'Drag' Harlan. Charles Alden Seltzer

      “Coming here, eh?” he said evenly. “So he said that. Did he mention what he was coming for?”

      “He didn’t mention,” replied Laskar.

      “So he downed Dolver. Did he say what for?”

      “Said Dolver had shot up his partner, Davey Langan—back in Pardo. Harlan was evenin’ up.”

      “What do you know about Harlan?”

      The question was addressed to all of them.

      Rogers answered.

      “He’s a bad guy—all bad. He’s an iceberg, an’ he’s got the snakiest gun-hand of any man in the country. Draws hesitatin’-like. A man don’t know when he’s goin’ to uncork his smoke-wagons. I seen him put Lefty Blandin’ out. He starts for his guns, an’ then kind of stops, trickin’ the other guy into goin’ for his. Then, before the other guy can get his gun to workin’, Harlan’s stickin’ his away, an’ the guy’s ready for the mourners.

      “Harlan got his handle that way. He goes for his guns so slow an’ hesitatin’ that he seems to drag ’em out. But some way he’s always shootin’ first. An’ they always let him off because it’s mighty plain that the other guy tried to draw first.”

      “I’ve heard that,” said Deveny slowly. “What’s his record?”

      “Plays her a lone hand,” returned Rogers. He watched the other steadily.

      Deveny toyed with a glass as he gazed out of the window. There was a cold, sullen gleam in his eyes when he finally looked at Laskar.

      “You said Harlan told you he was coming here as soon as Morgan cashed in. According to that, Morgan must have been hit bad.”

      “The Chief said he bored him plenty. An’ me an’ Dolver must have got him some.”

      “You didn’t get a chance to search Morgan?”

      “No chance—he fit like a hyena; an’ when he got behind that damned rock there was no way of gettin’ at him.”

      “Then,” said Deveny, “according to what you say, Harlan will come here as soon as Morgan dies. And when you left there Morgan was in a bad way. Harlan is due most any time, then.”

      “That’s the way I figger,” agreed Laskar.

      And now Laskar fidgeted. “I aim to be hittin’ the breeze now—before Harlan hits town. This climate is gettin’ unhealthy for me. Harlan give me notice.”

      “To leave town?”

      It was Deveny who spoke. There was a snarl in his voice; he leaned forward and scowled at Laskar.

      Laskar nodded.

      Rogers cleared his throat, and Lawson moved his feet uneasily.

      Deveny’s scowl faded; he grinned coldly.

      “Giving orders—is he?” he snapped. “Well, we’ll see.” He laughed. “When Harlan hits town it will be a sign that old Morgan’s crossed the Divide. Well, there was no witnesses to Morgan’s cashing in, and one man’s word is as good as another’s in this country.”

      “Meanin’?” questioned Rogers, noting the light in Deveny’s eyes.

      “Meaning that Laskar is going—right now—to whisper into Sheriff Gage’s ear that he saw our friend, ‘Drag’ Harlan, killing old Morgan.”

      Rogers got to his feet, grinning. The gleam in his eyes indicated that he felt some relief over the prospect presented by Deveny’s suggestion.

      “Of course we ain’t sure Harlan means to make trouble here,” he told Deveny; “but it’s just as well to shove him off onto the sheriff.”

      The four men walked to the front door of the First Chance, after pausing for a few minutes at the bar.

      Outside, halting for an instant on the board platform in front of the saloon, Rogers, who had been the first to emerge, started as he glanced toward the desert, and then stood rigid, shading his hands with his eyes against the sun that poured into his face.

      “He’s comin’ now!” he said.

      Deveny and the others also looked into the blinding glare of the sun—likewise shading their eyes. And they saw, far out upon the vast sea of sand—yet not so far that they could not distinguish objects—a black horse coming steadily toward them.

      Deveny was strangely silent, glowering toward the desert; Rogers folded his arms and faced the oncoming rider and the somber-coated animal he bestrode; Lawson scowled; and Laskar nervously estimated the distance that stretched between himself and the steady-eyed man who had told him certain things in a voice that had been entirely convincing.

CHAPTER V

       Table of Contents

A PRISON

       Table of Contents

      Barbara Morgan had not been able to sleep except by fits and starts. A dozen times during the night she had caught herself on the verge of sinking into deep slumber, and each time she had got up and washed her eyes with some water from a pitcher on the bureau, determined that she would not take any chances of permitting Deveny to surprise her.

      When the dawn came she was haggard and tired; and she got up listlessly, combed her hair, and washed her face, and dragged away the pieces of furniture that had formed the barricade at the door.

      She felt more secure with the dawn, and when the sunlight began to stream into the east windows she opened the door of the room, descended the stairs, and took a short walk to the edge of town.

      Returning, she saw a man arrayed in overalls, boots, a blue woolen shirt, and broad felt hat, standing in the doorway of the stable that, she felt, belonged to the Eating-House. Sight of the stable brought to her thoughts of her horse—Billy—and she decided to determine if the man who had taken charge of him had put him into the stable.

      She paused before the door, directly in front of the man, who did not move aside to permit her to enter.

      She thought at first that he was not aware of her desire—until she observed an amused light in his eyes; and then she knew that he was purposely barring her way.

      “This is the Eating-House stable, I suppose?” she inquired quietly.

      “You’re supposin’ is a heap correct, ma’am,” grinned the man.

      “Well,” she said, “if you will kindly step aside I shall see if my horse is all right.”

      “Your horse is all right, ma’am,” returned the man. “I’ve just fed him.”

      Irritated by his attitude, she spoke sharply:

      “Step aside, please; I am going into the stable!”

      The man grinned widely. “It’s ag’in’ orders, ma’am; you’ll have to stay out.”

      “Whose orders?”

      “Deveny’s. You ain’t to go into the stable.”

      She hesitated, afflicted with a queer sensation of weakness and indecision.

      It was her fear of Deveny, she supposed, that made her feel that way, together with the conviction that Deveny must have known that she had been in the room next to the one he had taken, even before he had ascended the stairs. It seemed to her that this deliberate interference with her must be inspired by evil intentions, and for an instant panic overtook her.