“Harlan,” she said weakly, as though upon him she had pinned her last hope; “Harlan has joined you after all—he is against me—too?”
“Him and Haydon are after the Rancho Seco. Harlan’s been playing with Haydon right along.”
Barbara said nothing more. She was incapable of coherent thought or of definite action—or even of knowledge of her surroundings.
For it seemed to her that Deveny had spoken truthfully. She had seen the incident of the broken chain; she had seen Harlan’s hypocritical grin upon that occasion—how he had seemed to be eager to ingratiate himself with Haydon.
All were against her—everybody. Everybody, it seemed, but Red Linton. And they had killed Linton.
She seemed to be drifting off into a place which was peopled with demons that schemed and planned for her honor and her life; and not one of them who planned and schemed against her gave the slightest indication of mercy or manliness. The world became chaotic with swirling objects—then a blank, aching void into which she drifted, feeling nothing, seeing nothing.