Parsons was enjoying the other’s astonishment, and Parsons was not to be hurried—he wanted to _taste_ the flavor of his news; it was as good to his palate as a choice morsel of food to the palate of a disciple of Epicurus. “It came in a sort of roundabout way, I understand,” said Parsons. “It seems that during your absence Marion made a number of inquiries about her father. Then a man named Ben Mullarky rode over to the house and told her that Larry had been in this country—that he had worked for the Arrow.” “That’s Taylor’s ranch,” said Carrington. A deep scowl furrowed his forehead; his lips extended in a sullen pout. Parsons was enjoying him. “Taylor again, eh?” he said softly. “First, he appears on the train, where he gets an earful of something we don’t want him to hear; then he is elected mayor, which is detrimental to our interests; then we discover that Larry Harlan worked for him. _You’ll_ be interested to know that Marion went right over to the Arrow—in fact, she spent part of Monday there, and practically _all_ of yesterday. More, Taylor has invited her to come whenever she wants to.” “She went alone?” demanded Carrington. “With Martha, my negro housekeeper. But that—” Parsons made a gesture of derision and went on: “Martha says Taylor was there with her, and that the two of them—with Martha asleep in the house—spent the entire afternoon on the porch, talking rather intimately.” To Parsons’ surprise Carrington did not betray the perturbation Parsons expected. The scowl was still furrowing his forehead, his lips were still in the sullen pout; but he said nothing, looking steadily at Parsons. At last his lips moved slightly; Parsons could see the clenched teeth between them. “Where’s Larry Harlan now?” Parsons related the story told him by Martha—which had been imparted to the negro woman by Marion in confidence—that Larry Harlan had been accidentally killed, searching for a mine. When Parsons finished Carrington got up. There was a grin on his face as he stepped to where Parsons sat and placed his two hands heavily on the other’s shoulders. There was a grin on his face, but his eyes were agleam with a slumbering passion that made Parsons catch his breath with a gasp. And his voice, low, and freighted with menace, caused Parsons to quake with terror. “Parsons,” he said, “I want you to understand this: I am going to be the law out here. I’ll run things to suit myself. I’ll have no half-hearted loyalty, and I’ll destroy any man who opposes me! Those who are not with me to the last gasp are against me!” He laughed, and Parsons felt the man’s hot breath on his face—so close was it to his own.