring the gazeâfor he knew that the end would not long be delayed.
At last Morgan sighed.
âWell,â he said, âIâve got to take a chance on you. Anâ, somehow, it seems to me that I ainât takinâ much of a chance, either. For a man thatâs supposed to be the hell-raisinâ outlaw that folks say you are, youâve got the straightest eyes I ever seen. Iâve seen killersâanâ outlaws, anâ gun-fighters, anâ I never seen one that could look at a man like youâve looked at me. Harlan,â he went on slowly, âIâm goinâ to tell you about some gold Iâve hidâa hundred thousand dollars!â
Keenly, suspicion lurking deep in his eyes, his mouth half open, seemingly ready to snap shut the instant he detected greed or cupidity in Harlanâs eyes, he watched the latter.
It seemed that he expected Harlan to betray a lust for the gold he had mentioned; and he was ready to close his lips and to die with his secret. And when he saw that apparently Harlan was unmoved, that he betrayed, seemingly, not the slightest interest, that even his eyelids did not flicker at his words, nor his face change colorâMorgan drew a tremulous sigh.
âYouâve got me guessinâ,â he confessed weakly. âI donât know whether youâre a devil or a saint.â
âI ainât claiminâ nothinâ,â said Harlan. âAnâ I ainât carinâ a damn about your gold. Iâd a heap rather you wouldnât mention it. More than one man has busted his character chasinâ that rainbow.â
âYou ainât interested?â demanded Morgan.
âNot none.â
Morganâs eyes glowed with an eager light. For now that Harlan betrayed lack of interest, Morgan was convincedâalmostâthat the manâs reputation for committing evil deeds had been exaggerated.
âYouâve got to be interested,â he declared, lifting himself on his good arm and leaning toward Harlan. âIt ainât the gold that is botherinâ me so much, anywayâitâs my daughter.
âItâs all my own fault, too,â he went on when he saw Harlanâs eyes quicken. âIâve felt all along that somethinâ was wrong, but I didnât have sense
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