CHAPTER VIII--CONCERNING "SQUINT"
Marion Harlan had responded eagerly to Carrington's fabricationregarding the rumor of Lawrence Harlan's presence in Dawes. Carrington'sreference to her father's sojourn in the town had been vague--he merelytold her that a rumor had reached him--a man's word, withoutdetails--and she had accepted it at its face value. She was impatient torun the rumor down, to personally satisfy herself, and she believedCarrington.
But she spent a fruitless week interrogating people in Dawes. She hadgone to the courthouse, there to pass long hours searching therecords--and had found nothing. Then, systematically, she had gone fromstore to store--making small purchases and quizzing everyone she came incontact with. None had known a man named Harlan; it seemed that not oneperson in Dawes had ever heard of him.
Parsons had returned to town in the buckboard shortly after noon on theday of their arrival at the new house, and she had not seen him againuntil the following morning. Then he had told her that Carrington hadgone away--he did not know where. Carrington would not return for a weekor two, he inferred.
Parsons had bought some horses. A little bay, short-coupled but wiry,belonged to her, Parsons said--it was a present from Carrington.
She hesitated to accept the horse; but the little animal won her regardby his affectionate mannerisms, and at the end of a day of doubt andindecision she accepted him.
She had ridden horses in Westwood--bareback when no one had beenlooking, and with a side-saddle at other times--but she discovered noside-saddle in Dawes. However, she did encounter no difficulty inunearthing a riding-habit with a divided skirt, and though she got intothat with a pulse of trepidation and embarrassment, she soon discoveredit to be most comfortable and convenient.
And Dawes did not stare at her because she rode "straddle." At first shewas fearful, and watched Dawes's citizens furtively; but when she sawthat she attracted no attention other than would be attracted by anygood-looking young woman in more conventional attire, she felt more atease. But she could not help thinking about the sanctimoniousinhabitants of Westwood. Would they not have declared their kindlypredictions vindicated had they been permitted to see her? She couldalmost hear the chorus of "I-told-you-so's"--they rang in her ears overa distance of many hundreds of miles!
But the spirit of the young, unfettered country had got into her soul,and she went her way unmindful of Westwood's opinions.
For three days she continued her search for tidings of her father, eagerand hopeful; and then for the remainder of the week she did hersearching mechanically, doggedly, with a presentiment of failure toharass her.
And then one morning, when she was standing beside her horse near thestable door, ready to mount and fully determined to pursue theCarrington rumor to the end, the word she sought was brought to her.
She saw a horseman coming toward her from the direction of Dawes. He wasnot Parsons--for the rider was short and broad; and besides, Parsons wasspending most of his time in Dawes.
The girl watched the rider, assured, as he came nearer, that he was astranger; and when he turned his horse toward her, and she saw he _was_a stranger, she leaned close and whispered to her own animal:
"Oh, Billy; what if it _should_ be!"
An instant later she was watching the stranger dismount within a fewfeet of where she was standing.
He was short and stocky, and undeniably Irish. He was far past middleage, as his gray hair and seamed wrinkles of his face indicated; butthere was the light of a youthful spirit and good-nature in his eyesthat squinted at the girl with a quizzical interest.
With the bridle-rein in the crook of his elbow and his hat in his hand,he bowed elaborately to the girl.
"Would ye be Miss Harlan, ma'am?" he asked.
"Yes," she breathed, her face alight with eagerness, for now since theman had spoken her name the presentiment of news grew stronger.
The man's face flashed into a wide, delighted grin and he reached out ahand, into which she placed one of hers, hardly knowing that she did it.
"Me name's Ben Mullarky, ma'am. I've got a little shack down on theRabbit-Ear--which is a crick, for all the name some locoed ignoramusgive it. You c'ud see the shack from here, ma'am--if ye'd look sharp."
He pointed out a spot to her--a wooded section far out in the big levelcountry southward, beside the river--and she saw the roof of a buildingnear the edge of the timber.
"That's me shack," offered Mullarky. "Me ol' woman an' meself ownsher--an' a quarter-section--all proved. We call it seven miles from theshack to Dawes. That'd make it about three from here."
"Yes, yes," said the girl eagerly.
He grinned at her. "Comin' in to town this mornin' for some knickknacksfor me ol' woman, I hear from Coleman--who keeps a store--that there's afine-lookin' girl named Harlan searchin' the country for news of herfather, Larry Harlan. I knowed him, ma'am."
"You did? Oh, how wonderful!" She stood erect, breathing fast, her eyesglowing with mingled joy and impatience. She had not caught thesignificance of Mullarky's picturesque past tense, "knowed;" but when herepeated it, with just a slight emphasis:
"I _knowed_ him, ma'am," she drew a quick, full breath and her facewhitened.
"You knew him," she said slowly. "Does that mean----"
Mullarky scratched his head and looked downward, not meeting her eyes.
"Squint Taylor would tell you the story, ma'am," he said. "You see,ma'am, he worked for Squint, an' Squint was with him when it happened."
"He's dead, then?" She stood rigid, tense, searching Mullarky's facewith wide, dreading eyes, and when she saw his gaze shift under hers shedrew a deep sigh and leaned against Billy, covering her face with herhands.
Mullarky did not attempt to disturb her; he stood, looking glumly ather, reproaching himself for his awkwardness in breaking the news toher.
It was some minutes before she faced him again, and then she was paleand composed, except for the haunting sadness that had come into hereyes.
"Thank you," she said. "Can you tell me where I can find Mr.Taylor--'Squint,' you called him? Is that the Taylor who was electedmayor--last week?"
"The same, ma'am." He turned and pointed southward, into the big, levelcountry that she admired so much.
"Do you see that big timber grove 'way off there--where the crickdoubles to the north--with that big green patch beyond?" She nodded."That's Taylor's ranch--the Arrow. You'll find him there. He's a mightyfine man, ma'am. Larry Harlan would tell you that if he was here. Taylorwas the best friend that Larry Harlan ever had--out here." He looked ather pityingly. "I'm sorry, ma'am, to be the bearer of ill news; but whenI heard you was in town, lookin' for your father, I couldn't help comin'to see you."
She asked some questions about her father--which Mullarky answered;though he could tell her nothing that would acquaint her with thedetails of her father's life between the time he had left Westwood andthe day of his appearance in this section of the world.
"Mebbe Taylor will know, ma'am," he repeated again and again. And then,when she thanked him once more and mounted her horse, he said:
"You'll be goin' to see Squint right away, ma'am, I suppose. You canease your horse right down the slope, here, an' strike the level. You'llfind a trail right down there. You'll follow it along the crick, an'it'll take you into the Arrow ranchhouse. It'll take you past me ownshack, too; an' if you'll stop in an' tell the ol' woman who you are,she'll be tickled to give you a snack an' a cup of tea. She liked Larryherself."
The girl watched Mullarky ride away. He turned in the saddle, atintervals, to grin at her.
Then, when Mullarky had gone she leaned against Billy and stood for along time, her shoulders quivering.
At last, though, she mounted the little animal and sent him down theslope.
She found the trail about which Mullarky had spoken, and rode itsteadily; though she saw little of the wild, virgin country throughwhich she passed, because her brimming eyes blurred it all.
She came at last to Mullarky's s
hack, and a stout, motherly woman, withan ample bosom and a kindly face, welcomed her.
"So you're Larry Harlan's daughter," said Mrs. Mullarky, when herinsistence had brought the girl inside the cabin; "you poor darlin'. An'Ben told you--the blunderin' idiot. He'll have a piece of my mind whenhe comes back! An' you're stoppin' at the old Huggins house, eh?" Shelooked sharply at the girl, and the latter's face reddened. Whereat Mrs.Mullarky patted her shoulder and murmured:
"It ain't your fault that there's indacint women in the world; an' notaint of them will ever reach you. But the fools in this world is alwayswaggin' their tongues, associatin' what's happened with what they thinkwill happen. An' mebbe they'll wonder about you. It's your uncle that'sthere with you, you say? Well, then, don't you worry. You run rightalong to see Squint Taylor, now, an' find out what he knows about yourfather. Taylor's a mighty fine man, darlin'."
And so Marion went on her way again, grateful for Mrs. Mullarky'skindness, but depressed over the knowledge that the atmosphere ofsuspicion, which had enveloped her in Westwood, had followed her intothis new country which, she had hoped, would have been more friendly.
She came in sight of the Arrow ranchhouse presently, and gazed at itadmiringly. It was a big building, of adobe brick, with a wide porch--orgallery--entirely surrounding it. It was in the center of a big space,with timber flanking it on three sides, and at the north was a greenstretch of level that reached to the sloping banks of a river.
There were several smaller buildings; a big, fenced enclosure--thecorrals, she supposed; a pasture, and a garden. Everything was inperfect order, and had it not been for the aroma of the sage thatassailed her nostrils, the awe-inspiring bigness of it all, the sight ofthousands of cattle--which she could see through the trees beyond theclearing, she could have likened the place to a big eastern farmhouse ofthe better class, isolated and prosperous.
She dismounted from her horse at a corner of the house, near a door thatopened upon the wide porch, and stood, pale and hesitant, looking at thedoor, which was closed.
And as she stared at the door, it swung inward and Quinton Taylorappeared in the opening.
The Ranchman Page 8