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.She did not light the kerosene lamp that stood on a big center table in the room.For there was light enough for her to see objects around her; and she went at last to an arm-chair which had been her father’s favorite, knelt beside it, and sobbed convulsively.Later, yielding to a dull apathy which had stolen over her, she made her way upstairs, to her room—which was directly over the front entrance to the patio—and sank into a chair beside one of the windows.She had locked her door after entering; and for the first time since arriving at the Rancho Seco she felt comparatively safe.Her thoughts were incoherent—a queer jumble of mental impulses which seemed to lead her always back to the harrowing realization that she had lost her father.That was the gigantic axis around which her whole mental structure revolved.It was staggering, stupefying, and her brain reeled under it.Other thoughts came, flickered like feeble lights, and went out—thoughts of what had happened to her at Lamo; a dull wonder over Meeder Lawson’s presence in town when he should have been with the men on the range; speculation as to the whereabouts of the men—why none of them had remained at the ranchhouse; and a sort of dumb, vague wonder over what her future would be.She thought, too, of John Haydon of the Star ranch—the big, smiling, serene-eyed man who seemed to bring a breath of romance with him each time he visited the Rancho Seco.Haydon would help her, she knew, and she would go to him in the morning.Her father had trusted Haydon, and she would trust him.Haydon was the one man in the section who seemed to have no fear of Deveny and his men—many times he had told her that most of the stories told of Deveny’s crimes were untrue—that he had not committed all those that were attributed to him.Not that Haydon condoned those offenses upon which Deveny stood convicted by circumstantial evidence.Nor had Haydon ever sought to defend Deveny.On the other hand, Haydon’s condemnation of the outlaw and his men had been vigorous—almost too vigorous for Haydon’s safety, she had heard her father say.It was when her thoughts dwelt upon Harlan that she was most puzzled—and impressed.For though she was acquainted with the man’s reputation—knowing him to be an outlaw of the reckless, dare-devil type—she felt the force of him, the compelling originality of him—as he differed from the outlaw of popular conception—his odd personality, which seemed to be a mingling of the elements of character embracing both good and evil.For though an outlaw himself, he had protected her from outlaws.And she had seen in his eyes certain expressions that told her that he felt impulses of sympathy and of tenderness.And his words to Deveny and others had seemed to hint of a fairly high honorableness.And though she had seen in his eyes a cold gleam that was convincing evidence of the presence of those ruthless passions which had made him an enemy of the law, she had also detected expressions in his eyes that told plainly of genial humor, of gentleness, and of consideration for other humans.But whatever she had seen in him, she felt his force—the terrible power of him when aroused.It was in the atmosphere that surrounded him; it was in the steady gleam of his eyes, in the poise of his head, and in the thrust of his jaw, all around him.She feared him, yet he fascinated her—compelled her—seemed to insist that she consider him in her scheme of life.In fact, he had made it plain to her that he intended to be considered.“I’m stayin’ here,” he had told her in his slow, deliberate way.And that seemed to end it—she knew he would stay; that he was determined, and that nothing short of force would dissuade him.And what force could she bring against him? A man whose name, mentioned in the presence of other men, made their faces blanch.Deep in her heart, though, lurked a conviction that Harlan had not told her everything that had happened at Sentinel Rock.She was afflicted with a suspicion that he was holding something back.She had seen that in his eyes, too, she thought.It seemed to her that her father might have told him to come to the Rancho Seco, and to stay there.And for that reason—because she suspected that Harlan had not told all he knew—she felt that she ought not order him away.If only he had not looked at her with that queer, insinuating smile!She had sat at the window for, it seemed to her, many hours before she became aware that the moon had risen and was directly overhead, flooding the ground in the vicinity of the ranchhouse with a soft, silver radiance.She got up with a start, remembering that she had left Harlan standing outside the door in the rear.She had almost forgotten that!She went to a window that opened into the patio, and looked downward.Every nook and corner of the patio was visible now; the dark, somber shadows had been driven away, and in the silvery flood that poured down from above the enclosure was brilliant, clearly defined—and deserted.And yet as the girl looked, a presentiment of evil assailed her, whitening her cheeks and widening her eyes.The quiet peace and tranquillity of the patio seemed to mock her; she felt that it held a sinister promise, a threat of dire things to come.The feeling was so strong that it drove her back from the window to the center of the room, where she stood, holding her breath, her hands clasped in front of her, the fingers twining stiffly.It seemed to her that she was waiting—waiting for something to happen—something that threatened.And when she heard a slight sound, seeming to arise from the room below her, she caught her breath with a gasp of horror.But she did not move.She stood there, with no breath issuing from between her lips, for many minutes, it seemed—waiting, dreading, a cold paralysis stealing over her.And then again it came—an odd sound—slow, creaking, seeming to come always nearer.It was not until she heard the sound directly outside her door that she realized that what she heard was a step on the stairs.And then, convinced that Harlan had gained entrance, she slipped noiselessly across the room to the front wall, where she took down a heavy pistol that hung from a wooden peg.With the huge weapon in hand she returned to a point near the center of the room, and with bated breath and glowing, determined eyes, faced the door.And when, after a time, she heard the door creak with a weight that seemed to be against it—after she saw it give; heard the lock break, and saw a man’s form darken the opening as the door was flung wide—she pressed the trigger of the weapon once—twice—three times—in rapid succession.She heard the man curse, saw him catch at his chest, and tumble headlong toward her.And she fired again, thinking he was trying to grasp her
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