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.
Parsons knew he must stay in Dawes, and that from now on he must play lackey to the master who, at last in an environment that suited him, had so ruthlessly demonstrated his principles.
In a spirit of abject surrender Parsons again opened his eyes and sat up. Carrington rose and again stood over him.
“You understand now, Parsons, I’m running things. You stay in the background. If you interfere with me I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you if you laugh at me again. Your job out here is to take care of Marion Harlan. You’re to keep her here. If she gets away I’ll manhandle you! Now get out of here!”
An hour later Parsons was sitting on the front porch of the big house, staring vacantly out into the big level below him, his heart full of hatred and impotent resentment; his brain, formerly full of craft and guile, now temporarily atrophied through its attempts to comprehend the new character of the man who had throttled him.