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I happen to be a friend of Miss Morgan’s, and I’d like to talk with you about the Rancho Seco.”

“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 rîle 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.

CHAPTER XVI DEEP WATER

Despite his conviction that he stood in the presence of the mysterious “Chief” of whom he had heard much, Harlan’s expression did not change. There was a new interest added to it, and a deeper glow in his eyes. But he gave no outward evidence of surprise.

“I reckon I searched him,” he said, answering Haydon’s charge. “If I found anything on him I’m turnin’ it over to Barbara Morgan—or hangin’ onto it. That’s my business.”

Haydon laughed, for Harlan’s voice had broken the tension that had come with the interval of threatening silence.

Since he could not induce Harlan to divulge anything of interest there was nothing to do but to withdraw as gracefully as possible. And he backed away, smiling, saying placatively:

“No offense intended, Harlan. I was merely curious on Barbara’s account.” He mounted his horse, urged it along the corral fence, and sent back a smiling:

“So-long.”

Motionless, still standing where he had stood when Haydon climbed on his horse, Harlan watched while the man rode the short distance to the house. At the corner around which he had appeared some minutes before, Haydon brought his horse to a halt, waved a hand—at Barbara, Harlan supposed—and then rode on, heading westward toward Sunset Trail.

Harlan watched him until he had penetrated far into the big valley; then he turned, slowly, and sought Red Linton—finding him in the blacksmith-shop.

Later in the day—after Harlan and Linton had talked long, standing in the door of the blacksmith-shop—Linton mounted his horse and rode to where Harlan stood.

Linton was prepared for a long ride. Folded in the slicker that was strapped to the cantle of his saddle was food; he carried his rifle in the saddle sheath, and a water-bag bulged above the horse’s withers.

“You won’t find all the T Down boys yearnin’ to bust into this ruckus,” Harlan said as he stood near Linton’s horse as Linton grinned down at him; “but there’ll be some. Put it right up to them that it ain’t goin’ to be no pussy-kitten job, an’ that it’s likely some of them won’t ever see the T Down again. But to offset that, you can tell ’em that if we make good, the Rancho Seco will owe them a heap—an’ they’ll get what’s comin’ to them.”

He watched while Linton rode eastward over the big level; then he grinned and walked to the ranchhouse, going around the front and standing in the wide gateway where he saw Barbara sitting on a bench in the patio, staring straight ahead, meditatively, unaware that he was standing in the gateway, watching her.

Harlan watched the girl for a long time—until she turned and saw him. Then she blushed and stood up, looking at him in slight wonderment as he came toward her and stood within a few feet of her.

On Harlan’s face was a slow, genial grin.

“Sunnin’ yourself, eh?” he said. “Well, it’s a mighty nice day—not too hot. Have you knowed him long?”

The startling irrelevance of the question caused Barbara to gaze sharply at Harlan, and when their eyes met she noted that his were twinkling with a light that she could not fathom. She hated him when she could not understand him.

“Mr. Haydon, do you mean?” she questioned, a sudden coldness in her voice.

Harlan nodded.

“A little more than a year, I think. It was just after I returned from school, at Denver.”

He watched her, saying lowly:

“So it was Denver. I’d been wonderin’. I knowed it must have been some place. Schoolin’ is a thing that I never had time to monkey with—I reckon my folks didn’t believe a heap in ’em.”

“You’ve lived in the West all your life—you were born in the West, I suppose?”

He looked keenly at her. “I expect you knowed that without askin’. I’ve been wonderin’ if it would have made any difference.”

“How?”

“In me. Do you think an education makes a man act different—gives him different ideas about his actions—in his dealin’s with women, for instance?”

“I expect it does. Education should make a man more considerate of women—it is refining.”

“Then you reckon a man that ain’t had any education is coarse, an’ don’t know how to treat a woman?”

“I didn’t say that; I said education should make a man treat women that way.”

“But it don’t always?”

“I think not. I have known men—well educated men—who failed to treat women as they should be treated.”

“Then that ain’t what you might call a hard-an’-fast rule—it don’t always work. An’ there’s hope for any man who ain’t had schoolin’—if he’s wantin’ to be a man.”

“Certainly.”

“But an educated man can’t claim ignorance when he aims to mistreat a woman. That’s how it figures up, ain’t it?”

She laughed. “It would seem to point to that conclusion.”

“So you’ve knowed Haydon about a year? I reckon he’s educated?”

“Yes.” She watched him closely, wondering at his meaning—why he had brought Haydon’s name into the discussion. She was marveling at the subtle light in his eyes.

“Your father liked Haydon—he told me Haydon was the only square man in the country—besides himself an’ Sheriff Gage.”

“Father liked Haydon. I’m beginning to believe you really did have a talk with father before he died!”

He smiled. “Goin’ back to Haydon. I had a talk with him a little while ago. I sort of took a shine to him.” He drew from a pocket the section of gold chain he had found on the desert, holding it out to her.

“Here’s a piece of Haydon’s watch chain,” he said slowly, watching her face. “The next time Haydon comes to see you, give it to him, tellin’ him I found it. It’s likely he’ll ask you where I found it. But you can say I wasn’t mentionin’.”

He turned, looking back over his

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