'Drag' Harlan Part 29

For a s.p.a.ce--while one might have counted ten--neither man moved a muscle. Something in Harlan's manner sent into Latimer's frenzied brain the message that all was not what it seemed--that Harlan was meditating some astonis.h.i.+ng action. Ten seconds is not long, as times goes, but during that slight interval the taut nerves of Latimer's were tw.a.n.ged with a torturing doubt that began to creep over him.

Would Harlan never make that move? That question was dinned insistently into Latimer's ears. He began to believe that Harlan did not intend to draw.

And then----

"Ah!"

It was Latimer's lungs that breathed the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

For Harlan's right hand had moved slightly upward, toward the pistol at his right hip. It went only a few inches; it was still far below the holster when Latimer's clawlike fingers descended to the b.u.t.t of his own weapon. The thought that he would beat Harlan in a fair draw was in his mind--that he would beat him despite the confusion of the hesitating motion with which Harlan got his gun out.

Something was happening, though--something odd and unexplainable. For though Latimer had seemed to have plenty of time, he was conscious that Harlan's gun was belching fire and death at him. He saw the smoke streaks, felt the bullets striking him, searing their way through him, choking him, weakening his knees.

He went down, his eyes wide with incredulity, filling with hideous self-derision when he saw that the pistol which had sent his death to him was not in Harlan's right hand at all, but in his left.

Harlan got up slowly as Latimer stretched out in the dust at his feet--casting one swift glance at the fallen man to satisfy himself that for _him_ the incident was ended. Then, with the gaze of every man in the outfit upon him, he strode toward the stable, where Lanky and Poggs were standing, having witnessed the death of their confederate.

They stiffened to immobility as they watched Harlan's approach, knowing that for them the incident was not closed--their guilt plain in their faces.

And when Harlan halted in front of them they stood, not moving a muscle, their eyes searching Harlan's face for signs that they too, were to receive a demonstration of the man's uncanny cleverness.

"You was backin' Latimer's play," said Harlan, shortly. "I'm aimin' to play the string out. Pull--or I'll blow you apart!"

Poggs and Lanky did not "pull." They stood there, ghastly color stealing into their faces, their eyes wide with the knowledge that death would be the penalty of a hostile movement.

Harlan's pistol was again in its holster, and yet they had no desire to provoke the man to draw it. The furtive gleam in the eyes of both revealed the hope that gripped them--that some of the watchers would interfere.

But not a man moved. Most of them had been stunned by the rapidity of Harlan's action--by the deftness with which he had brought his left hand into use. They had received the practical demonstration for which they all had longed, and each man's manner plainly revealed his decision to take no part in what was transpiring.

They remained in their places while Harlan--understanding that Poggs and Lanky would not accept his invitation--spoke gruffly to them:

"This camp ain't got any room for skunks that go to framin' up on any of the boys. Today you done it to me--tomorrow you'd try to pull it off on some other guy.

"You're travelin'--p.r.o.nto. You're gettin' your cayuses. Then you're hittin' the breeze away from here--an' not comin' back. That lets you out. Mosey!"

He stood watchful, alert, while the men roped their horses, got their "war-bags," from the bunkhouse, mounted, and rode away without looking back. Then he walked over to the bench where he had been sitting when Rogers had warned him of the plan to kill him; ordered several of the men to take Latimer's body away, and then resumed his place on the bench, where he rolled a cigarette.

Later, when the men who had gone with Latimer's body returned to the vicinity of the ranchhouse, Harlan was still sitting on the bench.

No man said a word to him, but he saw a new respect in the eyes of all of them--even in Rogers' gaze--which had not strayed from him for an instant during the trouble.

And a little later, when Rogers walked to the bench and sat beside him, the other men had resumed their various pastimes as though nothing had happened.

Again Rogers whispered to him, lowly, admiringly:

"This camp is yours, man, whenever you say the word!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE BLACK-BEARDED MAN

It was Strom Rogers who indicated to the outlaws at the Star that henceforth Harlan was to exercise authority of a kind that had formerly been vested in Haydon and Deveny.

The corral was packed to suffocation with cattle, threatening the health of the animals; Deveny had sent no word from the Cache regarding the disposal of the stock, and Haydon's whereabouts were unknown.

Rogers had moved stock on his own initiative in former days--for he had been an able a.s.sistant to both leaders. And Rogers could have moved the stock out of the corral and to the point far south where the outlaws had always sold them.

But there was malice in Rogers' heart toward the two outlaw leaders, and a perverse devil lurked in him. For many months he had wors.h.i.+ped Barbara Morgan from a distance, vaguely aware that his pa.s.sion for her could never be realized. But there was a spark of honesty and justice in Rogers despite his profession, and a sincere admiration for the girl that admitted of no thought of evil toward her.

He had almost betrayed his resentment to Deveny when in Lamo, on the day of the coming of Harlan, Deveny had boldly announced his intentions toward the girl; and it had been a dread of clas.h.i.+ng with Deveny that had kept him from interfering. The will to protect the girl had been in Rogers' mind, but he lacked the physical courage to risk his life for her.

This man who had boldly entered the outlaw camp, after first defying Deveny in Lamo, had made a stirring appeal to the good in Rogers; and he foresaw that trouble, in which Harlan had a chance to emerge victorious, was certain. And he had decided to align himself with the Pardo gunman.

Therefore, on this morning, when it was certain that the cattle in the corral must be moved, he deliberately refused to exercise his prerogative. Instead, he waited until after breakfast--when the men were congregated outside the bunkhouse door--when he was certain they would all hear him.

Harlan had come out, too. He had not visited the Rancho Seco for more than a week, fearing that his absence might jeopardize the advantage he had gained over the men through the killing of Latimer.

With the attention of all the men centered upon him, Rogers walked close to Harlan, speaking loudly:

"Them cattle ought to hit the trail, Harlan. It's up to you--you're the boss. Do we move 'em--an' where?"

A comprehensive light gleamed in Harlan's eyes.

"They move," he said shortly. "Drive them where you've been drivin'

them."

As though he had been giving orders to the outlaws all his life, he briskly mentioned the names of the men who were to form the trail herd.

Not a man dissented. Those whose names were called quickly detached themselves from the group, and sought the horse corral; where they roped their horses and began to make preparations to obey Harlan's order. And later, when the cattle were driven out of the corral, and the trail herd crew straggled behind them over the level that led southward, the men were grinning.

For Harlan had told them that their share of the spoils resulting from the sale of the cattle was to be materially increased. He had likewise told them that they might spend an extra day in "town" before their return.

Only one man besides Harlan remained at the Star after the herd vanished into the southern distance. That man was the black-bearded fellow who had escorted Harlan to the ranchhouse on the occasion of his first visit--Lafe Woodward.

This man's admiration for Harlan had never been concealed. He had stayed as close to Harlan as possible; and from his manner Harlan had divined that the man was eager to ingratiate himself.

Woodward stood near Harlan as the herd and the men vanished. He had grinned widely when, just before the outfit had departed, he had heard Rogers whisper to Harlan:

"You've made yourself solid with the bunch, for sure, by offerin' 'em a bigger divvy. They've been grumblin' about it for a long time. They're all sore at Haydon an' Deveny for bein' greedy. But you're sure cookin'

up a heap of trouble with Haydon an' Deveny!"

Harlan grinned with grim mirthlessness. It had been his first opportunity to stir up dissension and strife in the outlaw camp, and he had taken instant advantage of it. He had created factional feeling, and he was prepared to accept the consequences.

And, later in the day, when he saw Haydon ride in, dismount and cast a surprised glance at the empty corral, he knew that the moment for which he had planned, had come.