“I was born a thousand years too late, Parsons!” he went on. “I am a robber baron brought down to date—modernized. I believe that in me flows the blood of a pirate, a savage, or an ancient king; I have all the instincts of a tribal chief whose principles are to rule or ruin! I’ll have no law out here but my own desires; and hypocrisy—in others—doesn’t appeal to me! “You’ve told me a tale that interested me, but in the telling of it you made one mistake—you enjoyed the discomfiture you thought it would give me. You tingled with malice. Just to show you that I’ll not tolerate disloyalty from you—even in thought—I’m going to punish you.” He dropped his big hands to Parsons’ throat, shutting off the incipient scream that issued from between the man’s lips. Parsons fought with all his strength to escape the grip of the iron fingers at his throat, twisting and squirming frenziedly in the chair. But the fingers tightened their grip, and when the man’s face began to turn blue-black, Carrington released him and looked down at his victim, laughing vibrantly. CHAPTER XIII—THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE Elam recovered slowly, for Carrington had choked him into unconsciousness. Out of the blank, dark coma Parsons came, his brain reeling, his body racked with agonizing pains. His hands went to his throat before he could open his eyes; he pulled at the flesh to ease the constriction that still existed there; he caught his breath in great gasps that shrilled through the room. And when at last he succeeded in getting his breath to come regularly, he opened his eyes and saw Carrington seated in a chair near him, watching him with a cold, speculative smile. He heard Carrington’s voice saying: “Pretty close, wasn’t it, Parsons?” But he did not answer; his vocal cords were still partially paralyzed. He closed his eyes again and stretched out in the chair. Carrington thought he had fainted, but Parsons was merely resting—and thinking. His thoughts were not pleasant. Many times during the years of their association he had seen the beast in Carrington’s eyes, but this was the first time Carrington had even shown it in his presence, naked and ugly. Carrington had told him many times that were he not hemmed in with laws and courts he would tramp ruthlessly over every obstacle that got in his way; and Parsons knew now that the man had meant what he said. The beast in him was rampant; his passions were to have free rein; he had thrown off the shackles of civilization and was prepared to do murder to attain his aims. Parsons realized his own precarious predicament. Carrington controlled every cent Parsons owned—it was in the common pool, which was in Carrington’s charge. Parsons might leave Dawes, but his money must stay—Carrington would never give it up. More, Parsons was now afraid to ask for an accounting or a division, for fear Carrington would kill him.