CHAPTER XXIX--THE CAPTIVE
Carrington's experiences with Taylor had not dulled the man's savageimpulses, nor had they cooled his feverish desire for the possession ofMarion Harlan. In his brain rioted the dark, unbridled passions of thoseprogenitors he had claimed in his talk with Parsons on the morning hehad throttled the little man in his rooms above the Castle.
For the moment he had postponed the real beginning of his campaign forthe possession of Dawes, his venomous hatred for Taylor and his passionfor the girl overwhelming his greed.
He had watched the departure of Keats and his men, a flush of exultationon his face, his eyes alight with fires that reflected the malignanthatred he felt. And when Keats and the others disappeared down the trailthat led to the Arrow, Carrington spent some time in Dawes. Shortlyafter noon he rode out the river trail toward the big house with two menthat he had engaged to set the interior in order.
Carrington had not seen the house since the fight with Taylor in thefront room, and the wreck and ruin that met his gaze as he stood in thedoor brought a sullen pout to his lips.
But he intended to exact heavy punishment for what had occurred at thebig house; and as he watched the men setting things to order--mendingthe doors and repairing the broken furniture--he drew mental picturesthat made his eyes flash with pleasure.
He felt that by this time Keats and his men should have settled withTaylor. After that, he, himself, would make the girl pay.
So he was having the house put in order, that it would again behabitable; and then, when that was done, and Taylor out of the way, hewould go to the Arrow after the girl. But before he went to the Arrow hewould await the return of Keats with the news that Taylor would nolonger be able to thwart him.
Never in his life had he met a man he feared as he feared Taylor. Therewas something about Taylor that made Carrington's soul shrivel. He knewwhat it was--it was his conviction of Taylor's absolute honorableness,as arrayed against his own beastly impulses. But that knowledge merelyserved to intensify his hatred for Taylor.
Toward evening Carrington rode back to Dawes with the men; and whilethere he sought news from Keats. Danforth, from whom he inquired, couldtell him nothing, and so Carrington knew that Taylor had not yet beendisposed of. But Carrington knew the time would not be long now; and ina resort of a questionable character he found two men who listenedeagerly to his proposals. Later, the two men accompanying him, he againrode to the big house.
And just as dusk began to settle over the big level at the foot of thelong slope--and while the last glowing light from the day still softlybathed the big house, throwing it into bold relief on the crest of itsflat-topped hill, Carrington was standing on the front porch,impatiently scanning the basin for signs of Keats and his men.
For a time he could distinguish little in the basin, for the mists oftwilight were heavy down there. And then a moving object far out in thebasin caught his gaze, and he leaned forward, peering intently, consumedwith eagerness and curiosity.
A few minutes later, still staring into the basin, Carrington becameaware that there were two moving objects. They were headed toward Dawes,and proceeding slowly; and at last, when they came nearer and he sawthey were two women, on horses, he stiffened and shaded his eyes withhis hands. And then he exclaimed sharply, and his eyes glowed withtriumph--for he had recognized the women as Marion Harlan and Martha.
Moving slowly, so that he might not attract the attention of the women,should they happen to be looking toward the big house, he went insideand spoke shortly to the two men he had brought with him.
An instant later the three, Carrington leading, rode into the timbersurrounding the house, filed silently through it, and with their horsesin a slow trot, sank down the long slope that led into the big basin.
For a time they were not visible, as they worked their way through thechaparral on a little level near the bottom of the slope; and then theycame into view again in some tall saccaton grass that grew as high asthe backs of their horses.
They might have been swimming in that much water, for all the sound theymade as they headed through the grass toward the Dawes trail, for theymade no sound, and only their heads and the heads of their horsesappeared above the swaying grass.
But they were seen. Martha, riding at a little distance behind Marion,and straining her eyes to watch the trail ahead, noted the movement inthe saccaton, and called sharply to the girl:
"They's somethin' movin' in that grass off to your right, honey! Itwouldn't be no cattle, heah; they's never no cattle round heah, fo' theyain't no water. Lawsey!" she exclaimed, as she got a clear view of them;"it's men!"
Marion halted her horse. Martha's voice had startled her, for she hadnot been thinking of the present; her thoughts had been centered onTaylor.
A shiver of trepidation ran over her, though, when she saw the men, andshe gathered the reins tightly in her hands, ready to wheel the animalunder her should the appearance of the men indicate the imminence ofdanger.
And when she saw that danger did indeed threaten, she spoke to the horseand turned it toward the back trail. For she had recognized one of thethree men as Carrington.
But the horse had not taken a dozen leaps before Carrington was besideher, his hand at her bridle. And as her horse came to a halt,Carrington's animal lunged against it, bringing the two riders closetogether. Carrington leaned over, his face close to hers; she could feelhis breath in her face as he laughed jeeringly, his voice vibrating withpassion:
"So it _is_ you, eh? I thought for a moment that I had made a mistake!"Holding to her horse's bridle-rein with a steady pull that kept thehorses close together, he spoke sharply to the two men who had haltednear Martha: "Get the nigger! I'll take care of this one!"
And instantly, with a brutal, ruthless strength and energy that took thegirl completely by surprise, Carrington threw a swift arm out, graspedher by the waist, drew her out of the saddle, and swung her into hisown, crosswise, so that she lay face up, looking at him.
She fought him then, silently, ferociously, though futilely. For hecaught her hands, using both his own, pinning hers so that she could notuse them, meanwhile laughing lowly at her efforts to escape.
Even in the dusk she could see the smiling, savage exultation in hiseyes; the gloating, vindictive triumph, and her soul revolted at thehorror in store for her, and the knowledge nerved her to another mightyeffort. Tearing her hands free, she fought him again, scratching hisface, striking him with all her force with her fists; squirming andtwisting, even biting one of his hands when it came close to her lips ashe essayed to grasp her throat, his eyes gleaming with ruthlessmalignance.
But her efforts availed little. In the end her arms were pinned again toher sides, and he pulled a rope from his saddle-horn and bound them.Then, as she lay back and glared at him, muttering imprecations thatbrought a mocking smile to his lips, he urged his horse forward, andsent it clattering up the slope, the two men following with Martha.