An early moon stuck a pallid rim over the crest of the big, hill-like
plateau as Parsons sat on his horse in the basin, and Parsons watched
it rise in its silvery splendor and bathe the world with an effulgent
glow. It threw house and timber on the plateau crest in bold relief, a
dark silhouette looming against a flood of shimmering light, and
Parsons could see the porch he knew so well, and could even
distinguish the break in the timber that led to the house, which
merged into the trail that stretched to Dawes.
Parsons was still laboring with the devils of indecision and doubt. He
knew why Carrington had captured Marion, and he yearned to take the
girl from the manfor her own sake, and for the purpose of satisfying
his vengeance. But he knew that certain death awaited him up there
should he venture to show himself to Carrington. And yet a certain
desperate courage stole into Parsons as he watched from the basin, and
when, about half an hour after he had seen the flicker of light filter
out of one of the windows of the house, he saw a man emerge, mount a
horse, and ride away, he drew a deep breath of resolution and urged
his own horse up the slope. For the man who had mounted the horse up
there was Carringtonthere could be no doubt of that.
Shivering, though still obeying the courageous impulse that had seized
him, Parsons continued to ascend the slope. He went half way and then
halted, listening. No sound disturbed the solemn stillness that had
followed Carringtons departure.
Reassured, though by this time he was sweating coldly, Parsons
accomplished the remainder of the intervening space upward. Far back
in the timber he brought his horse to a halt, dismounted, and again
listened. Hearing nothing that alarmed him, except a loud, angry voice
from the rear of the housea voice which he knew as Marthashe
cautiously made his way to the front porch, tiptoed across it, and
peered stealthily into the room out of which the light still shone,
its flickering rays stabbing weakly into the outside darkness.
Looking into the room, Parsons could see Marion sitting in a chair.
Her hands were bound, and she was leaning back in the chair, her hair
disheveled, her face chalk-white, and her eyes filled with a haunting,
terrible dread. Near the door, likewise seated on a chair, his back to
the big room that adjoined the one in which he sat, was a
villainous-looking man who was watching the girl with a leering grin.
The sight brought a murderous passion into Parsons heart, nerving him
for the deed that instantly suggested itself to him. He crept off the
porch again, moving stealthily lest he make the slightest sound that
would warn the watcher at the door, and searched at a corner of the
porch until he found what he was looking fora heavy club, a spoke
from one of the wheels of a wagon.
Parsons knew about where to find it, for during the days that he had
sat on the porch nursing his resentment against Carrington, he had
gazed long at the wagon-spoke, wishing that he might have an
opportunity to use it on Carrington.
He took it, balancing it, testing its weight. And now a hideous terror
seized him, almost paralyzing him. For though Parsons had robbed many
men, he had never resorted to violence; and for a time he stood with
the club in his hand, unable to move.
He moved at last, though, his face transformed from the strength of
the passion that had returned, and he carefully stepped on the porch,
crossed it, and stood, leaning forward, peering into the room through
the outside door left open by Carrington. The outside door opened from
the big room adjoining that in which the watcher sat, and Parsons
could see the man, who, with his back toward the door, was still
looking at Marion.
Entering the big room, Parsons saw Marions eyes widen as she looked
full at him. He shook his head at her; her face grew whiter, and she
began to talk to the other man.
Only a second or two elapsed then until Parsons struck. The man rolled
out of his chair without a sound, and Parsons, leaping over him,
trembling, his breath coming in great gasps, ran to Marion and unbound
her hands.
Together they flew outside, where they found the girls horse tethered
near a tree, and Parsons animal standing where he had left it.
Mounting, the girl whispered to Parsons. She was trembling, and her
voice broke with a wailing quaver when she spoke:
Where shall we go, Elamwhere? WeI cant go back to the Arrow! Oh, I
just cant! And Carrington will be back! Oh! isnt there any _way_ to
escape him?
Well go to Dawes, girl; thats where well go! declared Parsons,
his dread and fear of the big man equaling that of the girl. Well go
to Dawes and tell them there just what kind of a man Carrington isand
what he has tried to do with you tonight! There must be some men in
Dawes who will not stand by and see a woman persecuted!
And as they rode the river trail toward the town, the girl, white and
silent, riding a little distance ahead of him, Parsons felt for the
first time in his life the tingling thrills that come of an unselfish
deed courageously performed. And the experience filled him with the
spirit to do other good and unselfish deeds.
They rode fast for a time, until the girl again spoke of Carringtons
announced intention to return shortly. Then they rode more cautiously,
and it was well they did. For they had almost reached Dawes when they
heard the whipping tread of a horses hoofs on the trail, coming
toward them. They rode well back from the trail, and, concealed by
some heavy brush, saw Carrington riding toward the big house. He went
past them, vanishing into the shadows of the trees that fringed the
trail, and for a long time the girl and Parsons did not move for fear
Carrington might have slowed his horse and would hear them. And when
they did come out of their concealment and were again on the Dawes
trail, they rode fast, with the dread of Carringtons wrath to spur
them on.
* * * * *
It _had_ been Marthas voice that Parsons had heard when he had been
standing in the timber near the front of the house. The negro woman
was walking back and forth in the room where her captor had confined
her, vigorously berating the man. She was a dusky thundercloud of
wrath, who rumbled verbal imprecations with every breath. Her captora
small man with a coarse voice, a broken nose, and a scraggy, drooping
mustachestood in the doorway looking at her fiercely, with obvious
intent to intimidate the indignant Amazon.
At the instant Parsons heard her voice she was confronting the man,
her eyes popping with fury.
You let me out of heah this minute, yo white trash! Yo heah! An
doan you think Is scared of you, cause I aint! If you doan hop
away from that do, Is goin to mash yo haid in wif this yere chair!
You git away now!
The man grinned. It was a forced grin, and his face whitened with it,
betraying to Martha the fear he felt of herwhich she had suspected
from the moment he had brought her in and the light from the kitchen
lamp shone on his face.
She took a threatening step toward him; a tentative movement, a
testing of his courage. And when she saw him retreat from her
slightly, she lunged at him, raising the chair she held in her hands.
Possibly the man was reluctant to resort to violence; he may have had
a conviction that the detaining of Martha was not at all necessary to
the success of Carringtons plan to subjugate the white girl, or he
might have been merely afraid of Martha. Whatever his thoughts, the
man continued to retreat from the negro woman, and as she pursued him,
her courage grew, and the mans vanished in inverse ratio. And as he
passed the center of the kitchen, he wheeled and ran out of the door,
Martha following him.
Outside, the man ran toward the stable. For an instant Martha stood
looking after him. Then, thinking Carrington was still in the house,
and that there was no hope of her frightening him as she had
frightened the little man who had stood guard over her, she ran to
where her horse stood, clambered into the saddle, and sent the animal
down the big slope toward Mullarkys cabin, where she hoped to find
Mullarky, to send him to the big house to rescue the girl from
Carrington.