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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1027 ***
+
+THE LONE STAR RANGER
+
+By Zane Grey
+
+
+
+          To
+          CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
+          and his Texas Rangers
+
+
+It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard on the
+Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane--outlaw and
+gunman.
+
+But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes has haunted
+me, and I have given full rein to imagination and have retold it in my
+own way. It deals with the old law--the old border days--therefore it is
+better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing of
+the border of to-day, which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, “Shore is
+'most as bad an' wild as ever!”
+
+In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier of the
+West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in stories. As I
+think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he made that remark, while
+he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet wound. And I remember the giant
+Vaughn, that typical son of stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with
+bandaged head, his thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had
+ambushed him. Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
+memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time, Russell and
+Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
+
+Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and the
+hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the truth about a
+strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men--the Texas Rangers--who
+made the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest
+and sleep, who are passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will
+some day come into their own.
+
+ZANE GREY
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I. THE OUTLAW
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
+intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting
+stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the pleading
+of his soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle who stood
+before him now, had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of
+the dark passionate strain in his blood. It was the recurrence, a
+hundred-fold increased in power, of a strange emotion that for the last
+three years had arisen in him.
+
+“Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,”
+ repeated the elder man, gravely.
+
+“It's the second time,” muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+
+“Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up. He ain't
+got it in for you when he's not drinkin'.”
+
+“But what's he want me for?” demanded Duane. “To insult me again? I
+won't stand that twice.”
+
+“He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants
+gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you.”
+
+Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a
+wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding to leave him
+strangely chilled.
+
+“Kill me! What for?” he asked.
+
+“Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with most of
+the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to Everall's kill
+one another dead all because they got to jerkin' at a quirt among
+themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you. His girl was sweet on
+you.”
+
+“I quit when I found out she was his girl.”
+
+“I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's here,
+just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody. He's one of
+them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot
+of wild cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how
+quick they are on the draw. They ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin
+an' all the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along
+the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd
+fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only
+keep out of his way.”
+
+“You mean for me to run?” asked Duane, in scorn.
+
+“I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not
+afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your
+father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of is
+that you'll kill Bain.”
+
+Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to
+realize their significance.
+
+“If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws,
+why, a young man will have a lookout,” went on the uncle. “You're
+twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your
+temper. You've a chance in life. But if you go gun-fightin', if you kill
+a man, you're ruined. Then you'll kill another. It'll be the same old
+story. An' the rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law
+an' order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with them. If
+you resist arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to arrest, then you go
+to jail, an' mebbe you hang.”
+
+“I'd never hang,” muttered Duane, darkly.
+
+“I reckon you wouldn't,” replied the old man. “You'd be like your
+father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times like these, with
+the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad would have been driven to
+the river. An', son, I'm afraid you're a chip off the old block. Can't
+you hold in--keep your temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only
+result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed
+in a street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
+bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible nature of a
+man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give
+it a chance.”
+
+“What you say is all very well, uncle,” returned Duane, “but the only
+way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain and his outfit
+have already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out
+and face him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides,
+Cal would shoot me in the back some day if I didn't face him.”
+
+“Well, then, what're you goin' to do?” inquired the elder man.
+
+“I haven't decided--yet.”
+
+“No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin'
+in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you used to be moody an'
+lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was much afraid of you then. But
+now you're gettin' cool an' quiet, an' you think deep, an' I don't like
+the light in your eye. It reminds me of your father.”
+
+“I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,”
+ said Duane.
+
+“What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a
+glove on his right hand for twenty years?”
+
+“Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have
+done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me.”
+
+Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with downcast eyes,
+and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of the future. Presently he
+turned to Duane with an expression that denoted resignation, and yet a
+spirit which showed wherein they were of the same blood.
+
+“You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this country. After
+you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a saddle-bag packed for you and
+the horse ready.”
+
+With that he turned on his heel and went into the house, leaving Duane
+to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if
+he shared his uncle's opinion of the result of a meeting between himself
+and Bain. His thoughts were vague. But on the instant of final decision,
+when he had settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm
+of passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken with
+ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his hand was like
+a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle about him quivered. He
+had no fear of Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of
+this strange force in him, made him ponder and shake his head. It was as
+if he had not all to say in this matter. There appeared to have been in
+him a reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a
+distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled him.
+That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living, and in it he
+became a thoughtful man.
+
+He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a
+Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it,
+on and off, for five years. Before that it had been used by his father.
+There were a number of notches filed in the bulge of the ivory handle.
+This gun was the one his father had fired twice after being shot
+through the heart, and his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in
+the death-grip that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been
+drawn upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
+cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used. Duane
+could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty feet he could
+split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
+
+Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought,
+she was away from home. He went out and down the path toward the gate.
+The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds.
+Outside in the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a
+wagon; they spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began
+to stride down the road toward the town.
+
+Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
+great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles
+of territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings,
+some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by
+far the most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into
+this street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and
+saddled horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down
+the street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
+leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his
+stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's place, which was the
+first saloon, he was walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and
+turned to look back after they had passed. He paused at the door of
+White's saloon, took a sharp survey of the interior, then stepped
+inside.
+
+The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The
+noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke
+to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who
+was behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without
+speaking, he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the
+Mexican gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
+speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble;
+they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do?
+Several of the cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had
+been weighed by unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The
+boy was the son of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned
+to their drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
+upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed
+to sharp points.
+
+“Howdy, Buck,” was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and
+averted his dark gaze for an instant.
+
+“Howdy, Sol,” replied Duane, slowly. “Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
+town looking for me bad.”
+
+“Reckon there is, Buck,” replied White. “He came in heah aboot an
+hour ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me
+confidential a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he
+was hell-bent on wearin' it home spotted red.”
+
+“Anybody with him?” queried Duane.
+
+“Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
+They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looked on the flowin'
+glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps.”
+
+“Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?”
+
+“Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
+ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open.”
+
+Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
+length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers, ranchers,
+clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
+that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
+had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
+deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
+street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
+instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
+with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could
+not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on
+the street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet
+his enemy.
+
+Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he
+swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment,
+then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the
+length of the block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.
+
+“Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off,” he said, quick and low-voiced. “Cal
+Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll
+show there.”
+
+Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
+statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened,
+and he traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a
+person. Everall's place was on the corner.
+
+Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange
+fury that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this
+encounter more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his
+sensations, he felt as if in a dream.
+
+Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was
+raised high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a
+vigorous hand. A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon
+the sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he
+uttered a savage roar.
+
+Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
+dozen rods from Everall's door.
+
+If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered
+forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty, disheveled, and
+hatless, his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent,
+he was a wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this
+showed in his demeanor. His hands were extended before him, the right
+hand a little lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor
+in speech mostly curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A
+good twenty-five paces separated the men.
+
+“Won't nothin' make you draw, you--!” he shouted, fiercely.
+
+“I'm waitin' on you, Cal,” replied Duane.
+
+Bain's right hand stiffened--moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy throws
+a ball underhand--a draw his father had taught him. He pulled twice,
+his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was pointed
+downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel at
+Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion.
+
+In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun
+ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon
+his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely
+the red had left his face--and also the distortion! The devil that had
+showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to
+speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+changed--rolled--set blankly.
+
+Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool,
+glad the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. “The
+fool!”
+
+When he looked up there were men around him.
+
+“Plumb center,” said one.
+
+Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned
+down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand.
+He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered
+the two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart.
+
+Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+
+“Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like
+father like son!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have
+spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to
+kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a
+drunken, bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.
+
+When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a
+mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place,
+a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind--the
+consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle
+recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
+anger took hold of him.
+
+“The d--d fool!” he exclaimed, hotly. “Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle
+Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on the
+dodge.”
+
+“Son, you killed him--then?” asked the uncle, huskily.
+
+“Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done
+by.”
+
+“I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
+spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country.”
+
+“Mother!” exclaimed Duane.
+
+“She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her--what she
+always feared.”
+
+Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+
+“My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His broad shoulders shook.
+
+“Listen, son, an' remember what I say,” replied the elder man,
+earnestly. “Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see
+you take it this way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous.
+You're not to blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are
+wild times. The law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change
+life all in a minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has
+had her share in making you what you are this moment. For she was one of
+the pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild
+times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save
+her life, her children, an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It
+will be many years before it dies out of the boys born in Texas.”
+
+“I'm a murderer,” said Duane, shuddering.
+
+“No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
+outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home.”
+
+“An outlaw?”
+
+“I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
+neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley
+Duane. Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever
+you do-be a man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as
+honest as you can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become
+bad. There are outlaws who 're not all bad--many who have been driven to
+the river by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men
+avoid brawls. Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do
+if it comes to gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When
+this thing is lived down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into
+the unsettled country. It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember,
+be a man. Goodby.”
+
+Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's
+hand and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the black
+and rode out of town.
+
+As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
+distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed
+up, and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He
+passed several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and
+he took an old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor
+growth of mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught
+a glimpse of low hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that
+section, and knew where to find grass and water. When he reached
+this higher ground he did not, however, halt at the first favorable
+camping-spot, but went on and on. Once he came out upon the brow of a
+hill and saw a considerable stretch of country beneath him. It had the
+gray sameness characterizing all that he had traversed. He seemed to
+want to see wide spaces--to get a glimpse of the great wilderness lying
+somewhere beyond to the southwest. It was sunset when he decided to camp
+at a likely spot he came across. He led the horse to water, and then
+began searching through the shallow valley for a suitable place to camp.
+He passed by old camp-sites that he well remembered. These, however, did
+not strike his fancy this time, and the significance of the change in
+him did not occur at the moment. At last he found a secluded spot, under
+cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from the old
+trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse. He looked among his
+effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had failed to put one
+in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, and never on
+this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso and used that.
+The horse, unused to such hampering of his free movements, had to be
+driven out upon the grass.
+
+Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This done, ending
+the work of that day, he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had
+waned into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show and brighten.
+Above the low continuous hum of insects sounded the evening carol of
+robins. Presently the birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet
+was more noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more
+isolated and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+
+It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful, sleepless.
+The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think back, to take note
+of his late actions and their motives. The change one day had wrought
+amazed him. He who had always been free, easy, happy, especially when
+out alone in the open, had become in a few short hours bound, serious,
+preoccupied. The silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing
+to him except a medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds
+of pursuit. The loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always been
+beautiful to him, now only conveyed a sense of safety for the present.
+He watched, he listened, he thought. He felt tired, yet had no
+inclination to rest. He intended to be off by dawn, heading toward the
+southwest. Had he a destination? It was vague as his knowledge of that
+great waste of mesquite and rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out
+there was a refuge. For he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+
+This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no
+sleep, no content, no life worth the living! He must be a lone wolf
+or he must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest
+living he still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If
+he did not work on some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? The
+idea of stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber
+enough. And he was twenty-three years old.
+
+Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+
+The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that stole
+along his veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the few sticks of
+mesquite into a last flickering blaze. He was cold, and for some reason
+he wanted some light. The black circle of darkness weighed down upon
+him, closed in around him. Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze
+in that position. He had heard a step. It was behind him--no--on the
+side. Some one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the
+touch of cold steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But all
+was silent--silent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low
+murmuring of wind in the mesquite. Had he heard a step? He began to
+breathe again.
+
+But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had taken
+on a strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer
+shadows. Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was
+another present at that camp-fire vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in
+the middle of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal
+Bain! His features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo,
+more sharply outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard face
+softening at the threshold of eternity. The red tan of sun, the coarse
+signs of drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so characteristic of Bain
+were no longer there. This face represented a different Bain, showed all
+that was human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white.
+The lips wanted to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony
+of thought. They revealed what might have been possible for this man
+if he lived--that he saw his mistake too late. Then they rolled, set
+blankly, and closed in death.
+
+That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a
+remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him.
+He divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. He
+remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of
+accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep
+those men he had killed.
+
+The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams
+troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so early that in the
+gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his horse. Day had just broken
+when he struck the old trail again.
+
+He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and graze
+his horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an easy trot. The
+country grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the level of the
+monotonous horizon. About three in the afternoon he came to a little
+river which marked the boundary line of his hunting territory.
+
+The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing to two
+facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt
+reluctant to cross into that region where his presence alone meant that
+he was a marked man. The bottom-lands through which the river wound to
+the southwest were more inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The
+rest or that day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated
+the brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed to
+him that in this lonely cover he would feel easy and content. But he
+did not. Every feeling, every imagining he had experienced the previous
+night returned somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of
+the same intensity and color.
+
+In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during
+which he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle--stolen
+cattle, probably--had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
+of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
+quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
+enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
+rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+assuredly would be his lot.
+
+Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It
+was distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
+throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was
+this reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide
+berth. Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he
+concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of
+provisions.
+
+The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which
+he believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
+horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless,
+he followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far
+when the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his
+rear. In the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back
+along the road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever
+they were, had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the
+road was not to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the
+mesquites and halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was
+now a fugitive, it seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
+
+The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of
+Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the
+clink of spurs.
+
+“Shore he crossed the river below,” said one man.
+
+“I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us,” replied another.
+
+Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
+gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
+him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what
+it would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held
+his breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his
+horse. Suddenly he became aware that these horsemen had halted. They
+were whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed.
+What had made them halt so suspiciously?
+
+“You're wrong, Bill,” said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+
+“The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
+hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat.”
+
+“Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand,” replied the man called Bill.
+
+Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
+the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
+breathed exclamation.
+
+Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
+straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
+from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close
+by his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound.
+These shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a
+quick, hot resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable.
+He must escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or
+not. Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these
+men. After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over
+the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried
+to guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods
+he was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so
+well and made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his
+pursuers. The sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died
+away. Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they
+would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on
+again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he
+might take advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long
+while until he came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when,
+striking the willow brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the
+river, he picketed his horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep.
+His mind bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made
+efforts to think of other things, but in vain.
+
+Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet
+was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and
+shades of the night--these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
+Doggedly Duane fought against the insidious phantom. He kept telling
+himself that it was just imagination, that it would wear off in time.
+Still in his heart he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not
+give up; he would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+
+Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river. Half an
+hour of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and willow thickets.
+These he threaded to come at length to the ford. It was a gravel bottom,
+and therefore an easy crossing. Once upon the opposite shore he
+reined in his horse and looked darkly back. This action marked his
+acknowledgment of his situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge
+of the outlaws; he was beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse
+passed his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien
+shore.
+
+He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether
+or not he left a plain trail.
+
+“Let them hunt me!” he muttered.
+
+When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and thirst
+made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him for a place to
+halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which was hard packed
+and smooth from the tracks of cattle. He doubted not that he had come
+across one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed into it, and
+had scarcely traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank
+upon a single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their
+mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more than a
+hundred paces separated them. They stood then for a moment watching each
+other.
+
+“Mawnin', stranger,” called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
+
+“Howdy,” replied Duane, shortly.
+
+They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted
+again.
+
+“I seen you ain't no ranger,” called the rider, “an' shore I ain't
+none.”
+
+He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+
+“How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?” asked Duane, curiously. Somehow
+he had instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a
+rancher trailing stolen stock.
+
+“Wal,” said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, “a
+ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man.”
+
+He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to
+the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing brown
+eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he
+was a good-natured ruffian.
+
+Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his
+mind how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a hunted man.
+
+“My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?” said
+this stranger.
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+“I reckon you're Buck Duane,” went on Stevens. “I heerd you was a damn
+bad man with a gun.”
+
+This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the
+idea that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was proof of how
+swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border.
+
+“Wal, Buck,” said Stevens, in a friendly manner, “I ain't presumin' on
+your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the river. But will you
+stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?”
+
+“I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,” admitted Duane.
+
+“Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up
+before you hit thet stretch of country.”
+
+He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and
+there was that in his action which seemed significant of a vast and
+barren region.
+
+“Stock up?” queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+“Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along without whisky,
+but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so embarrassin' travelin'
+these parts dodgin' your shadow. Now, I'm on my way to Mercer. It's
+a little two-bit town up the river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some
+grub.”
+
+Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept silence,
+however, and then Stevens went on.
+
+“Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. I never was
+much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it of necessity. It
+takes a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. Why, I've been
+thet sick I was jest achin' fer some ranger to come along an' plug me.
+Give me a pardner any day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a
+feller, an' I'm shore not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself
+sufficient.”
+
+“You mean you'd like me to go with you?” asked Duane.
+
+Stevens grinned. “Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be
+braced with a man of your reputation.”
+
+“See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense,” declared Duane, in some
+haste.
+
+“Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster,” replied Stevens. “I
+hate a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're
+always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play. Buck, I don't know much
+about you. But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a
+lot about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your
+rep was established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you
+was lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the
+figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes.
+Thet's the word thet's gone down the border. It's the kind of reputation
+most sure to fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the
+safest, too; I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now
+you're only a boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now,
+Buck, I'm not a spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe
+a little of my society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the
+country.”
+
+There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+
+“I dare say you're right,” replied Duane, quietly. “And I'll go to
+Mercer with you.”
+
+Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never
+been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his
+companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow,
+probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened,
+and sometimes he thought with a pang of the distinction of name and
+heritage of blood his father had left to him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens,
+having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town
+of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
+
+“Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
+hang up out here,” Stevens was saying, as he mounted. “You see, towns
+an' sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad.
+They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb
+bad. Now, nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been
+a thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
+truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin'
+sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case
+there'll be--”
+
+His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
+kind of wild humor.
+
+“Stevens, have you got any money?” asked Duane.
+
+“Money!” exclaimed Luke, blankly. “Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
+since--wal, fer some time.”
+
+“I'll furnish money for grub,” returned Duane. “And for whisky, too,
+providing you hurry back here--without making trouble.”
+
+“Shore you're a downright good pard,” declared Stevens, in admiration,
+as he took the money. “I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never
+broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick.”
+
+With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the
+town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be
+a cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures
+of alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder
+driving in a meager flock.
+
+Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping
+the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour
+had elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle,
+the clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean
+danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the
+mesquites.
+
+He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast.
+Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had
+a steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck
+Duane as admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept
+looking back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw
+several men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and
+got into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the
+outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no
+fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face
+seemed a shade paler.
+
+“Was jest comin' out of the store,” yelled Stevens. “Run plumb into a
+rancher--who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll chase
+us.”
+
+They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and
+when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his
+companion steadily drew farther away.
+
+“No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,” called out Stevens.
+
+Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode
+somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of
+hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the
+willow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed with
+sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished
+that Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low,
+sandy bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise
+Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+
+Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of
+his shirt was soaked with blood.
+
+“You're shot!” cried Duane.
+
+“Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift--on
+this here pack?”
+
+Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.
+The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
+
+“Oh, why didn't you say so!” cried Duane. “I never thought. You seemed
+all right.”
+
+“Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he
+doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good.”
+
+Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from
+his breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low
+down, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding
+himself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short
+of marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no
+hope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+
+“Feller's name was Brown,” Stevens said. “Me an' him fell out over a
+hoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then.
+Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown,
+an' seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't
+breakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he
+did--an' fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?”
+
+“It's pretty bad,” replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful
+outlaw in the eyes.
+
+“I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe
+I can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave
+me some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out.”
+
+“Leave you here alone?” asked Duane, sharply.
+
+“Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will
+foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in
+this game.”
+
+“What would you do in my case?” asked Duane, curiously.
+
+“Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide,” replied Stevens.
+
+Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he
+decided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,
+filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his own
+horse. That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him in
+the saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard or
+grassy ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran
+across a trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild
+country.
+
+“Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark--till I drop,” concluded
+Stevens, with a laugh.
+
+All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded
+outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tired
+then and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still
+spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but
+asked for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
+
+“Buck, will you take off my boots?” he asked, with a faint smile on his
+pallid face.
+
+Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did
+not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
+
+“Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I
+wasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak.”
+
+“You've a chance to-to get over this,” said Duane.
+
+“Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say, pard, if I do
+go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness.”
+
+Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+
+Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance
+of dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done he
+prepared himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when he
+lay down to sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens
+was still alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All
+was quiet except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
+then rose and went for the horses.
+
+When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerful
+as usual, and apparently stronger.
+
+“Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride,” he
+said. “Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help
+me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood this
+evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was in me.”
+
+While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,
+and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a
+hurry to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would put
+them beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande
+and the hiding-places of the outlaws.
+
+When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, “Reckon you
+can pull on my boots once more.” In spite of the laugh accompanying the
+words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
+
+On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was
+broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while
+upholding Stevens in the saddle.
+
+The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
+were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.
+The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while;
+darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars
+brightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his
+saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore
+away. Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that
+there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
+grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite and
+cactus.
+
+Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
+little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one
+look at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last
+ride. He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
+
+“Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots,” he said, and
+seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
+
+This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
+Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
+the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
+the night before.
+
+“This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads
+to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like yourself--some like
+me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's easy
+livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
+never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if
+a man can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
+lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in
+here will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
+they'll kill you.”
+
+Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not
+want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+
+“Be quiet,” said Duane. “Talking uses up your strength.”
+
+“Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done,” he replied, doggedly. “See here, pard,
+you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From this
+camp we'll--you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will be honest
+men. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along the river
+fer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you
+know him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
+folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with him ant his
+gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock way up
+the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed once
+right in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty well
+hid. But Bland--I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him.
+Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
+sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore there's
+some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the time.
+Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers.”
+
+Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+
+“You ain't likely to get on with Bland,” he resumed, presently. “You're
+too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's got
+women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with a
+gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' he
+loves his hide. I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer you
+when you ain't goin' it alone.”
+
+Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens had
+been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.
+Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birds
+came down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable
+seat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but
+with a changed tone.
+
+“Feller's name--was Brown,” he rambled. “We fell out--over a hoss I
+stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one of them
+sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends to be honest. Say,
+Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You an' me are pards now.”
+
+“I'll remember, if I ever meet him,” said Duane.
+
+That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his
+head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across the
+bronzed rough face.
+
+“My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?”
+
+Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them.
+The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fell
+asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duane
+watching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed
+clearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wanted
+anything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duane
+realized what it meant.
+
+“Pard, you--stuck--to me!” the outlaw whispered.
+
+Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise
+in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
+
+To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he
+could not understand.
+
+Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones
+to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the
+weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the
+trail in the gathering twilight.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged the
+two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and found
+himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at his
+feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great,
+wild, mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
+
+Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he had
+not the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably the
+inclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
+
+No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent the
+last two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had ever
+seen. From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of his
+travel was yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down to
+the river. The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood,
+and nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight and
+a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find a
+place to rest, Duane began the descent.
+
+The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. He
+kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a short
+time he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A stream
+of clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran into
+irrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that
+fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet
+water. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would be
+his reception.
+
+The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.
+Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good
+hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle were
+everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.
+Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to and
+fro. Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porch
+attached. A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door.
+No one else appeared to notice him.
+
+Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of square
+lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure.
+Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women with
+children, and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. His
+advent created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who were
+lolling in the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and
+saloon, and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+
+As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a
+loud exclamation:
+
+“Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!”
+
+The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance
+toward Duane.
+
+“How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?” queried the first man.
+
+“Plain as your nose,” replied the fellow called Euchre.
+
+“There ain't no doubt about thet, then,” laughed another, “fer Bosomer's
+nose is shore plain on the landscape.”
+
+These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he
+thought they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The
+man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which
+showed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with
+a thatch of sandy hair.
+
+“Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?”
+ he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons
+hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward
+to Duane.
+
+Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and he
+remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curious
+interest in regard to something that leaped inside him and made his
+breast feel tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which had
+shot through him often of late, and which had decided him to go out to
+the meeting with Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
+
+“Stranger, who are you?” asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
+
+“My name's Duane,” replied Duane, curtly.
+
+“An' how'd you come by the hoss?”
+
+Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,
+during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of
+his beard.
+
+“Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,”
+ presently said Euchre.
+
+“Mister Duane,” began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, “I happen to be
+Luke Stevens's side-pardner.”
+
+Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy
+sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+
+“An' I want the hoss an' them guns,” he shouted.
+
+“You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them
+in. But the pack is mine,” replied Duane. “And say, I befriended your
+pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it.”
+
+“Civil? Haw, haw!” rejoined the outlaw. “I don't know you. How do we
+know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened to
+stumble down here?”
+
+“You'll have to take my word, that's all,” replied Duane, sharply.
+
+“I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!”
+
+With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped
+into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+
+Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+
+“Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,” said the man Euchre. He did not
+appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+
+At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, and
+the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His manner
+proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, and
+clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He was
+not a Texan; in truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws as
+native to his state.
+
+“I'm Bland,” said the tall man, authoritatively. “Who're you and what're
+you doing here?”
+
+Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief
+appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story
+again, this time a little more in detail.
+
+“I believe you,” replied Bland, at once. “Think I know when a fellow is
+lying.”
+
+“I reckon you're on the right trail,” put in Euchre. “Thet about Luke
+wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dread
+of dyin' with his boots on.”
+
+At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+
+“You said Duane--Buck Duane?” queried Bland. “Are you a son of that
+Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane.
+
+“Never met him, and glad I didn't,” said Bland, with a grim humor. “So
+you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?”
+
+“Had a fight.”
+
+“Fight? Do you mean gun-play?” questioned Bland. He seemed eager,
+curious, speculative.
+
+“Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,” answered Duane.
+
+“Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,” went on
+Bland, ironically. “Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in my
+camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce.”
+
+“Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?” asked Duane, quietly.
+
+“Not exactly that,” said Bland, as if irritated. “If this isn't a free
+place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want to
+join my band?”
+
+“No, I don't.”
+
+“Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an
+ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to kill
+somebody all the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer
+is all one color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you
+to hit the trail.”
+
+“Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay,” returned Duane. Even as he spoke
+he felt that he did not know himself.
+
+Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and
+as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like an
+angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had
+been devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and
+the other outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When
+Bosomer saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change
+passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the
+men who had followed him out piled over one another in their hurry to
+get to one side.
+
+Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, and
+in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he had
+expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew he
+was neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran through
+him. It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar to
+him. Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had
+come out to kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of
+a stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his
+ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane
+divined that no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his
+chance. In that moment murder would have been joy to him. Very likely
+he had forgotten his pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties
+were absorbed in conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+
+But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment,
+his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+
+That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thought
+that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man.
+Still he would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. When
+Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only--both
+from Duane's gun--and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.
+Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the
+gun with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane would
+not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any further
+madness on his part.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to
+lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane and the horses away
+to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed
+their saddles. Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his
+visitor to enter the house.
+
+It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One room
+contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the other a stone
+fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and various
+blackened utensils.
+
+“Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay,” said Euchre. “I
+ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's here, an' you're
+welcome.”
+
+“Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out,” replied
+Duane.
+
+Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+
+“Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass.” Euchre left Duane
+alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and mechanically he wiped the
+sweat from his face. He was laboring under some kind of a spell or shock
+which did not pass off quickly. When it had worn away he took off his
+coat and belt and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it make on the
+morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future.
+He felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for the first time he
+took notice of the outlaw.
+
+Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face
+clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut from long
+gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his thin frame denoted
+strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+
+“Hey a drink or a smoke?” he asked.
+
+Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he
+had used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he
+felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly
+what he felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood,
+something that made him fear himself.
+
+Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. “Reckon you feel a little
+sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?”
+
+“I'm twenty-three,” replied Duane.
+
+Euchre showed surprise. “You're only a boy! I thought you thirty
+anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin' thet with my
+own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet. Throwin' a gun in
+self-defense--thet ain't no crime!”
+
+Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+
+“Huh,” replied the old man. “I've been on this river fer years, an' I've
+seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of them, though, was no
+good. An' thet kind don't last long. This river country has been an' is
+the refuge fer criminals from all over the states. I've bunked with
+bank cashiers, forgers, plain thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all
+of which had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are
+exceptions. He's no Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come
+from all over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
+fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves they'd
+shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent
+feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't join his gang. Thet'll not
+make him take a likin' to you. Have you any money?”
+
+“Not much,” replied Duane.
+
+“Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work
+a decent feller could do. You can't herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men
+would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?”
+
+“God knows,” replied Duane, hopelessly. “I'll make my money last as long
+as possible--then starve.”
+
+“Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'.”
+
+Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and eager
+which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked
+this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the
+outside world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming
+feature.
+
+“I'm much obliged to you, Euchre,” replied Duane. “But of course I won't
+live with any one unless I can pay my share.”
+
+“Have it any way you like, my son,” said Euchre, good-humoredly. “You
+make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck.
+Thet man doesn't live who can beat my bread.”
+
+“How do you ever pack supplies in here?” asked Duane, thinking of the
+almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+
+“Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river. Thet river
+trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to any supply point.
+Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in
+from down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An'
+all this stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships.”
+
+“Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?” asked Duane.
+
+“Thet's not my secret,” replied Euchre, shortly. “Fact is, I don't know.
+I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock
+with them.”
+
+Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest
+had been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and
+glad to have something to think about. For every once in a while he had
+a sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the
+next hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and
+eating of the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several
+utensils, put on his hat and turned to go out.
+
+“Come along or stay here, as you want,” he said to Duane.
+
+“I'll stay,” rejoined Duane, slowly.
+
+The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
+
+Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but
+all the printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on
+cartridge-boxes and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch.
+There seemed to be nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want
+to lie down any more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the
+room to the other. And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired
+habit of brooding over his misfortune.
+
+Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his
+gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked
+at it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty
+he traced his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was
+accountable for his act. He discovered, however, that he had a
+remarkable tendency to drop his hand to his gun. That might have come
+from the habit long practice in drawing had given him. Likewise, it
+might have come from a subtle sense, scarcely thought of at all, of the
+late, close, and inevitable relation between that weapon and himself. He
+was amazed to find that, bitter as he had grown at fate, the desire to
+live burned strong in him. If he had been as unfortunately situated, but
+with the difference that no man wanted to put him in jail or take his
+life, he felt that this burning passion to be free, to save himself,
+might not have been so powerful. Life certainly held no bright prospects
+for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever getting back to his
+home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let himself be
+handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging cowboy, or be
+shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to add another
+notch to his gun--these things were impossible for Duane because there
+was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only to fate and
+the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living part
+of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+discontinued--the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business with
+him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had
+become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and
+he set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He
+stood still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down,
+put himself in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced
+throwing his gun--practiced it till he was hot and tired and his arm
+ached and his hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every
+day. It was one thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
+
+Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From
+this point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different
+circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful
+spot. Euchre's shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the
+wall, and Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley.
+Assuredly it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans,
+who, of course, were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous
+flat-boats, crude of structure, moored along the banks of the river. The
+Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in
+the middle, was stretched over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow,
+evidently used as a ferry, lay anchored on the far shore.
+
+The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big
+scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim
+Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost
+any number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and
+quick. What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river,
+and he wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by
+use of boats.
+
+Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he
+returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
+
+“Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was,” he
+said, by way of greeting. “Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready.
+There's shore one consolin' fact round this here camp.”
+
+“What's that?” asked Duane.
+
+“Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.”
+
+“But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too,
+doesn't it?”
+
+“I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none.
+An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.”
+
+“Who is Bland?” asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. “What do you
+know about him?”
+
+“We don't know who he is or where he hails from,” replied Euchre.
+“Thet's always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been
+a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how
+years ago he was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is
+now. Bland ain't likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor
+you, an' he's shore a knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet
+rules men. Outlaws are always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if
+it hadn't been fer the gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men
+around him.”
+
+“How many in his gang now?”
+
+“I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland
+has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on
+the cattle-ranges.”
+
+“How does he control such a big force?” asked Duane. “Especially when
+his band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for
+Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.”
+
+“Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper,
+never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess
+Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an'
+some fer nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is
+because he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich.
+They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of
+gold. But he's free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a
+shipment of cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is there's
+always plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty,
+bloody money!”
+
+“It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!”
+ exclaimed Duane.
+
+“Wal,” replied Euchre, dryly, “he's been quicker on the draw than the
+other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all.”
+
+Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
+remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
+
+“Speakin' of this here swift wrist game,” went on Euchre, “there's been
+considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
+thet among us fellers--us hunted men--there ain't anythin' calculated
+to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this
+afternoon--an' he said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd
+never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just
+couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you
+meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
+any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself.
+Chess is the captain with a Colt--or he was. An' he shore didn't like
+the references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin'
+it, but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your
+draw might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different.
+An' they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears
+to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago.
+Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails
+you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin'
+out, blood in his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an'
+weren't his eyes readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw--can't
+you-all see thet's a family gift?'”
+
+Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a
+slap with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself
+a champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could
+feel in a young one whom he admired.
+
+“Wal,” he resumed, presently, “thet's your introduction to the border,
+Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let severely alone by
+real gun-fighters an' men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of
+the other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, an' onless
+you cross them they're no more likely to interfere with you than you
+are with them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river
+country. They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride into will
+scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired four-flush
+gunman or a sheriff--an' these men will be playin' to the crowd an'
+yellin' for your blood. Thet's the Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer
+ever in the brakes or you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this
+ain't cheerful news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you
+because I've taken a likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet you ain't
+border-wise. Let's eat now, an' afterward we'll go out so the gang can
+see you're not hidin'.”
+
+When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range
+of mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to
+the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house
+near at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little
+Mexican boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The
+sweet, happy voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boy--these seemed
+utterly out of place here.
+
+Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane
+remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where
+Bosomer had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should
+be affected strangely by the sight of it.
+
+“Let's have a look in here,” said Euchre.
+
+Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very
+large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of
+rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels
+lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on
+posts that sustained the log rafters of the roof.
+
+“The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is Benson,”
+ said Euchre. “He runs the place an' sells drinks. The gang calls him
+Jackrabbit Benson, because he's always got his eye peeled an' his ear
+cocked. Don't notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to
+death of every new-comer who rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason,
+I take it, is because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from
+a sheriff or ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like Jackrabbit
+Benson. He's hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him to kill him. Wal,
+I'm always expectin' to see some feller ride in here an' throw a gun on
+Benson. Can't say I'd be grieved.”
+
+Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare,
+gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and
+dark skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black
+mustache hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the
+brow; deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had
+a restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that
+served as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's glance he
+turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+
+“What have you got against him?” inquired Duane, as he sat down beside
+Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What
+did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?
+
+“Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained,” replied Euchre, apologetically. “Shore
+an outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I never stole
+nothin' but cattle from some rancher who never missed 'em anyway. Thet
+sneak Benson--he was the means of puttin' a little girl in Bland's way.”
+
+“Girl?” queried Duane, now with real attention.
+
+“Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we
+get out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be sociable, an' I can't
+talk about the chief.”
+
+During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and
+Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all
+gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly
+and agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all
+invitations to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a
+way, as one of their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his
+affair with Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One
+outlaw borrowed money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+
+By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans,
+most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the
+Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the
+drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts--some of the
+famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
+license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
+him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
+perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
+piles of silver--Mexican pesos--as large and high as the crown of his
+hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States coin.
+Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and that
+heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an
+intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly,
+as befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
+winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
+grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
+drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
+gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
+steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
+was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
+his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
+his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
+contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That
+seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent
+heads, from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights,
+but these served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked
+unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something
+at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
+
+“Bland's not here to-night,” Euchre was saying. “He left today on one of
+his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
+here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
+Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off.
+He's one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn
+me! there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as
+Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin'
+he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see
+Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser
+there--the one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a
+Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin.
+Next to him is Bill Marr--the feller with the bandana round his head.
+Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot
+more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because
+Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But
+he's the best rustler Bland's got--a grand rider, an' a wonder with
+cattle. An' see the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of
+Bland's gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year
+out on the border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of
+Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland.
+Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut.”
+
+Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he
+happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked
+man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less
+distinction, according to the record of his past wild prowess and his
+present possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there,
+received in careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts,
+experienced a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror.
+Was his being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such
+ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proof--he was a
+criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+
+For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
+heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
+outside things.
+
+The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased.
+There was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or
+action sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and
+the scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
+
+“You stacked the cards, you--!”
+
+“Say that twice,” another voice replied, so different in its cool,
+ominous tone from the other.
+
+“I'll say it twice,” returned the first gamester, in hot haste. “I'll
+say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered
+gent! You stacked the cards!”
+
+Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
+Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
+was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
+
+“Run or duck!” yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed
+for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob.
+Heavy gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with
+pell-mell out into the darkness. There they all halted, and several
+peeped in at the door.
+
+“Who was the Kid callin'?” asked one outlaw.
+
+“Bud Marsh,” replied another.
+
+“I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,”
+ went on yet another.
+
+“How many shots?”
+
+“Three or four, I counted.”
+
+“Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's.38. Listen!
+There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway.”
+
+At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room.
+Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night
+and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with
+him.
+
+“Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange,” he said. “The Kid--young
+Fuller thet I was tellin' you about--he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost
+his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as
+any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's
+arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened
+on him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading
+round the river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out
+that the trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself
+to his fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store
+for him. He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared
+beyond his power to tell.
+
+Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril--the
+danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which
+threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he
+considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was
+bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps
+years inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright
+light of day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at
+twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day these visitations became
+to him what they really were--phantoms of his conscience. He could
+dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe
+that this strange feat of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained
+him, made him sleepless and sick.
+
+That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
+unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
+interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
+possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's
+life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
+clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
+possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out
+upon his uncertain way.
+
+When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+
+“Say, Buck, I've news for you,” he said; and his tone conveyed either
+pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. “Feller named
+Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
+ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain
+you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles
+south of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?”
+
+“No, I certainly did not,” replied Duane.
+
+“Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled
+with gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as
+seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an
+outlaw an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more
+news. You're goin' to be popular.”
+
+“Popular? What do you mean?”
+
+“I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you
+rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women
+in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come
+in. It's lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the
+towns.”
+
+“Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
+women,” rejoined Duane.
+
+“I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
+hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.”
+
+“What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise.
+
+“Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin' here--the one
+Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?”
+
+“You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,” replied Duane,
+abruptly.
+
+“Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
+years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
+drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
+across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but
+I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson
+fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out
+she was only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed.
+I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said,
+was to use her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never
+went much on Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took
+her--bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from
+notions of chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was
+better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept
+Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has
+growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of
+her. I can see hell brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why
+I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's
+invited you. Shore, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on--Wal, thet
+'d complicate matters. But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could
+help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her
+in your way. You're a man an' can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl
+once, an' if she'd lived she be as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I
+wouldn't want her here in Bland's camp.”
+
+“I'll go, Euchre. Take me over,” replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes
+upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
+
+In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached
+Bland's cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the
+pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked
+like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the
+valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a
+grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences
+of a woman's hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of
+bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
+
+Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+
+“Is that you, Euchre?” asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone
+of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered
+what she would be like.
+
+“Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?” answered Euchre.
+
+“She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,” replied the girl.
+
+Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the
+outlaw's eyes was added significance to Duane.
+
+“Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
+you about,” Euchre said.
+
+“Oh, I can't! I look so--so--”
+
+“Never mind how you look,” interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. “It
+ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no
+rustler, no thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll--”
+
+Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance
+shifting from side to side.
+
+But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared
+in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek.
+She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+
+“Don't be bashful, Jennie,” said Euchre. “You an' Duane have a chance to
+talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'.”
+
+With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+
+“I'm glad to meet you, Miss--Miss Jennie,” said Duane. “Euchre didn't
+mention your last name. He asked me to come over to--”
+
+Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes
+to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes
+were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He
+seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her
+piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence.
+It was no ordinary moment.
+
+“What did you come here for?” she asked, at last.
+
+“To see you,” replied Duane, glad to speak.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Well--Euchre thought--he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit,”
+ replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.
+
+“Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good
+to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are
+you?”
+
+Duane told her.
+
+“You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to
+hide?”
+
+“No, I'm not,” replied Duane, trying to smile.
+
+“Then why are you here?”
+
+“I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape
+at home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back.”
+
+“But you can't be honest here?”
+
+“Yes, I can.”
+
+“Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different.” She kept the
+strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her
+youthful face were softening.
+
+Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the
+unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+
+“O God! Maybe you're the man to save me--to take me away before it's too
+late.”
+
+Duane's spirit leaped.
+
+“Maybe I am,” he replied, instantly.
+
+She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek
+flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress.
+Then the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.
+
+“It can't be. You're only--after me, too, like Bland--like all of them.”
+
+Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook
+her.
+
+“Look at me--straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a
+father--a brother?”
+
+“They're dead--killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was
+carried away,” Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand
+to him. “Forgive me. I believe--I know you're good. It was only--I live
+so much in fear--I'm half crazy--I've almost forgotten what good men are
+like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?”
+
+“Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?”
+
+“Oh no. But take me away.”
+
+“I'll try,” said Duane, simply. “That won't be easy, though. I must
+have time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider.
+Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are
+you watched--kept prisoner?”
+
+“No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have
+fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me,
+half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other
+dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it
+for love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing
+jealous. There was' a man came here by the name of Spence--so he called
+himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him. She was
+in love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and
+that ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with
+Bland about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland
+laughs in her face. Then I've heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland
+to give me to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before
+Bland went away things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished
+Mrs. Bland would kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me.
+Duane, you must be quick if you'd save me.”
+
+“I realize that,” replied he, thoughtfully. “I think my difficulty will
+be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she'd have the whole gang of
+outlaws on me at once.”
+
+“She would that. You've got to be careful--and quick.”
+
+“What kind of woman is she?” inquired Duane.
+
+“She's--she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk
+sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain.
+She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower
+yourself to--to--”
+
+“To make love to her?” interrupted Duane.
+
+Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+
+“My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here,” he said,
+bluntly.
+
+“But--Duane,” she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand.
+“Bland will kill you.”
+
+Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange
+tumult in his breast. The old emotion--the rush of an instinct to kill!
+He turned cold all over.
+
+“Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't,” went on Jennie, with her
+tragic eyes on Duane's.
+
+“Maybe he will,” replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a
+smile. But he achieved one.
+
+“Oh, better take me off at once,” she said. “Save me without risking so
+much--without making love to Mrs. Bland!”
+
+“Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.”
+
+“That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you.”
+
+“Wait--a moment,” whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. “We've
+settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps
+through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage. Remember I'll save you
+somehow. We'll try strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't
+think less of me--”
+
+Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
+
+“I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart,” she whispered,
+passionately.
+
+It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame
+and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+
+He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the
+approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to
+make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie.
+When the outlaw's wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall,
+strong, full-bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression than with
+her good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. The
+situation then took on a singular zest.
+
+Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs.
+Bland. She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so
+prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and
+brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she
+had white teeth.
+
+Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to
+meet her.
+
+Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and
+rather musical.
+
+“Mr. Duane--Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?” she asked.
+
+“Buckley,” corrected Duane. “The nickname's not of my choosing.”
+
+“I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane,” she said, as she took
+the seat Duane offered her. “Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying
+over at Deger's. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day.
+When Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it
+sure takes my time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that
+slattern girl of mine?”
+
+She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of
+feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at
+all.
+
+“I've been alone,” replied Duane. “Haven't seen anybody but a
+sick-looking girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me.”
+
+“That was Jen,” said Mrs. Bland. “She's the kid we keep here, and she
+sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?”
+
+“Now that I think of it, he did say something or other.”
+
+“What did he tell you about me?” bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+
+“Wal, Kate,” replied Euchre, speaking for himself, “you needn't worry
+none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments.”
+
+Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested
+with amusement upon him.
+
+“As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day,” went on the woman. “It's
+a common enough story along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted
+old fool, and Jen has taken him in.”
+
+“Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct,” replied Euchre, dryly,
+“I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may.”
+
+“Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend,” said Mrs. Bland,
+amiably. “You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I
+guess.”
+
+When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with
+curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+
+“Bland told me about you.”
+
+“What did he say?” queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+
+“Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind of a
+man. He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp--rode in here on the
+dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. Wish he would.
+Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him
+and Chess meet out there in the road.' Then Bland went on to tell how
+you and Bosomer came together.”
+
+“What did you say?” inquired Duane, as she paused.
+
+“Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,” she replied, gayly.
+
+“Well?” went on Duane.
+
+“Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a
+great blue-eyed sunburned boy!”
+
+“Humph!” exclaimed Duane. “I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth
+seeing.”
+
+“But I'm not disappointed,” she returned, archly. “Duane, are you going
+to stay long here in camp?”
+
+“Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?”
+
+Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and
+flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had lent
+her a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some
+powerful emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent,
+Duane imagined, of deep, violent nature.
+
+“I'll tell you, Duane,” she said, earnestly, “I'm sure glad if you mean
+to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw's wife,
+and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in
+Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married
+me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business.
+But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family
+cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then.
+I've lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear
+anything about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here--buried
+alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being
+glad to see a young fellow--a gentleman--like the boys I used to go
+with? I tell you it makes me feel full--I want to cry. I'm sick for
+somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not
+stay here. I'm sick of this hole. I'm lonely--”
+
+There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine
+emotion checked, then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and
+cried. It seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife--and a woman
+who fitted her consort and the wild nature of their surroundings--should
+have weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+
+“I'm sorry for you,” he said.
+
+“Don't be SORRY for me,” she said. “That only makes me see the--the
+difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these
+outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me.
+You'll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie.
+Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking
+for somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He
+explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing--that it
+is provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know
+is that somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before
+Spence ever saw me.”
+
+“Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?” inquired Duane.
+
+“No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
+comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in
+love with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to
+do that.”
+
+“I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain,” replied Duane.
+
+He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before
+she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
+conversation.
+
+Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
+say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened.
+He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had
+suffered a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter,
+morbid, overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough,
+she was a frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing
+which struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect.
+In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had
+discovered a trait through which he could manage her.
+
+Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
+the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam
+of Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching
+him, listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
+realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance,
+he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her
+face was wonderful.
+
+Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning “Adios--manana,” and
+was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
+the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze
+with hope and gratitude.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
+sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to
+Euchre for having put something worth while into his mind. During
+breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea
+of how much or how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware
+of Euchre's scrutiny.
+
+“Wal,” began the old man, at last, “how'd you make out with the kid?”
+
+“Kid?” inquired Duane, tentatively.
+
+“Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?”
+
+“We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.”
+
+Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane.
+
+“Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you
+done the job too well.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half crazy.
+She was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her eyes hurt me. She
+wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung onto my hands,
+an' showed every way without speakin' how she wanted to thank me fer
+bringin' you over. Buck, it was plain to me thet you'd either gone the
+limit or else you'd been kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to
+think you'd led Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true.”
+
+Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on:
+
+“Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can
+trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there an' puttin' you
+wise to my tryin' to help thet poor kid?”
+
+Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations with
+Jennie and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end
+Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion
+of the story his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat
+stood out thickly on his brow.
+
+“Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!” he ejaculated, blinking at Duane.
+“Young man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to make your mark on
+this river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what
+it means to be a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my
+heart was in the right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you
+know what it'll take to do all you promised Jen?”
+
+“I haven't any idea,” replied Duane, gravely.
+
+“You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even if she
+falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't be easy.
+An' she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't
+mistaken her none, are you?”
+
+“Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.”
+
+“Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe
+some others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl.”
+
+“Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune
+time sneak off without any gun-play?”
+
+“Don't see how on earth,” returned Euchre, earnestly. “When Bland's
+away he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin' the valley trails.
+They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by them. But when the boss is
+home there's a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their
+eyes peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're
+playin' monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to
+pick out a good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a
+couple of hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie
+with you, an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If you had luck you
+might pull thet stunt without throwin' a gun. But I reckon the best
+figgerin' would include dodgin' some lead an' leavin' at least Bland or
+Alloway dead behind you. I'm figgerin', of course, thet when they come
+home an' find out you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally
+look fer results. Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're
+swift on the draw--mebbe swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this
+gun-play business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gunmen
+till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination mebbe you'll learn some
+day. Bland would treat you civil onless there was reason not to, an'
+then I don't believe he'd invite himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set
+Chess or Rugg to put you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if
+you came across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was
+with Bosomer.”
+
+“All right. I'll meet what comes,” said Duane, quickly. “The great point
+is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick
+through.”
+
+“Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone.”
+
+“I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!”
+
+“Wal, I'll take my chances,” replied Euchre, gruffly. “I'm goin' to help
+Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There's only four men in
+this camp who would shoot me--Bland, an' his right-hand pards, an' thet
+rabbit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd
+stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired--what's
+the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck,
+even if I am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the
+right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now let's
+figger all the little details.”
+
+They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned,
+Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and
+his lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the
+other outlaws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness
+to spend a little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland
+every day--Euchre to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie,
+Duane to blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided
+upon, they proceeded to put them into action.
+
+No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than
+theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to their
+lower level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That
+was why life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply.
+There were men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible
+inexplicable wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near
+them. He could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word,
+a deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could no
+longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these men. Because of
+him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could scarcely ever forget
+the reality of things. This was a hidden valley, a robbers' den, a
+rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained red by deeds of wild men.
+And because of that there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest,
+idlest, most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in
+ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate characters it
+could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Duane sensed was this.
+The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in; the
+mountaintops were always blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid
+slowly and majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the
+horses grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love,
+freedom, happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with money and
+speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled,
+talked, laughed, whiled away the idle hours--and all the time life there
+was wrong, and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil
+into the most awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark,
+brooding shadow over the valley.
+
+Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the Bland
+woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never
+troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It
+took no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which
+evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for
+the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always
+with deference. That was his strong point, and it had made his part
+easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without
+involving himself any deeper.
+
+He was playing at a game of love--playing with life and deaths Sometimes
+he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or any other man, but
+at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out of his
+old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he
+been haunted by the phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been
+haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her
+was through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses
+of her every time he went to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to
+pass door or window, to give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane
+discovered with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to
+him than any with Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just
+inside the window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was
+all made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she was
+almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to
+understand that this was Duane's only chance to help keep her mind from
+constant worry, to gather the import of every word which had a double
+meaning.
+
+Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn
+up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference
+Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The
+eyes seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that
+soon it might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a
+light, a strange fire wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash
+gone in an instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in
+any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that
+Jennie's face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him,
+was responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change
+he fancied, was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his
+pale, sickening ghosts.
+
+One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush
+matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire
+which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was
+that while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking.
+Time hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days
+passed by without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours
+of peace than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but
+empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on all the
+trails leading out of the valley; he had a care for the condition of his
+two horses.
+
+Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that
+they go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+
+“Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin',” said Euchre. “River gettin'
+low an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a greaser
+freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the
+freighters. Bland's supposed to be in Mexico.”
+
+Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling
+in the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an
+outlaw offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily
+freighted wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for
+themselves, let alone for the despised Mexicans.
+
+Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre
+lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in
+comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane
+was alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was
+his belief that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him.
+Moreover, these rough men were always interesting.
+
+“Bland's been chased across the river,” said one.
+
+“New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship,” replied another.
+
+“Big deal on, hey?”
+
+“Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand.”
+
+“Say, that order'll take a year to fill.”
+
+“New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders
+bigger 'n thet.”
+
+“Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer.”
+
+Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the
+outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him.
+
+“Kid Fuller's goin' to cash,” said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw.
+
+“So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad.
+But he took the fever,” rejoined a comrade.
+
+“Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.”
+
+“Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't
+got time.”
+
+A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of
+the outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will.
+Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.
+
+“Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before.”
+
+“Shore. Wal, it's happened before.”
+
+This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane.
+He did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+
+“Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's
+name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days.”
+
+He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in
+no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class
+of men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until
+they wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in
+the very deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the
+simplest and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip.
+There was something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It never
+seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an
+awkward position.
+
+There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches
+on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane
+silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
+
+Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a
+familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted
+of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done
+better.
+
+“Orful hot, ain't it?” remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not
+keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been
+anything else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding;
+a wiry little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly
+black from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel
+eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast.
+
+“Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?” he
+asked.
+
+“My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!” exclaimed a comrade.
+
+This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to
+join him in a bath.
+
+“Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,” went on Bill, discontentedly.
+“Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll
+gamble?”
+
+He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless
+crowd.
+
+“Bill, you're too good at cards,” replied a lanky outlaw.
+
+“Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I
+might take it to heart,” replied Black, with a sudden change of tone.
+
+Here it was again--that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply
+would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance.
+
+“No offense, Bill,” said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+
+Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
+Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was
+out of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land.
+
+“Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?” he
+asked, in disgust.
+
+“Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.” replied one.
+
+Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game
+obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest
+with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried
+their luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their
+supply of two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he
+offered to bet on anything.
+
+“See thet turtle-dove there?” he said, pointing. “I'll bet he'll scare
+at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some
+one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?”
+
+That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws
+could withstand.
+
+“Take thet. Easy money,” said one.
+
+“Who's goin' to chuck the stone?” asked another.
+
+“Anybody,” replied Bill.
+
+“Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,” said the first
+outlaw.
+
+“We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,” chimed in the others.
+
+The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to
+the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+
+“I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,”
+ he offered, imperturbably.
+
+Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to
+cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and
+they all sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the
+tree. The minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular
+remarks anent a fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes
+had passed a turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an
+impressive silence while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars.
+
+“But it hadn't the same dove!” exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. “This
+'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple.”
+
+Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+
+“Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, pard? Now
+I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with
+one stone.”
+
+No one offered to take his wager.
+
+“Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with
+one stone.”
+
+Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise
+disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their banding together.
+The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to
+that bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind
+of wager.
+
+He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he
+appeared at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a
+little ragged Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly
+starved and poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him
+a handful of silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging
+the money.
+
+“I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,” declared Bill.
+“I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.”
+
+Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became
+sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the
+fact that he had won considerable.
+
+Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered
+what was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as
+unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+
+“Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet
+peon's packin',” said the outlaw called Jim.
+
+Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+
+Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon
+carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted
+Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had
+met him often.
+
+“Jim, I'll take you up,” replied Black.
+
+Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
+caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+
+“Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot,” said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
+on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the
+peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit
+a moving object so small as a bucket.
+
+Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that
+Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark
+with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming
+at the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his
+hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
+
+Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the
+same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant and formidable
+front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the
+state of his soul!
+
+The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains;
+twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet;
+the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only
+sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley.
+
+Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate
+man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it
+threatened so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him
+to die rather than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate,
+savage men. But the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed
+reason, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt something dying in
+him. He suffered. Hope seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and
+was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+
+He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her.
+He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand
+between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheered off his morbid
+introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize
+that! He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had
+been stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in
+the river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, she to
+be the means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking to the level of her
+captors. He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her,
+talk with her.
+
+These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's
+house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time
+to compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his
+destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
+him on the porch.
+
+She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such
+a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
+She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
+embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
+that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+
+“He might have killed you,” she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane
+had ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After
+all, she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in
+her experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her
+advance so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such
+as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain
+charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that,
+whatever her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the
+lie she made him act.
+
+“Buck, you love me?” she whispered.
+
+“Yes--yes,” he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
+he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt
+a shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
+promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
+him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his
+arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes,
+thrilled him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+
+“Listen, dear,” he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the
+girl. “I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill
+Bland, Alloway, Rugg--anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged
+here. You are good--I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere--a
+home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till--”
+
+His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland
+closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart
+beat against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved
+him so much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him
+again, and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no
+more.
+
+“Boy, that's good of you,” she whispered, “but it's too late. I'm done
+for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and
+stop your gun-throwing.”
+
+The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the
+valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered
+against the silver.
+
+Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his
+head and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of
+the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the
+narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects.
+Two horses Duane discerned.
+
+“It's Bland!” whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands.
+“You must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's Bland! I know
+his horse's trot.”
+
+“But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here,” protested Duane.
+“Euchre's with me. It'll be all right.”
+
+“Maybe so,” she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly
+she had a great fear of Bland. “If I could only think!”
+
+Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+
+“Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell
+Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your
+neck.”
+
+The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland was
+herself again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood near the window.
+Neither spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They
+were small, trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to
+convey what he felt--that he would protect her. She leaned against him,
+and they looked out of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself.
+His most pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a
+curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the
+riders dismount down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy led away
+the horses. Euchre, the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable
+ease, considering what he claimed was his natural cowardice.
+
+“--that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war,” he
+was saying. “Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to what it is now. An'
+times is rougher these days. This gun-throwin' has come to be a disease.
+Men have an itch for the draw same as they used to have fer poker. The
+only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I
+presume Bill is burnin' now.”
+
+The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the
+porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to
+express surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband
+warmly and gave welcome to the other man. Duane could not see well
+enough in the shadow to recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it
+was Alloway.
+
+“Dog-tired we are and starved,” said Bland, heavily. “Who's here with
+you?”
+
+“That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,”
+ replied Mrs. Bland.
+
+“Duane!” he exclaimed. Then he whispered low--something Duane could not
+catch.
+
+“Why, I asked him to come,” said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and
+naturally and made no change in tone. “Jen has been ailing. She gets
+thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw
+Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let
+him come.”
+
+Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent
+action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand.
+
+“Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?” queried Bland, incredulously.
+
+“Yes, I did,” replied the wife, stubbornly. “Why not? Jen's in love with
+him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be a decent woman.”
+
+Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh.
+
+“Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?”
+
+“She's lyin' or she's crazy,” replied Alloway, and his voice carried an
+unpleasant ring.
+
+Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to
+keep his mouth shut.
+
+“Ho, ho, ho!” rolled out Bland's laugh.
+
+Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was
+carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench.
+
+“How are you, boss?” asked Euchre.
+
+“Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in.”
+
+Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail.
+He answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there a dark,
+silent figure.
+
+Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease
+the situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably
+successful trip.
+
+Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that Bland and
+Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed,
+and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. “Jennie,” whispered Duane, “that
+was clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be
+ready!”
+
+She pressed close to him, and a barely audible “Hurry!” came breathing
+into his ear.
+
+“Good night, Jennie,” he said, aloud. “Hope you feel better to-morrow.”
+
+Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the
+greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment.
+
+“Met Jasper as I rode in,” said Bland, presently. “He told me you made
+Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off
+the handle about?”
+
+Duane explained the incident. “I'm sorry I happened to be there,” he
+went on. “It wasn't my business.”
+
+“Scurvy trick that 'd been,” muttered Bland. “You did right. All the
+same, Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one
+of us--that'd be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But
+I'm not called on to let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my
+rustlers.”
+
+“I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere,” said Duane.
+
+“Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane, and if I
+know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're
+a born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of
+them have told me that something exploded in their brain, and when sense
+came back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a
+little shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to
+rid myself of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest at night.
+That's the gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new
+man--he's driven to it to forget the last one.”
+
+“But I'm no gun-fighter,” protested Duane. “Circumstances made me--”
+
+“No doubt,” interrupted Bland, with a laugh. “Circumstances made me a
+rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young; you've got a temper;
+your father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't
+see any other career for you. Instead of going it alone--a lone wolf,
+as the Texans say--why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live
+longer.”
+
+Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+
+“Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of talk. Thet's
+why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there
+won't be any more trouble. An' he'd be a grand feller fer the gang. I've
+seen Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an'
+Chess here--all the fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to
+present company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw is
+different. You can't see how he does it.”
+
+Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence.
+Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and
+did not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful.
+
+“That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your
+band,” said Duane, easily.
+
+“It's good enough,” replied Bland, shortly. “Will you consider the
+idea?”
+
+“I'll think it over. Good night.”
+
+He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the
+lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back.
+Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down
+under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and
+quiet, a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life.
+The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony canyons of shadow under the
+mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane
+shudder in the realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of
+these things. Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His
+mind was clouded. His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions
+of nature, but the joy of them had fled.
+
+Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead
+of him there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in
+thought of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in
+his. He did not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his
+feelings. He just had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were
+interspersed in the constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+
+A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the
+moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached
+him Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely
+affected Duane. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+
+“Bland kept you pretty long,” he said.
+
+“Wait till I git my breath,” replied Euchre. He sat silent a little
+while, fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and
+then he went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.
+
+“Fine night,” he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with
+Euchre's quaint humor. “Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!”
+
+“I'd noticed that,” rejoined Duane, dryly.
+
+“Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland choke his
+wife till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in the face.”
+
+“No!” ejaculated Duane.
+
+“Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When I got
+back to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been too fagged out
+to figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the house, where they lit
+up the lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He's
+not the talkin' kind, an' he's damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland
+asked me some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them,
+an' I swore the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always
+trusted me, an' liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black thet
+way. But he's a hard man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an' I'd
+double-cross him any day.
+
+“Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little room,
+an' Bland called her to come out. She said she was undressin'. An' he
+ordered her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was
+some surprisin'. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he
+pointed his big blue Colt right at her, an' he says:
+
+“'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+
+“'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+
+“'You lied to me,' he roars.
+
+“Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made a grab
+fer her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an' he got her by
+the throat. He choked her till I thought she was strangled. Alloway made
+him stop. She flopped down on the bed an' gasped fer a while. When she
+come to them hardshelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give
+herself away. I think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick
+with you an' was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man
+to have--to guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave it up
+after a while. An' then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is
+worth pinnin' in your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't
+need much fer thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'
+
+“Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He
+was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin'
+off one of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist
+her--hurt her--I had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the
+only time in my life I wished I was a gun-fighter.
+
+“Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and
+stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen her show any.
+
+“'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I believe
+she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him, an' I want to
+KNOW. If she's been an' you tell me the truth I'll let you go. I'll send
+you out to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll
+give you money.'
+
+“Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet I seen
+death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her. Thet's the
+strange part of it.
+
+“'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like.
+
+“'No,' said Jennie.
+
+“'He's been after you?'
+
+“'Yes.'
+
+“'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+
+“'I--I'm not--I don't know--he hasn't told me.'
+
+“'But you're in love with him?'
+
+“'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her! She
+thronged up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed
+at sight of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an outlaw cried
+right out. He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. An' the look
+of her then was enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the
+room. I told you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen
+to him. So even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+
+“Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+
+“'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in fear of your
+life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love with Duane? She's let
+him come to see you? There's been nuthin' between them?'
+
+“'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked.
+
+“'Go to bed, you white-faced--' Bland choked on some word or other--a
+bad one, I reckon--an' he positively shook in his chair.
+
+“Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle
+Euchre ducked his nut out of the door an' come home.”
+
+Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long harangue.
+He experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal
+worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie perjuring herself to save
+that abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+
+“Wal, there's where our little deal stands now,” resumed Euchre,
+meditatively. “You know, Buck, as well as me thet if you'd been some
+feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a gun you'd now be full of
+lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as
+safe on this here border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in
+this land of the draw.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead,
+thoughtful of the fact that the time for the long-planned action was at
+hand. It was remarkable that a man as loquacious as Euchre could hold
+his tongue so long; and this was significant of the deadly nature of
+the intended deed. During breakfast he said a few words customary in the
+service of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an
+end of deliberation.
+
+“Buck, the sooner the better now,” he declared, with a glint in his eye.
+“The more time we use up now the less surprised Bland'll be.”
+
+“I'm ready when you are,” replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the
+table.
+
+“Wal, saddle up, then,” went on Euchre, gruffly. “Tie on them two packs
+I made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell--mebbe either hoss will be
+carryin' double. It's good they're both big, strong hosses. Guess thet
+wasn't a wise move of your Uncle Euchre's--bringin' in your hosses an'
+havin' them ready?”
+
+“Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are.
+Let me do the rest now,” said Duane.
+
+The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+
+“Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know, why, I'm in
+bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He's
+gettin' wise pretty quick.”
+
+“Euchre, you're going with me?” queried Duane, suddenly divining the
+truth.
+
+“Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was
+a gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin' a peg at Jackrabbit
+Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin' while I go nosin' round.
+It's pretty early, which 's all the better.”
+
+Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore
+a gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane had ever seen the
+outlaw armed.
+
+Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then carried
+the saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa in the corral
+showed that the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost fat during
+his stay in the valley. He watered them, put on the saddles loosely
+cinched, and then the bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas
+water-bottles. That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+
+At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was
+no more thinking and planning to do. The hour had arrived, and he was
+ready. He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take.
+His thoughts became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and
+goodness in the hardened old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept
+glancing at his watch. He hoped to start the thing and get away before
+the outlaws were out of their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of
+Euchre's boots on the hard path. The sound was quicker than usual.
+
+When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so
+astounded as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat
+dripped from him. He had a wild look.
+
+“Luck ours--so-fur, Buck!” he panted.
+
+“You don't look it,” replied Duane.
+
+“I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!”
+
+“Who?” asked Duane, startled.
+
+“Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I went nosin'
+round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's. He's thick with the
+Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions. Anyway, I was sure glad to see him
+away from Bland's. An' he didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's
+there wasn't nobody there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was
+startin' to work. Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he
+wouldn't give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+
+“'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+
+“'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+
+“He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him have it,
+plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I reckon I'll never sleep
+again. But I had to do it.”
+
+Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+
+“I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked sharp. Comin'
+back I cut across through the cottonwoods past Bland's cabin. I meant to
+keep out of sight, but somehow I had an idee I might find out if Bland
+was awake yet. Sure enough I run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends
+Bland's hosses. Beppo likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said
+Bland had been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's
+how I figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore, an' he went
+after Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as likely he might have
+went after Jennie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an' Kate must have
+had it hot an' heavy. We're pretty lucky.”
+
+“It seems so. Well, I'm going,” said Duane, tersely.
+
+“Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most draggin'
+ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy, sore, an' he won't
+be expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you walk over to his house.
+Meet him how you like. Thet's your game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes
+out an' you want to parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his
+proposition an' was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have
+to kill him, an' it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be
+wise, too, fer it's likely he'll do thet same.”
+
+“How about the horses?”
+
+“I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to
+me you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside by the time I git
+there. Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or
+anybody else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit.
+Thet big black will carry you both.”
+
+“All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay--not to mix any
+more in this,” said Duane, earnestly.
+
+“Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give
+me the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word--look out fer thet Bland
+woman!”
+
+Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he
+strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove
+and field, it was about five minutes' walk up to Bland's house. To
+Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in
+restraining his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle
+change in his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in
+conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of
+his courting the encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable
+rush of blood. The motive of this deadly action was not personal, and
+somehow that made a difference.
+
+No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle.
+Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant
+smell of it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove.
+He noted a cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in
+the sunlight.
+
+Then he entered Bland's lane.
+
+While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of
+man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey
+of the surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then
+he hurried a little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer
+through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses.
+There was no indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the
+end. Duane had feared this.
+
+Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch
+and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.
+
+“If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!” That was panted out
+in Kate Bland's full voice.
+
+“Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!” replied Bland, hoarsely.
+
+“What for?”
+
+“I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the
+laugh on her new lover.”
+
+“You lie!” cried Kate Bland.
+
+“I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!” His voice grew hoarser
+with passion. “Let me go now!”
+
+“No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of
+her--you'll kill her.”
+
+“The TRUTH!” hissed Bland.
+
+“Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't--murder
+her--for that.”
+
+Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
+violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the jangle of spurs--a
+crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.
+
+Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
+across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to
+her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's
+room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
+shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.
+
+With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold.
+His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable
+position.
+
+Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for
+his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes
+the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland
+shifted his glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate
+with the swing of his arm.
+
+Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
+floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
+stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
+gasped his last.
+
+“Duane, you've killed him!” cried Kate Bland, huskily. “I knew you'd
+have to!”
+
+She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
+clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half
+stunned, but showed no grief.
+
+“Jennie!” called Duane, sharply.
+
+“Oh--Duane!” came a halting reply.
+
+“Yes. Come out. Hurry!”
+
+She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
+Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared
+the woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was
+protective, and his movement toward the door equally as significant.
+
+“Duane,” cried Mrs. Bland.
+
+It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
+that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane.
+Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was
+changing to realization.
+
+“Where 're you taking Jen?” she cried, her voice like a man's. “Get out
+of my way,” replied Duane. His look perhaps, without speech, was enough
+for her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.
+
+“You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You
+let me believe--you swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer about
+you. All for that girl! But you can't have her. You'll never leave here
+alive. Give me that girl! Let me--get at her! She'll never win any more
+men in this camp.”
+
+She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off
+her onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second
+her fury increased.
+
+“HELP! HELP! HELP!” she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated
+to the remotest cabin in the valley.
+
+“Let go! Let go!” cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in
+his right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward the woman off.
+His coolness had gone with her shriek for help. “Let go!” he repeated,
+and he shoved her fiercely.
+
+Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her strong
+hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell
+into the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped upon her. He
+struck up the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
+
+“Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!” he said.
+
+Jennie flashed out of the door.
+
+With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it
+with his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed
+woman off the floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as strong
+as he.
+
+“Kate! Let go!”
+
+He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face,
+or reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not
+care. She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her
+lips they seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she
+fought him; her face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that
+outlaw life, the wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in
+such a moment terribly impressed upon Duane.
+
+He heard a cry from outside--a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+
+It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block
+his plan.
+
+“Let go!” he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
+instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
+
+With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle
+down and discharged it. Duane felt a blow--a shock--a burning agony
+tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully
+upon the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and
+seemed stunned.
+
+Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp
+cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his
+bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled,
+and he was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and
+Euchre's ceased. He fell from the horse.
+
+A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess
+Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he
+saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that
+slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun
+went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+
+Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging
+bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
+face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
+
+“Jennie, you've nerve, all right!” cried Duane, as he dragged down
+the horse she was holding. “Up with you now! There! Never mind--long
+stirrups! Hang on somehow!”
+
+He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
+The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into
+the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. He heard shouts. But
+there were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but
+without stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and
+reached out to grasp her arm.
+
+Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the
+steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No
+pursuers were in sight.
+
+“Jennie, we're going to get away!” he cried, exultation for her in his
+voice.
+
+She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back
+he faced her.
+
+“Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!” she faltered, pointing with
+trembling fingers.
+
+With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he
+instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had
+sustained a terrible wound.
+
+Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave
+apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled
+freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs
+of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough
+up a reddish-tinged foam.
+
+As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
+
+“I'm badly hurt, Jennie,” he said, “but I guess I'll stick it out.”
+
+“The woman--did she shoot you?”
+
+“Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't
+quick enough.”
+
+“You didn't have to--to--” shivered the girl.
+
+“No! no!” he replied.
+
+They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses,
+which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast
+time up the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they
+surmounted the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with
+no signs of pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken
+fastnesses before them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that
+they now had every chance of escape.
+
+“But--your--wound!” she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. “I see--the
+blood--dripping from your back!”
+
+“Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing,” he said.
+
+Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware
+presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But
+that did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe
+enough. What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where
+he could hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire
+inside his breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for
+him to take a swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer
+considerable pain, which increased as the hours went by and then gave
+way to a numbness. From that time on he had need of his great strength
+and endurance. Gradually he lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and
+he realized that if he were to meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should
+come up with him, he could make only a poor stand. So he turned off on a
+trail that appeared seldom traveled.
+
+Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his
+senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he
+was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she
+was left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
+
+“Jennie, I'll give out soon,” he said. “No-I don't mean--what you think.
+But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I die--you ride back to
+the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail goes
+to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some rancher
+will take you in.”
+
+Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on,
+and soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse. He did not
+know whether they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was
+conscious when the horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and
+feeling Jennie's arms before all became dark to him.
+
+When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little hut of
+mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some years old. There
+were two doors or openings, one in front and the other at the back.
+Duane imagined it had been built by a fugitive--one who meant to keep an
+eye both ways and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire
+to move. Where was he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time,
+distance, of something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two
+packs Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become of
+her? There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a little
+blackened coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses
+or getting water. He thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt
+tired, and presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.
+
+Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way
+she seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start and turned
+eagerly to him.
+
+“Duane!” she cried.
+
+“Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?” he said, finding it a little
+difficult to talk.
+
+“Oh, I'm all right,” she replied. “And you've come to--your wound's
+healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could.”
+
+Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness
+of skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+
+“Fever? How long have we been here?” he asked.
+
+She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them.
+
+“Nine. Nine days,” she answered.
+
+“Nine days!” he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her
+assured him that she meant what she said. “I've been sick all the time?
+You nursed me?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Bland's men didn't come along here?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Where are the horses?”
+
+“I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass
+and water.”
+
+“Have you slept any?”
+
+“A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake.”
+
+“Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day
+and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all about
+it.”
+
+“There's nothing much to tell.”
+
+“I want to know, anyway, just what you did--how you felt.”
+
+“I can't remember very well,” she replied, simply. “We must have ridden
+forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the time. Toward evening
+you lay on your horse's neck. When we came to this place you fell out of
+the saddle. I dragged you in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought
+you'd die that night. But in the morning I had a little hope. I had
+forgotten the horses. But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them
+and kept them down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began
+to breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever that
+put you back. You raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn't
+stop you. Anybody trailing us could have heard you a good ways. I don't
+know whether I was scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was
+so dark and lonely and still all around. Every day I put a stone in your
+hat.”
+
+“Jennie, you saved my life,” said Duane.
+
+“I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do,” she replied. “You
+saved mine--more than my life.”
+
+Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp.
+
+“Jennie, we're going to get away,” he said, with gladness. “I'll be well
+in a few days. You don't know how strong I am. We'll hide by day and
+travel by night. I can get you across the river.”
+
+“And then?” she asked.
+
+“We'll find some honest rancher.”
+
+“And then?” she persisted.
+
+“Why,” he began, slowly, “that's as far as my thoughts ever got. It
+was pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so much. It means your
+safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be sent to some village or town
+and taken care of until a relative or friend is notified.”
+
+“And you?” she inquired, in a strange voice.
+
+Duane kept silence.
+
+“What will you do?” she went on.
+
+“Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among
+respectable people. I'm an outlaw.”
+
+“You're no criminal!” she declared, with deep passion.
+
+“Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a
+criminal doesn't count for much.”
+
+“You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness
+and sweetness--all that's good about you? Oh, Duane, don't--don't go!”
+
+“I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go
+alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border. What else can I do,
+Jennie?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas--go
+far away?”
+
+“I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide,
+but a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie.”
+
+In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse.
+During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main
+trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they
+rode out of the canyons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the
+morning halted at the first water to camp.
+
+From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding
+during the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was assured of
+safety for her and great danger for himself. They had crossed into
+a country he did not know. Somewhere east of the river there were
+scattered ranches. But he was as liable to find the rancher in touch
+with the outlaws as he was likely to find him honest. Duane hoped his
+good fortune would not desert him in this last service to Jennie. Next
+to the worry of that was realization of his condition. He had gotten
+up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard, and now he felt that any
+moment he might fall from his saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren
+mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of green and
+a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse for it and turned a
+face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's sake. She seemed both happy
+and sorry.
+
+When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And
+thrift spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees,
+corrals, windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all surrounding a neat
+little adobe house. Some children were playing in the yard. The way
+they ran at sight of Duane hinted of both the loneliness and the fear
+of their isolated lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man.
+The latter looked keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired,
+freckled Texan.
+
+“Howdy, stranger,” he called, as Duane halted. “Get down, you an' your
+woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me--”
+
+Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He
+thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one
+sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
+
+The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+
+“Martha, come out here!” he called. “This man's sick. No; he's shot, or
+I don't know blood-stains.”
+
+Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared
+about to faint.
+
+“Air you his wife?” asked the rancher.
+
+“No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
+Duane!”
+
+“Buck Duane!” exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. “The man who killed
+Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young
+woman.”
+
+The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and
+practical essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far
+gone that he could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and
+weakly asked for water. When that was given him he found his voice.
+
+“Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself--just all in. The wounds I
+got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in--hide her awhile
+till the excitement's over among the outlaws?”
+
+“I shore will,” replied the Texan.
+
+“Thanks. I'll remember you--I'll square it.”
+
+“What 're you goin' to do?”
+
+“I'll rest a bit--then go back to the brakes.”
+
+“Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here--any rustlers on
+your trail?”
+
+“I think we gave Bland's gang the slip.”
+
+“Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an'
+hide both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor
+is five miles off. We don't have much company.”
+
+“You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me,” said
+Duane.
+
+“Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
+outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn.”
+
+“My horses might betray you,” added Duane.
+
+“I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
+it. Come now, let me help you indoors.”
+
+Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of
+a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
+cool hands on his hot face.
+
+He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
+week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
+After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end
+of this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his
+illness he had been silent, moody.
+
+“Jennie, I'll be riding off soon,” he said, one evening. “I can't impose
+on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness.
+His wife, too--she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will
+have to say good-by very soon.”
+
+“Don't hurry away,” she replied.
+
+Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the
+girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance to say
+good-by as another indication of her regret that he must go back to the
+brakes. Yet somehow it made him observe her more closely. She wore a
+plain, white dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep
+and good food had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same paleness,
+the same strained look, the same dark eyes full of haunting shadows.
+After Duane's realization of the change in her he watched her more, with
+a growing certainty that he would be sorry not to see her again.
+
+“It's likely we won't ever see each other again,” he said. “That's
+strange to think of. We've been through some hard days, and I seem to
+have known you a long time.”
+
+Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to
+something less personal.
+
+Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to Huntsville.
+
+“Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland outfit,”
+ he said, important and full of news. “It's some exaggerated, accordin'
+to what you told me; but you've shore made friends on this side of the
+Nueces. I reckon there ain't a town where you wouldn't find people to
+welcome you. Huntsville, you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half
+the people are crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in
+praise of you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the
+boss outlaw of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent citizen.
+He was tellin' me what a grand job yours was for the border an' honest
+cattlemen. Now that Bland and Alloway are done for, King Fisher will
+find rustlin' easier. There's talk of Hardin movie' his camp over to
+Bland's. But I don't know how true it is. I reckon there ain't much
+to it. In the past when a big outlaw chief went under, his band almost
+always broke up an' scattered. There's no one left who could run thet
+outfit.”
+
+“Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?” asked Duane.
+
+“Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore,” replied
+Andrews. “Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled to go on your
+trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would be afraid to
+trail you. An' you could go right in to Huntsville, where you'd be some
+popular. Reckon you'd be safe, too, except when some of them fool saloon
+loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it.
+Them kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane.”
+
+“I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two,” went on
+Duane. “Then I'll go--I'd like to talk to you about Jennie.”
+
+“She's welcome to a home here with us.”
+
+“Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to get farther
+away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here. Besides, she may be
+able to find relatives. She has some, though she doesn't know where they
+are.”
+
+“All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd better
+take her to some town. Go north an' strike for Shelbyville or Crockett.
+Them's both good towns. I'll tell Jennie the names of men who'll help
+her. You needn't ride into town at all.”
+
+“Which place is nearer, and how far is it?”
+
+“Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you
+ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at
+night an' go careful.”
+
+At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said
+good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane's
+thanks.
+
+“I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,” he declared.
+
+“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Duane. “I may come along here again
+some day.”
+
+“Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there
+ain't nothin' I can think of--I just happen to remember--” Here he led
+Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in a whisper. “Buck, I
+used to be well-to-do. Got skinned by a man named Brown--Rodney Brown.
+He lives in Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on fightin',
+or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me--stole all I had. He's a hoss an'
+cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I reckon I
+needn't say any more.”
+
+“Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?” queried Duane,
+curiously.
+
+“Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged
+Stevens through the middle. But the outlaw rode off, an' nobody ever
+knew for shore.”
+
+“Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,” said Duane.
+
+Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women.
+
+“The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the
+left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said, Andrews?”
+
+“Shore. An' good luck to you both!”
+
+Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At the moment
+an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke Stevens and the rancher
+Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a man named Brown. Duane wished
+with all his heart that they had not mentioned it, let alone taken for
+granted the execution of the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men
+who robbed and men who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the
+spirit of the country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this
+Rodney Brown. And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous
+he really was--to men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how
+little stood between his sane and better self and a self utterly wild
+and terrible. He reasoned that only intelligence could save him--only a
+thoughtful understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+
+Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful
+views of her future, and presently darkness set in. The sky was overcast
+with heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression
+threatened storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him,
+though his horse had no difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was
+bothered by the blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible,
+and any moment he might miss the road that led off to the left. So
+he was compelled to give all his attention to peering into the thick
+shadows ahead. As good luck would have it, he came to higher ground
+where there was less mesquite, and therefore not such impenetrable
+darkness; and at this point he came to where the road split.
+
+Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his
+annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was not well
+dressed for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat,
+which in that dry warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his
+saddle, and he put it on Jennie.
+
+They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker.
+Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat
+better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite the
+discomfort, and soon a gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+
+Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be built to
+dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk catching cold.
+In fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find a shelter in that barren
+waste seemed a futile task. Quite unexpectedly, however, they happened
+upon a deserted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did
+it prove to have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water
+was available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for the
+horses.
+
+A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their condition
+as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane,
+however, there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding-place. The
+rain fell harder all the time, and the wind changed to the north. “It's
+a norther, all right,” muttered Duane. “Two or three days.” And he felt
+that his extraordinary luck had not held out. Still one point favored
+him, and it was that travelers were not likely to come along during the
+storm. Jennie slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant
+more to him than any task he had ever assumed. First it had been partly
+from a human feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and partly a motive
+to establish clearly to himself that he was no outlaw. Lately, however,
+had come a different sense, a strange one, with something personal and
+warm and protective in it.
+
+As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with bedraggled dress
+and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep,
+and her long, dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her
+fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never before. But for him
+she might at that very moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying
+back in that cabin of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his
+importance in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still
+young; she would forget and be happy; she would live to be a good
+wife and mother. Somehow the thought swelled his heart. His act,
+death-dealing as it had been, was a noble one, and helped him to hold
+on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once since Jennie had entered into his
+thought had those ghosts returned to torment him.
+
+To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility
+of finding her relatives. He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt
+a pang.
+
+She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always alert,
+whether he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain pattered steadily
+on the roof and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the door.
+The horses were outside in a shed that afforded poor shelter, and they
+stamped restlessly. Duane kept them saddled and bridled.
+
+About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal
+and afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never been, in his
+observation of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, the
+farthest removed from serenity and poise. That characteristic capacity
+for agitation struck him as stronger in her this day. He attributed it,
+however, to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes
+when her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her
+freedom, of her future.
+
+“This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville,” he said.
+
+“Where will you be?” she asked, quickly.
+
+“Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,” he replied.
+
+The girl shuddered.
+
+“I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the men of my
+family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads,
+a hearth with a fire, a warm bed--somebody to love them. And you,
+Duane--oh, my God! What must your life be? You must ride and hide and
+watch eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly word, no clean
+clothes, no woman's hand! Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes--these must
+be the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding,
+killing until you meet--”
+
+She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was
+amazed, deeply touched.
+
+“My girl, thank you for that thought of me,” he said, with a tremor in
+his voice. “You don't know how much that means to me.”
+
+She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful.
+
+“I've heard tell--the best of men go to the bad out there. You won't.
+Promise me you won't. I never--knew any man--like you. I--I--we may
+never see each other again--after to-day. I'll never forget you. I'll
+pray for you, and I'll never give up trying to--to do something. Don't
+despair. It's never too late. It was my hope that kept me alive--out
+there at Bland's--before you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But if
+I could hope--so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. Fight for
+your life. Stick out your exile--and maybe--some day--”
+
+Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep
+as hers promised to remember her words. In her despair for him she had
+spoken wisdom--pointed out the only course.
+
+Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner
+reasserted itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode,
+had broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the
+sound of his hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps
+of mesquite in sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It
+turned out, however, that he had not done so.
+
+Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near the road.
+So he put her up on his horse and bade her follow. The rain had ceased
+for the time being, though evidently the storm was not yet over. The
+tracks led up a wash to a wide flat where mesquite, prickly pear, and
+thorn-bush grew so thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was
+thoroughly concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would
+soon be night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly through that
+brake on foot. Therefore he decided to risk leaving her at the edge of
+the thicket and go in alone.
+
+As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a branch
+he had stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the impatient pound of
+his horse's hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not wholly
+satisfied. He was never satisfied in regard to safety; he knew too well
+that there never could be safety for him in this country.
+
+The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane wondered
+what had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there was
+none. Presently he heard the horse tramping along, and then he ran. The
+mud was deep, and the sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up
+with the horse, and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh
+horse-tracks.
+
+He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that they had
+been made very recently, even since it had ceased raining. They were
+tracks of well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a cautious glance
+all around. His instant decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he
+had come a goodly way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush
+back. Once or twice he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but
+did not halt to make sure. Certain he was now that some kind of danger
+threatened.
+
+Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off somewhere
+to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane leaped
+forward, tore his way through the thorny brake. He heard Jennie cry
+again--an appealing call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right,
+and he plunged that way. He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire
+and ground covered with footprints and tracks showed that campers had
+lately been. Rushing across this, he broke his passage out to the open.
+But he was too late. His horse had disappeared. Jennie was gone. There
+were no riders in sight. There was no sound. There was a heavy trail of
+horses going north. Jennie had been carried off--probably by outlaws.
+Duane realized that pursuit was out of the question--that Jennie was
+lost.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's deeds, far
+up where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs,
+stood a small deserted shack of covered mesquite poles. It had been made
+long ago, but was well preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail,
+and another faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border
+fugitives from law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged
+never lived in houses with only one door.
+
+It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except for the
+outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave for most of the
+other wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the gorge there
+was never-failing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady
+retreats, deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of
+narrow-twisting, deep canyon full of broken rocks and impenetrable
+thickets. The scream of the panther was heard there, the squall of the
+wildcat, the cough of the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring
+blossoms, and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. All day there
+was continuous song of birds, that of the mocking-bird loud and sweet
+and mocking above the rest.
+
+On clear days--and rare indeed were cloudy days--with the subsiding
+of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around the little hut.
+Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually to fade with
+the shading of light.
+
+At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in the
+westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west and listener
+to the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three years
+before, Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+
+The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of circumstances
+that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had marked, if not a
+change, at least a cessation in Duane's activities. He had trailed
+Sellers to kill him for the supposed abducting of Jennie. He had trailed
+him long after he had learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted
+absolute assurance of Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and
+there, unauthenticated stories, were all Duane had gathered in years to
+substantiate his belief--that Jennie died shortly after the beginning of
+her second captivity. But Duane did not know surely. Sellers might have
+told him. Duane expected, if not to force it from him at the end, to
+read it in his eyes. But the bullet went too unerringly; it locked his
+lips and fixed his eyes.
+
+After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a friend, and
+when he recovered from the wound Sellers had given him he started with
+two horses and a pack for the lonely gorge on the Nueces. There he
+had been hidden for months, a prey to remorse, a dreamer, a victim of
+phantoms.
+
+It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky fastness. And
+work, action, helped to pass the hours. But he could not work all the
+time, even if he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments and at
+night his task was to live with the hell in his mind.
+
+The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little
+hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's presence. It was not
+as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her
+death. He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that
+intense hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to
+that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had
+found things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of
+ribbon Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No wandering
+outlaw or traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further
+endeared it to Duane.
+
+A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of it--the
+failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim it--to deaden
+the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of
+visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as
+clearly as if she had stood there in the flesh. For hours he did that,
+dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would
+taste. He saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged
+dress in which he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in
+Mexican sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and
+swelling throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark
+eyes. He remembered every look she had given him, every word she had
+spoken to him, every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty
+and sweetness, of the few things which had come to mean to him that
+she must have loved him; and he trained himself to think of these in
+preference to her life at Bland's, the escape with him, and then her
+recapture, because such memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had
+to fight suffering because it was eating out his heart.
+
+Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his
+white-haired mother. He saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by
+dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of
+it.
+
+Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he
+would send out a voiceless cry no less poignant because it was silent:
+“Poor fool! No, I shall never see mother again--never go home--never
+have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over!
+These dreams torture me! What have I to do with a mother, a home, a
+wife? No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am
+an outlaw, an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am
+alone--alone. Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall go mad
+thinking! Man, what is left to you? A hiding-place like a wolf's--lonely
+silent days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or the trail and the road with
+their bloody tracks, and then the hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride
+to some hole in rocks or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't
+I end it all? What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the
+gun-fighter to live--to hang on to miserable life--to have no fear of
+death, yet to cling like a leach--to die as gun-fighters seldom die,
+with boots off! Bain, you were first, and you're long avenged. I'd
+change with you. And Sellers, you were last, and you're avenged. And you
+others--you're avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!”
+
+But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+
+A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering
+round him, escorted him to his bed.
+
+When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers,
+or passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and
+exhaustion made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually
+he required less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little
+by little his phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the
+saving power of his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+
+How many times he had said to himself: “I am an intelligent man. I'm
+not crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All this is
+fancy--imagination--conscience. I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no
+hope--and my mind is obsessed, thronged with images. And these images
+naturally are of the men with whom I have dealt. I can't forget them.
+They come back to me, hour after hour; and when my tortured mind grows
+weak, then maybe I'm not just right till the mood wears out and lets me
+sleep.”
+
+So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was
+star-bright above the canyon-walls, darkly shadowing down between them.
+The insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick song, low
+and monotonous. Slow-running water splashed softly over stones in the
+stream-bed. From far down the canyon came the mournful hoot of an owl.
+The moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these
+things weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In
+truth, they did not constitute loneliness.
+
+And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached
+out to touch a cold, bright star.
+
+He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this star-studded,
+velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of wild country between
+El Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory--a refuge for
+outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a
+book with names and records of outlaws--three thousand known outlaws.
+Yet these could scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had
+been recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from camp to
+camp, den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he knew these men.
+Most of them were hopeless criminals; some were avengers; a few were
+wronged wanderers; and among them occasionally was a man, human in his
+way, honest as he could be, not yet lost to good.
+
+But all of them were akin in one sense--their outlawry; and that starry
+night they lay with their dark faces up, some in packs like wolves,
+others alone like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not make much
+difference in Duane's thought of them that the majority were steeped in
+crime and brutality, more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a
+fine feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+
+Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not realize his
+moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted wretches who knew it.
+He believed he could enter into their minds and feel the truth of
+all their lives--the hardened outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who
+murdered as Bill Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing,
+who craved money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and,
+like that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, “Let her
+rip!”
+
+The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure; the
+cowboys with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge
+that they were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the North,
+defaulters, forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, flat-chested men not fit
+for that wilderness and not surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand
+and glove with outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled,
+bow-legged genuine rustlers--all these Duane had come in contact with,
+had watched and known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as
+their lives were bad, sooner or later to end dismally or tragically, so
+they must pay some kind of earthly penalty--if not of conscience, then
+of fear; if not of fear, then of that most terrible of all things to
+restless, active men--pain, the pang of flesh and bone.
+
+Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the
+internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by no means small
+class of which he was representative. The world that judged him and his
+kind judged him as a machine, a killing-machine, with only mind enough
+to hunt, to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three endless years
+for Duane to understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that
+the gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who were
+evil and had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis, had something
+far more torturing to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and
+sleep and peace; and that something was abnormal fear of death. Duane
+knew this, for he had shot these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow
+in eyes, the presentiment that the will could not control, and then the
+horrible certainty. These men must have been in agony at every meeting
+with a possible or certain foe--more agony than the hot rend of a
+bullet. They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear, by every victim
+calling from the grave that nothing was so inevitable as death, which
+lurked behind every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep in the dark
+tube of every gun. These men could not have a friend; they could not
+love or trust a woman. They knew their one chance of holding on to life
+lay in their own distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by
+the very nature of their lives, could not be lasting. They had doomed
+themselves. What, then, could possibly have dwelt in the depths of
+their minds as they went to their beds on a starry night like this, with
+mystery in silence and shadow, with time passing surely, and the dark
+future and its secret approaching every hour--what, then, but hell?
+
+The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would
+have been glad to lay down the burden of life, providing death came
+naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,
+superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of
+an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that
+this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.
+
+Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for
+ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing domination of these
+haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or
+brutality or murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they
+knew more than when they were alive, had learned that life was a divine
+mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their
+voiceless clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inaction
+of his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather than
+to hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The moment
+he rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. A
+strange warmth stirred in him--a longing to see the faces of people,
+to hear their voices--a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it was
+only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal vigilance.
+When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all except his deeper,
+better self; when he escaped from this into the haunts of men his force
+and will went to the preservation of his life.
+
+Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends there.
+Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of the village
+there was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered post
+which marked it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He had
+never read the inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other than
+the erstwhile ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the
+stockmen and ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he
+or his outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane
+when sore in need. Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village,
+called him every name known to border men, taunted him to draw, and
+killed him in the act.
+
+Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father,
+and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice
+of a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his
+gun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for the
+time being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often
+speak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him
+silent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In
+the years of his absence from home he had never heard a word about his
+mother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would
+have been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters that
+might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.
+
+Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight
+fell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain
+overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early
+in the evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and
+hero-worshiping sons of the house, Jones returned from a quick visit
+down to the post-office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored
+under intense excitement.
+
+“Duane, there's rangers in town,” he whispered. “It's all over town,
+too, that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw
+you. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the
+women might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows--devils
+with the women.”
+
+“What company of rangers?” asked Duane, quickly.
+
+“Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name
+in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders.
+He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north.”
+
+“MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.”
+
+“Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
+hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
+man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
+you up.”
+
+Duane did not speak.
+
+“MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
+find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
+but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
+Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
+Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
+officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown.”
+
+Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact
+of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+
+“I've already fixed up a pack of grub,” went on Jones. “I'll slip out to
+saddle your horse. You watch here.”
+
+He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded
+on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet
+clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared
+nearer he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He
+slowed his stride.
+
+“Does Burt Jones live here?” he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+
+“I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?” replied Jones.
+
+The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands
+up.
+
+“It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the
+river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after
+dark.”
+
+The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had
+come.
+
+“Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?” exclaimed Jones.
+
+“A new one on me,” replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+“First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor
+tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross
+anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he
+must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal.”
+
+“Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without
+bloodshed,” observed Duane. “Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.”
+
+“He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about
+this, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer
+things. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his
+intentions, his presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you
+hit the road and put some miles between you the amiable Captain before
+daylight. To-morrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil he
+meant.”
+
+“That messenger he sent--he was a ranger,” said Duane.
+
+“Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing
+you that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that.
+Pretty odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane.”
+
+A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark
+rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane
+back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into
+swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind.
+
+Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of mesquite,
+dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a little grass. Here he
+staked his horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a pillow,
+his saddle-blanket for covering, he went to sleep.
+
+Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days
+he paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And in
+each some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made
+Duane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call
+upon these friends and left this message, “Tell Buck Duane to ride into
+Captain MacNelly's camp some time after night.”
+
+Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new
+ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill Buck
+Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse,
+the daring of which might appeal to certain outlaws.
+
+But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it did not,
+however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a
+hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Here
+he heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never but
+once ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had been
+compelled to shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the
+few ranchers and their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both
+outlaws and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these
+ranchers. Being unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed on
+into the heart of this district, when all the time he really believed he
+was traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberate
+attempt to kill him because he was an unknown rider in those parts,
+discovered to Duane his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuaded
+him to return to his old methods of hiding by day and traveling by
+night.
+
+He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering much
+ground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice he
+came to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick as
+chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided
+must be the lower Nueces.
+
+One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw
+the lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unable
+to because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to the
+outskirts of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go round
+to the right. Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so it
+was well after midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or
+more then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a road
+which appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed several thickets
+where he would have halted to hide during the day but for the fact that
+he had to find water.
+
+He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or
+clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So he
+kept on.
+
+The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here and
+there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he
+mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he could
+not see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which
+was down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome
+horse heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+
+The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough
+to reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more,
+a little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump of
+cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of men facing him, and two dark,
+limp, strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches.
+
+The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never
+before found himself so unpleasantly close.
+
+A hoarse voice pealed out: “By hell! there's another one!”
+
+“Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!” yelled another.
+
+“Hands up!”
+
+“Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!”
+
+These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be continuous. Duane
+was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left
+forearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightened
+horse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the
+road saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet
+steed wend down the long hill.
+
+Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief
+concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the bones
+were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was
+an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,
+Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand
+tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+
+Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more
+coming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a
+quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane
+needed only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-riding
+cowboys in a land where all riders were good. They would not have owned
+any but strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers
+had suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws.
+Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynching
+party at a time of all times when any stranger would be in danger and
+any outlaw put to his limit to escape with his life.
+
+Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy piece
+of ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon his
+pursuers. When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to check
+a little that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big,
+strong, fast; but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test.
+And that worried Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep one
+horse very long at a time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+
+Duane had only one plan--the only plan possible in this case--and that
+was to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in the
+willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, and
+this was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closely
+pressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+little in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It was
+decidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane pondered
+over this, looking backward several times to see if their horses were
+stretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only one
+reason presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with
+him headed straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to
+force the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road
+turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted
+and yucca-spired country extended away on either side. Duane believed
+that he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was
+certain--he had to go round the village. The river, however, was on the
+outskirts of the village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+
+Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes
+strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon
+descried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to the
+fact that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene.
+More than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did not
+keep them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see
+this new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a
+muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
+
+He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There
+were patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite,
+and he found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was
+impossible for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he
+decided, and take to his tracks.
+
+What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right
+into a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get a horse over.
+He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to
+a harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of
+mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poor
+cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw
+moving dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile
+away, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved that
+they had entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's
+difficulty.
+
+Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts,
+straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this was seemingly made
+impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feel
+cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an
+outlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. But
+reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless,
+the strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+
+He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward he
+lost sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant now
+to try to reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though still
+saving him for a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus,
+washes--all operated against his following a straight line. Almost he
+lost his bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies
+had not good fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-over
+stretch of ground.
+
+Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within
+gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horse
+into that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never had
+Duane bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about to
+accomplish the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior to
+any horse in pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough
+to spare a little in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly
+terrorized, he kept the pace through thickets that almost tore Duane
+from his saddle. Something weighty and grim eased off Duane. He was
+going to get out in front! The horse had speed, fire, stamina.
+
+Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here,
+right in his path, within pistol-range, stood horsemen waiting. They
+yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his
+horse--faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing his
+ground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figures
+hanging from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw
+than do anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. His
+horror of hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion compared
+to his gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
+
+A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duane
+could scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across his
+eyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of the
+nearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did they
+shoot at him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have been
+the cracking of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he
+handled the rein with his right; and most of the time he hung low over
+the pommel. The gray walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rush
+of wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of his
+horse--these vied in sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the
+rack of his wound, the cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also
+was dull, raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It took
+all his mind to force back that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers,
+of this race for his useless life.
+
+Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long
+stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled
+his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out
+in front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of
+breaking. Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers--he could not count how
+many--were loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them,
+and with teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to
+foil them.
+
+He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from
+corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher
+running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in
+the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a
+lack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride
+which showed he was almost done.
+
+Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner
+than he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had entered the zone of
+wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to
+ride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers
+were half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to
+intercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse
+broke and began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last long
+enough to go through the village.
+
+Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means
+new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in
+his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the
+place, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was
+about to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a
+foot in the stirrup.
+
+Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+
+“Mine's done--but not killed,” he panted. “Trade with me.”
+
+“Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,” drawled the man. “But
+ain't you a little swift?”
+
+Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
+
+“I'm Duane--Buck Duane,” he cried, menacingly. “Will you trade? Hurry!”
+
+The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell
+back.
+
+“I reckon I'll trade,” he said.
+
+Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snorted
+in fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane
+flashed by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But the
+road ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for
+he had ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert.
+When he reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find
+six horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
+
+His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high
+sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see
+extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it was
+to his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached
+his hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to
+the dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+
+There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn
+beast into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane cared
+to risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So
+he had to abandon the horse--a circumstance that only such sore straits
+could have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the
+narrow aisles.
+
+He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers
+piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into
+the willows.
+
+“Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!” called one, evidently to the man Duane had
+forced into a trade.
+
+“Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',”
+ replied a voice from the bluff.
+
+“Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,” said the first speaker.
+
+“Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS
+BUCK DUANE!”
+
+Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a
+rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+
+“He can't git across the river, I tell you,” came to Duane's ears. “He's
+corralled in the brake. I know thet hole.”
+
+Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no
+more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading a
+passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and
+nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied
+by an Indian.
+
+The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas
+ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.
+Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the
+willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
+an inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above,
+these wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray
+and yellow--a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were
+a few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries--the
+jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was clay and unusually dry,
+sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a
+growth of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there
+usually was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender
+poles with stems so close together that they almost touched, and with
+the leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake
+Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle
+of the day the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the
+foliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green
+mantle and danced like gold on the ground.
+
+Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and
+likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always
+seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any
+unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided
+under the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard
+to conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could
+hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and
+never know it. The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then,
+hunted men and animals survived on very little.
+
+Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping
+in the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more
+hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river,
+Duane had his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put
+the river between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to
+be favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the
+willows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There
+were narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by
+animals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling,
+stooping any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was not
+easy--he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and
+when he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progress
+necessarily grew slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder,
+denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept on
+without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that the
+afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrong
+direction. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, and
+after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through to
+the bank of the river.
+
+He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank
+extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance the
+futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish
+water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all
+quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He
+could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked
+down. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from the
+high bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there
+apparently was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any
+hope of crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would be
+just the same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the
+pole and lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his
+way back to where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on
+up-stream till the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling around
+for a place big enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time
+being he was as safe there as he would have been beyond in the Rim Rock.
+He was tired, though not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain
+in his arm he dropped at once into sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly so thick
+and heavy as to have substance blanketed the black willow brake. He
+could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even his hand before
+his eyes. He lay there waiting, listening, sure that he had been
+awakened by an unusual sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the
+wilderness never disturbed his rest. His faculties, like those of
+old fugitives and hunted creatures, had become trained to a marvelous
+keenness. A long low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows,
+passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted by him in the
+darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a fox barked lonesomely
+in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken his slumber.
+
+Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound. Quickly
+Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made him aware of
+his crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. Silence
+enfolded him again, all the more oppressive and menacing in his
+suspense. Bloodhounds had been put on his trail, and the leader was not
+far away. All his life Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he
+knew that if the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he
+would be held at bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising to
+his feet, prepared to flee as best he could, he waited to be sure of the
+direction he should take.
+
+The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, full-toned,
+ringing bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant in its power. It
+caused a cold sweat to ooze out all over Duane's body. He turned from
+it, and with his uninjured arm outstretched to feel for the willows
+he groped his way along. As it was impossible to pick out the narrow
+passages, he had to slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding
+stems. He made such a crashing that he no longer heard the baying of
+the hounds. He had no hope to elude them. He meant to climb the first
+cottonwood that he stumbled upon in his blind flight. But it appeared
+he never was going to be lucky enough to run against one. Often he fell,
+sometimes flat, at others upheld by the willows. What made the work
+so hard was the fact that he had only one arm to open a clump of
+close-growing stems and his feet would catch or tangle in the narrow
+crotches, holding him fast. He had to struggle desperately. It was as if
+the willows were clutching hands, his enemies, fiendishly impeding his
+progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches and his flesh suffered
+many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept on until he brought
+up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+
+There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly exhausted as he
+had ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn and burning, his breast
+laboring, his legs stinging from innumerable bruises. While he leaned
+there to catch his breath he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a
+long time there was no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive
+him into any hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a
+trail, and others that ran mostly silent. The former were more valuable
+to their owner and the latter more dangerous to the fugitive. Presently
+Duane's ears were filled by a chorus of short ringing yelps. The pack
+had found where he had slept, and now the trail was hot. Satisfied that
+they would soon overtake him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood,
+which in his condition was difficult of ascent.
+
+It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up,
+and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
+the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the
+brake, and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these
+were bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult
+on that side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he
+imagined he saw more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be
+sure. While he sat there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds,
+the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded
+was east and meant that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score,
+he descended to the first branch of the tree.
+
+His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so
+hopeless as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and
+he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of
+possibility that any men could have followed running hounds through that
+brake in the night. The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the
+bonfires. He had gathered from the words of one of his pursuers that the
+brake was a kind of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way
+out of it, and that was along the bank where he had entered, and where
+obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further
+conjecture on this point, however, was interrupted by a crashing in the
+willows and the rapid patter of feet.
+
+Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the
+ground, nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would
+not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush
+through the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above
+crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's
+pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant.
+And at daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the
+brake, guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+
+It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
+vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
+had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually
+the obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of
+the hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader
+of the pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That
+stopped the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and fled,
+its course easily marked by the howls of the crippled members. Duane
+reloaded his gun, and, making certain all the hounds had gone, he
+descended to the ground and set off at a rapid pace to the northward.
+
+The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his first
+halt some miles north of the scene where he had waited for the hounds. A
+barrier to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky bluff, rose
+sheer from the willow brake. He skirted the base of the cliff, where
+walking was comparatively easy, around in the direction of the river. He
+reached the end finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape
+from the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by some
+hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where he could fill
+his sombrero with water. After quenching his thirst he had a look at his
+wound. It was caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off the arm
+was seen to be inflamed and swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed
+it, experiencing a soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged
+it as best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated
+the pain of the injured member and held it in a quiet and restful
+position, where it had a chance to begin mending.
+
+As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His great
+strength and endurance had always made fatigue something almost unknown
+to him. However, tramping on foot day and night was as unusual to him as
+to any other riders of the Southwest, and it had begun to tell on him.
+Retracing his steps, he reached the point where he had abruptly come
+upon the bluff, and here he determined to follow along its base in the
+other direction until he found a way out or discovered the futility of
+such effort.
+
+Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to listen. But
+he was always listening, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness
+had become second nature with him, so that except in extreme cases
+of caution he performed it while he pondered his gloomy and fateful
+situation. Such habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+
+By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was facing
+south. The bluff had petered out from a high, mountainous wall to a
+low abutment of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough nature and
+afforded no crack or slope where quick ascent could have been possible.
+He pushed on, growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding
+that as he neared the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper
+into the willows. In the afternoon he reached a point where he could see
+men pacing to and fro on the bluff. This assured him that whatever place
+was guarded was one by which he might escape. He headed toward these men
+and approached to within a hundred paces of the bluff where they were.
+There were several men and several boys, all armed and, after the manner
+of Texans, taking their task leisurely. Farther down Duane made out
+black dots on the horizon of the bluff-line, and these he concluded were
+more guards stationed at another outlet. Probably all the available men
+in the district were on duty. Texans took a grim pleasure in such work.
+Duane remembered that upon several occasions he had served such duty
+himself.
+
+Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the land. For
+several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He took stock of those
+careless guards. They had rifles, and that made vain any attempt to pass
+them in daylight. He believed an attempt by night might be successful;
+and he was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there till dark and
+then try it, when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards
+on the bluff.
+
+The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he was
+lustily true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together and begin to
+talk excitedly and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him to
+slip away under the willows. He made no noise, and he assured himself he
+must be invisible. Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of
+rifles, and bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The
+day was hot and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he touched
+a willow stem, even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent
+a quiver among the leaves. Through this the guards had located his
+position. Once a bullet hissed by him; another thudded into the ground
+before him. This shooting loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from
+these men, and he hated them and himself because of it. Always in
+the fury of such moments he wanted to give back shot for shot. But
+he slipped on through the willows, and at length the rifles ceased to
+crack.
+
+He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept
+on, wondering what the next mile would bring.
+
+It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a hot
+fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape with no more
+than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+
+Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
+and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had
+come down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the
+blockade of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and
+after the brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to
+creep out of the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff,
+here only a bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of
+a shadow when a hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the
+willows was as perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he
+had accomplished it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles,
+he felt that he had indeed been favored by Providence. This time men
+followed him a goodly ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead
+through the willows sounded on all sides of him.
+
+When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his
+mind clamped between two things--whether to try again to escape or
+wait for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
+intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape.
+He had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
+attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound
+him. There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench
+decision out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not
+yet. He had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his
+run he found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms
+of vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low
+and near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang
+and hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered
+his head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a
+long and wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but
+in a dreadful state of mind.
+
+First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
+but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish,
+and therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed.
+That morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting
+to cross the river. If he could find a light log it was within the
+bounds of possibility that he might ford the shallow water and bars of
+quicksand. But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the
+bluff.
+
+All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next
+night, he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff; and every hour
+forced upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.
+
+Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass.
+There arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers at the extreme
+southern corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows,
+driven to what he believed was his last stand.
+
+If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him! Let him
+fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But these hunters, eager
+as they were to get him, had care of their own skins. They took few
+risks. They had him cornered.
+
+It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive, threatening storm.
+Like a snake Duane crawled into a little space in the darkest part of
+the thicket and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, from the
+river, seemingly from all sides. But he heard voices only from in front
+and toward his left. Even if his passage to the river had not been
+blocked, it might just as well have been.
+
+“Come on fellers--down hyar,” called one man from the bluff.
+
+“Got him corralled at last,” shouted another.
+
+“Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,” taunted
+another.
+
+“I seen him, I tell you.”
+
+“Aw, thet was a deer.”
+
+“But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows.”
+
+“If he's winged we needn't hurry.”
+
+“Hold on thar, you boys,” came a shout in authoritative tones from
+farther up the bluff. “Go slow. You-all air gittin' foolish at the end
+of a long chase.”
+
+“Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than
+somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be huntin' us soon!”
+
+“Let's surround this corner an' starve him out.”
+
+“Fire the brake.”
+
+How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear
+his doom. This, then, was the end he had always expected, which had been
+close to him before, yet never like now.
+
+“By God!” whispered Duane, “the thing for me to do now--is go out--meet
+them!”
+
+That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him. In that
+moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die, that was the way
+for him to die. What else could be expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
+knees and drew his gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he held
+what spare ammunition he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to
+the edge of the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there
+was a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had
+rifles. The fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live on earth
+who could make such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting them
+suddenly he could kill a man for every shot in his gun.
+
+Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate--to meet this end.
+But when he tried to step forward something checked him. He forced
+himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that opposed his will was
+as insurmountable as it had been physically impossible for him to climb
+the bluff.
+
+Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim and
+ghastly dignity that had been his a moment before fell away from him. He
+lay there stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He wondered was
+he afraid; had he, the last of the Duanes--had he come to feel fear? No!
+Never in all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet men face
+to face. It was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding,
+this eternal vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the
+situation was that if he went out to meet these men there was absolutely
+no doubt of his doom. If he clung to his covert there was a chance, a
+merest chance, for his life. These pursuers, dogged and unflagging as
+they had been, were mortally afraid of him. It was his fame that made
+them cowards. Duane's keenness told him that at the very darkest and
+most perilous moment there was still a chance for him. And the blood in
+him, the temper of his father, the years of his outlawry, the pride of
+his unsought and hated career, the nameless, inexplicable something in
+him made him accept that slim chance.
+
+Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the
+burning sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe, sweating and
+bleeding. His uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his
+flesh. Blotched and swollen from the never-ending attack of flies and
+mosquitoes his face seemed twice its natural size, and it ached and
+stung.
+
+On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the old hell,
+terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought
+and imagination had never been so swift. If death found him presently,
+how would it come? Would he get decent burial or be left for the
+peccaries and the coyotes? Would his people ever know where he had
+fallen? How wretched, how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was
+monstrous for him to cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in
+his heart, the hellish hate of these men on his trail--that was like a
+scourge. He felt no longer human. He had degenerated into an animal that
+could think. His heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved;
+and this internal strife seemed to thunder into his ears. He was now
+enacting the tragedy of all crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in
+their dens. Only his tragedy was infinitely more terrible because he
+had mind enough to see his plight, his resemblance to a lonely wolf,
+bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling, fire-eyed in a last instinctive
+defiance.
+
+Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching, listening
+intensity so supreme that it registered impressions which were creations
+of his imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not there; he saw
+shadowy moving figures that were only leaves. A hundred times when he
+was about to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from
+a distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other sounds
+real enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real from the false.
+There were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering
+breath down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching
+army.
+
+This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in
+itself was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading
+clouds. A storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air
+was like steam. If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common
+though rare to the country, Duane believed he might slip away in the
+fury of wind and rain. Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged
+again. He hailed it with a bitterness that was sickening.
+
+Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention. He
+heard a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening
+in the thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while that beast came
+into full view was an age. The dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had
+a trail or a scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the
+inevitable discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him
+in that thicket. Voices from outside could be heard urging on the dog.
+Rover they called him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog entered the
+little shaded covert. Duane expected a yelping, a baying, or at least
+a bark that would tell of his hiding-place. A strange relief swiftly
+swayed over Duane. The end was near now. He had no further choice. Let
+them come--a quick fierce exchange of shots--and then this torture past!
+He waited for the dog to give the alarm.
+
+But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a
+yelp. Duane could not believe the evidence of his senses. He thought he
+had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to
+and fro among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all
+sound from him ceased.
+
+“Thar's Rover,” called a voice from the bluff-side. “He's been through
+thet black patch.”
+
+“Nary a rabbit in there,” replied another.
+
+“Bah! Thet pup's no good,” scornfully growled another man. “Put a hound
+at thet clump of willows.”
+
+“Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes.”
+
+The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
+
+Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching,
+listening spell. After all, it was not to end just now. His chance still
+persisted--looked a little brighter--led him on, perhaps, to forlorn
+hope.
+
+All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else
+Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be caused by the approaching
+storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder still
+muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at
+this time of overcast sky night was at hand.
+
+Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He would yet
+elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he seized the significance
+of all these fortunate circumstances which had aided him. Without haste
+and without sound he began to crawl in the direction of the river. It
+was not far, and he reached the bank before darkness set in. There were
+men up on the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he
+half yielded to a temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close
+in under the willows. But when he raised himself to peer out he saw that
+an attempt of this kind would be liable to failure. At the same moment
+he saw a rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged against some
+willows. The end of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him.
+Quick as a flash he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he
+tied his gun in an oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.
+
+The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to
+splash into the water. There was a willow growing back some few feet
+from the edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over
+the water so that when he released it there would be no springing back.
+Then he trusted his weight to it, with his feet sliding carefully
+down the bank. He went into the water almost up to his knees, felt
+the quicksand grip his feet; then, leaning forward till he reached the
+plank, he pulled it toward him and lay upon it.
+
+Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end
+appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows. Very carefully
+then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand.
+It seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a
+movement upward, and he pulled with all the power he dared use. It
+came slowly and at length was free. The left one he released with less
+difficulty. The next few moments he put all his attention on the plank
+to ascertain if his weight would sink it into the sand. The far end
+slipped off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled
+to rest upon the bottom. But it sank no farther, and Duane's greatest
+concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible for him
+to keep his head up for long he carefully crawled out upon the plank
+until he could rest an arm and shoulder upon the willows.
+
+When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous with
+fires. There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the bluff, another
+a hundred paces beyond. A great flare extended over the brake in that
+direction. Duane heard a roaring on the wind, and he knew his pursuers
+had fired the willows. He did not believe that would help them much.
+The brake was dry enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the
+bonfires he discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood,
+were keeping up the light with oil and stuff from the village. A dozen
+men kept watch on the bluff scarcely fifty paces from where Duane lay
+concealed by the willows. They talked, cracked jokes, sang songs, and
+manifestly considered this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the
+bright light lasted Duane dared not move. He had the patience and the
+endurance to wait for the breaking of the storm, and if that did not
+come, then the early hour before dawn when the gray fog and gloom were
+over the river.
+
+Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he
+waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of withstanding any
+strain endurable by the human frame.
+
+The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the willows,
+carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down over the river, and
+lightning began to flash. Then the rain fell in heavy sheets, but
+not steadily. The flashes of lightning and the broad flares played so
+incessantly that Duane could not trust himself out on the open river.
+Certainly the storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on
+the bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain and
+cramp and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it had come,
+and the long night set in. There were times when Duane thought he was
+paralyzed, others when he grew sick, giddy, weak from the strained
+posture. The first paling of the stars quickened him with a kind of wild
+joy. He watched them grow paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow
+hovered down, rested upon the river, and gradually thickened. The
+bonfire on the bluff showed as through a foggy veil. The watchers were
+mere groping dark figures.
+
+Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction, began
+to move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at length overcame a
+paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the sand and holding the
+plank with his knees, he edged it out into the river. Inch by inch he
+advanced until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy
+figures of the men on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him,
+feared that they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a little gurgle
+and splash in the water. Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It
+got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking
+sound. There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered
+straight advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear
+the bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
+backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving
+shadows a little darker.
+
+Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling.
+Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place.
+This way he made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to
+be enveloping him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were
+coalescing with the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred
+patches of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+
+To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit
+and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and when at last he
+discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save
+him. He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed
+north through the willows.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he
+reached familiar country and found a rancher who had before befriended
+him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a
+couple of weeks he was himself again.
+
+When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his
+friend reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles
+south, near the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain
+cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of
+such notices, but he had never seen one. His friend's reluctance and
+refusal to state for what particular deed this reward was offered roused
+Duane's curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
+rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some gun-shooting
+scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been accused of worse
+deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over there and find out who wanted
+him dead or alive, and why.
+
+As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first
+time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble. Introspection awarded him
+this knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces
+and while he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable,
+hopeless bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
+All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back
+from his fate.
+
+That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be
+what he was credited with being--that is to say, to embrace evil. He
+had never committed a crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? He
+reasoned finally that the desperation of crime had been forced upon
+him, if not its motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable
+actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had returned to the scene
+of the crime that had outlawed them; why they took such strangely fatal
+chances; why life was no more to them than a breath of wind; why they
+rode straight into the jaws of death to confront wronged men or
+hunting rangers, vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
+bitterness as this that drove these men.
+
+Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green
+fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be
+Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersecting
+road. There was a placard nailed on the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew
+rein near it and leaned close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR
+BUCK DUANE DEAD OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded
+print, Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
+Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named, but the
+date was illegible. The reward was offered by the woman's husband, whose
+name appeared with that of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.
+
+Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the
+horror of his fate, wild with passion at those misguided fools who could
+believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland, and,
+as always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before
+word had gone abroad that he had killed her, and so it was easy for
+men wanting to fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often.
+Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless crimes.
+
+A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm
+shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with clouded brow and
+piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight
+toward the village.
+
+Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of
+some railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by
+trees and commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick.
+A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central
+location.
+
+Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting,
+before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a
+spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of
+lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such
+placid, lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their
+attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently
+took him for an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of
+them recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
+
+He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+
+“I'm Buck Duane,” he said. “I saw that placard--out there on a
+sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
+see him.”
+
+His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
+he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was
+simple enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were
+tears in his eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees
+and his hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his
+fate. This ignominy was the last straw.
+
+Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among
+these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the
+shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked
+his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face,
+shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun.
+
+“Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!” he roared, waving the gun.
+
+That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
+his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
+not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt
+man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy.
+He made no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded
+him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of
+his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even
+if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from
+his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.
+
+People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old
+men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew.
+The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of
+girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.
+
+The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got
+to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of
+them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to
+stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little
+time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+
+“Shut up, will you-all?” he was yelling. “Give us a chance to hear
+somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's
+right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off.”
+
+This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
+personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.
+
+“Abe, put the gun down,” he said. “It might go off. Here, give it to me.
+Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?”
+
+The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking
+hand and pointed.
+
+“Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!” he panted.
+
+An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+
+“The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!” cried an
+excited villager.
+
+“Buck Duane! Buck Duane!”
+
+“Hang him!”
+
+The cowboy silenced these cries.
+
+“Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?” he asked, sharply.
+
+“Why--he said so,” replied the man called Abe.
+
+“What!” came the exclamation, incredulously.
+
+“It's a tarnal fact,” panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was
+an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his
+deed. “He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off,
+says he was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.”
+
+This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring
+as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had
+restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope
+over his head.
+
+“Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+
+The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+
+“Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,” ordered Abe's
+interlocutor.
+
+With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his
+former statement.
+
+“If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?” bluntly
+queried the cowboy.
+
+“Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I
+grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.”
+
+What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates
+likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
+
+“Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,” he said.
+
+That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+
+“I'm Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. “It was this way--”
+
+The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left
+his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out
+in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out
+a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.
+
+“Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
+ought to know that. You mean it, then?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters?
+Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken
+bad, huh?”
+
+“No,” replied Duane. “Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems
+a little off his head.”
+
+“Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an'
+all his doings?”
+
+“I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did.
+That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward.
+Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed
+for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to
+send for Jeff Aiken.”
+
+“An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?”
+ queried the cowboy in amazement.
+
+“I guess that's it,” replied Duane.
+
+“Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.”
+
+A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+
+“It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,” he said.
+“Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or
+what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen
+him onct would never forget him.”
+
+“What do you want to see Aiken for?” asked the cowboy Sibert.
+
+“I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because I'm innocent, that's all.”
+
+“Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you;
+what then?”
+
+“If he won't believe me--why, then my case's so bad--I'd be better off
+dead.”
+
+A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+
+“If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.”
+
+“Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,” replied a man.
+
+Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed
+out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a
+number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with
+hard faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these
+seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying
+glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck.
+Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated,
+seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old
+women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+
+Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's
+wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A
+soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!
+
+“Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” called a man, loudly.
+
+The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+
+Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart
+build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce
+energy.
+
+The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+
+“Hold on, Jeff,” he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He
+spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's
+face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken
+and Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a
+pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands--again the
+insane tumult was about to break out--the demand for an outlaw's blood,
+the call for a wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's
+bloody soil.
+
+Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat
+and cuffed in vain.
+
+“Jeff, will you listen?” broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the
+other man's arm.
+
+Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of
+themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that
+dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of
+bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of
+death he felt it then.
+
+“Sure this 's your game, Aiken,” said Sibert. “But hear me a minute.
+Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck Duane. He seen the
+placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shirley. He says he's
+Buck Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff Aiken. That's all clear enough.
+You know how these gunfighters go lookin' for trouble. But here's
+what stumps me. Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe
+Strickland grab his gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives
+me some strange talk about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's
+innocent, he'd better be dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't drunk or
+crazy or locoed. He doesn't strike me as a man who rode in here huntin'
+blood. So I reckon you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to
+say.”
+
+Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his
+gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to
+passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have
+judge him in a critical moment like this.
+
+“Listen,” said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's, “I'm
+Buck Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into
+outlawry. I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed
+men to save my own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode
+thirty miles to-day--deliberately to see what this reward was, who made
+it, what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of
+my soul. So I rode in here to find you--to tell you this: I never saw
+Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to have--killed your
+wife. Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper
+Nueces. I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't
+murder a woman. I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my
+hands. It's just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons
+you have for holding me responsible. I only know--you're wrong. You've
+been deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man.
+I'm about broken, I guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything.
+If you can't look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I
+say--why, by God! you can kill me!”
+
+Aiken heaved a great breath.
+
+“Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't
+matter. You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear.
+The thing is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my
+wife's assailant.”
+
+He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+
+“Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.”
+
+Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
+voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he
+did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which
+might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.
+
+The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image
+of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
+Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid.
+Then he fetched her closer to Duane.
+
+“Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?” asked Aiken, huskily
+and low. “Is he the one--who came in the house that day--struck you
+down--and dragged mama--?”
+
+Aiken's voice failed.
+
+A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
+sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
+moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence--of suspense.
+
+“It's ain't him!” cried the child.
+
+Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
+bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
+
+“See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,” burst
+out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. “You-all are a lot of wise
+rangers. Haw! haw!”
+
+He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
+
+“You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like
+again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck
+Duane's named for--which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's
+his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.”
+
+Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the
+horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a
+lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
+
+“I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say--hit that road quick!” he said,
+frankly.
+
+He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them
+they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly
+drawn to follow.
+
+Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously
+probably, he still held the gun.
+
+“Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe you're not so black as
+you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this,
+anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?”
+
+“I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise.
+
+“I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” went on Aiken, hurriedly.
+“He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him--argued with
+him. We almost had hard words over it. Now--I'm sorry. The last thing he
+said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp
+after dark!' He meant something strange. What--I can't say. But he was
+right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you.
+Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever.
+Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger
+tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you
+further as he did this day!”
+
+Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+
+“So long, Buck!” called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over
+his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the
+sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of
+decision in favor of that direction.
+
+He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt
+up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain.
+In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were
+out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
+
+Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be
+Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village
+limits on the other side.
+
+No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival.
+Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared
+to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern
+Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street,
+he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of
+his old home.
+
+There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as
+Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to
+make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness.
+Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a
+grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding
+darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
+
+“Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+
+Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+
+“One man--alone,” replied Duane.
+
+“A stranger?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+“I'm trying to find the ranger camp.”
+
+“You've struck it. What's your errand?”
+
+“I want to see Captain MacNelly.”
+
+“Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can
+see.”
+
+Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces.
+He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he discovered the man who
+held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here
+Duane halted.
+
+“Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,” the guard ordered,
+curtly.
+
+Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of
+light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+
+“Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business
+with the Captain?”
+
+Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+
+“Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his
+camp--after dark,” finally said Duane.
+
+The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner
+had been alert, and now it became tense.
+
+“Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, without turning in the
+least toward the camp-fire.
+
+“Hello! What's up, Pickens?” came the swift reply. It was followed by a
+rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
+the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
+Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
+second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
+back.
+
+“Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is
+peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come
+here--after dark.”
+
+Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at
+the camp-fire heard what he said.
+
+“Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied an authoritative voice.
+Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
+camp-fire and hurried out.
+
+“Better be foxy, Cap,” shouted a ranger, in warning.
+
+“Shut up--all of you,” was the reply.
+
+This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers
+who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to
+Duane.
+
+“I'm MacNelly,” he said. “If you're my man, don't mention your
+name--yet.”
+
+All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
+happened lately.
+
+“I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said Duane. “He sent me--”
+
+“You've met Aiken!” exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. “By all
+that's bully!” Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
+
+“Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.”
+
+The rangers slowly withdrew.
+
+“Buck Duane! It's you?” he whispered, eagerly.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated
+fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,” went on MacNelly; and he extended
+his hand.
+
+Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his
+hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+
+“It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to
+meet you,” said Duane, soberly.
+
+“You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
+present.”
+
+He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+
+“Pickers, go back on duty,” he ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after
+this horse.”
+
+When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
+the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
+the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small
+adobe house at one side.
+
+“We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk,” said
+MacNelly. “I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
+hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house.”
+
+Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
+before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way
+he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that
+MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would
+hardly have made this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and
+Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had
+bent keen eyes around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers
+apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in
+service--Duane saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
+Despite the occasional joke and sally of the more youthful members, and
+a general conversation of camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about
+the fact that his advent had been an unusual and striking one, which had
+caused an undercurrent of conjecture and even consternation among them.
+These rangers were too well trained to appear openly curious about their
+captain's guest. If they had not deliberately attempted to be oblivious
+of his presence Duane would have concluded they thought him an ordinary
+visitor, somehow of use to MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense
+that must have been due to a hint of his identity.
+
+He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+
+“Come in and have a chair,” said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
+occupant of the room to rise. “Leave us, Russell, and close the door.
+I'll be through these reports right off.”
+
+MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen
+in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
+dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong,
+yet not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers,
+fussed with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up
+he pushed a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to
+smoke he took a cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then,
+settling back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to
+hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.
+
+“Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years,” he began.
+
+Duane smiled a little--a smile that felt strange on his face. He had
+never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more than ordinarily
+difficult.
+
+MacNelly must have felt that.
+
+He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
+changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+
+“I've lots to say, but where to begin,” he mused. “Duane, you've had
+a hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met you before, don't
+know what you looked like as a boy. But I can see what--well, even
+ranger life isn't all roses.”
+
+He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke.
+
+“Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?” he asked, abruptly.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Never a word?”
+
+“Not one,” replied Duane, sadly.
+
+“That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately
+your mother, sister, uncle--all your folks, I believe--were well. I've
+kept posted. But haven't heard lately.”
+
+Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his
+throat, and then said, “It's worth what I went through to-day to hear
+that.”
+
+“I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war--but let's
+get down to the business of this meeting.”
+
+He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+
+“You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to
+see you?”
+
+“Three times, I remember,” replied Duane.
+
+“Why didn't you hunt me up?”
+
+“I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take
+a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested.”
+
+“That was natural, I suppose,” went on MacNelly. “You didn't know me,
+otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you.
+But the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious.
+Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?”
+
+“Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing,” replied Duane.
+
+“It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border.
+But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his
+infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also. But I've found hundreds
+of men in southwest Texas who're your friends, who swear you never
+committed a crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes.
+What I want to know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal?
+Tell me the truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan.
+And when I say crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable
+Texan.”
+
+“That way my hands are clean,” replied Duane.
+
+“You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when
+you needed him bad--never anything like that?”
+
+“Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest.”
+
+“Duane, I'm damn glad!” MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. “Glad
+for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
+Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
+existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
+probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term.”
+
+“That's what kept me on the dodge all these years,” replied Duane.
+
+“Certainly.” MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and
+glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He
+leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.
+
+“Listen to this,” he whispered, hoarsely. “If I place a pardon in your
+hand--make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
+infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you--will you swear
+yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?”
+
+Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+
+Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
+MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+
+“My God!” burst from Duane. “What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
+earnest!”
+
+“Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
+do you say?”
+
+He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
+outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
+Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
+fugitive mounting assurance of victory.
+
+Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
+sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.
+
+“Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word,” said Duane.
+
+A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness.
+He held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men
+unconsciously give in moments of stress.
+
+When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
+fumbled for another cigar--he had bitten the other into shreds--and,
+lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He
+had the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable
+cost. His next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and
+extract from it several folded papers.
+
+“Here's your pardon from the Governor,” he said, quietly. “You'll see,
+when you look it over, that it's conditional. When you sign this paper I
+have here the condition will be met.”
+
+He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along
+a dotted line.
+
+Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It
+was with difficulty that he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane--how
+strange the name looked!
+
+“Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gunfighter,” said
+MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane's fingers and
+wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. Then with a smile
+he handed it to Duane.
+
+“That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers.”
+
+“So that's it!” burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+bewilderment. “You want me for ranger service?”
+
+“Sure. That's it,” replied the Captain, dryly. “Now to hear what that
+service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as
+you may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you
+that political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a
+good deal of friction in the Department of State in regard to whether or
+not the ranger service is any good--whether it should be discontinued or
+not. I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I contend
+that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce
+results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break
+up the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there
+yet because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant I needed. You, of
+course, are the man I had in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio
+Grande and begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw
+of the times. He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang
+who are operating on the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's my
+private opinion, but it's not been backed up by any evidence. Cheseldine
+doesn't leave evidences. He's intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have
+seen him--to know what he looks like. I assume, of course, that you are
+a stranger to the country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of
+your ground. There's a little town over there called Fairdale. It's the
+nest of a rustler gang. They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who
+the leader is. I want you to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is
+best you will proceed to act upon. You are your own boss. You know such
+men and how they can be approached. You will take all the time needed,
+if it's months. It will be necessary for you to communicate with me, and
+that will be a difficult matter. For Cheseldine dominates several whole
+counties. You must find some way to let me know when I and my rangers
+are needed. The plan is to break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest
+job on the border. Arresting him alone isn't to be heard of. He couldn't
+be brought out. Killing him isn't much better, for his select men, the
+ones he operates with, are as dangerous to the community as he is. We
+want to kill or jail this choice selection of robbers and break up the
+rest of the gang. To find them, to get among them somehow, to learn
+their movements, to lay your trap for us rangers to spring--that, Duane,
+is your service to me, and God knows it's a great one!”
+
+“I have accepted it,” replied Duane.
+
+“Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no
+one except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off
+the job. You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to
+acquaint Texas with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's
+no date on that paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the
+service. Perhaps we can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry
+has really been good service to the state. At that, I'll believe it'll
+turn out so.”
+
+MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his
+brows together in a dark frown, and went on. “No man on the border knows
+so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a thousand to one
+that you'll be killed. I'd say there was no chance at all for any other
+man beside you. Your reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe
+that and your nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping
+so. But it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back.”
+
+“That's not the point,” said Duane. “But in case I get killed out
+there--what--”
+
+“Leave that to me,” interrupted Captain MacNelly. “Your folks will know
+at once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you lose your life out
+there I'll see your name cleared--the service you render known. You can
+rest assured of that.”
+
+“I am satisfied,” replied Duane. “That's so much more than I've dared to
+hope.”
+
+“Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll
+start as soon as you like--the sooner the better. I hope to think of
+other suggestions, especially about communicating with me.”
+
+Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased
+round the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring into the
+blackness, marveling over the strange events of the day. He was humble,
+grateful to the depths of his soul. A huge and crushing burden had been
+lifted from his heart. He welcomed this hazardous service to the man who
+had saved him. Thought of his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his
+home, of old friends came rushing over him the first time in years that
+he had happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them would
+now be removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life of the past,
+and its probable tragic end in future service as atonement changed their
+aspects. And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming
+the vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated
+in the blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+
+It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to
+breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting
+and stamping of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out of his
+blankets and made good use of the soap and towel and razor and brush
+near by on a bench--things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The
+face he saw in the mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so
+hard to recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+
+The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the
+ground.
+
+“Fellows,” said MacNelly, “shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret
+ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you all hump soon!
+Mind you, keep mum about it.”
+
+The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth of which
+he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their
+ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain
+hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in
+their welcome to show Duane their respect and appreciation, while not
+forgetting his lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that
+circle, now one of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+
+After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+
+“Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike straight
+for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then go to Valentine.
+That's near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge of the
+Rim Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the
+north is the town Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the
+rocks. Only after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border
+towns on his staff, or scared of him, and these places we want to know
+about, especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin.
+I don't have to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Ride a
+hundred, two hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.”
+
+MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose.
+
+“I'll start at once,” he said, extending his hand to the Captain. “I
+wish--I'd like to thank you.”
+
+“Hell, man! Don't thank me!” replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered
+hand. “I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're
+another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by
+Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing.
+No, not good-by--Adios, Duane! May we meet again!”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II. THE RANGER
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region, barren in the
+north where the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile in
+the south along the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course
+across five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and
+towns lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western
+Texas, and despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the
+pioneers pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; then
+his neighbors in near and far valleys; then the hamlets; at last the
+railroad and the towns. And still the pioneers came, spreading
+deeper into the valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was
+mesquite-dotted, cactus-covered desert, but rich soil upon which water
+acted like magic. There was little grass to an acre, but there were
+millions of acres. The climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and
+ranchers prospered.
+
+The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a
+thousand miles, and then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north,
+to make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut
+across this bend, and all that country bounded on the north by the
+railroad and on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains.
+It contained not one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as
+if to isolate it, stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount
+Ord, Cathedral Mount, and Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks above their
+fellows. In the valleys of the foothills and out across the plains were
+ranches, and farther north villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+
+Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas
+was a world in itself--a world where the riches of the rancher were
+ever enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this
+outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the
+dark peak that loomed some miles to the south. It had been settled
+originally by Mexicans--there were still the ruins of adobe
+missions--but with the advent of the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants
+were shot or driven away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and
+evil sway there were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their
+choice between holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or furnishing
+target practice for that wild element.
+
+Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in
+a community where all men were remarkable for one reason or another
+he excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and
+most engaging attention--horses in that region being apparently more
+important than men. This particular horse did not attract with beauty.
+At first glance he seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough
+despite the care manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body, ponderous
+of limb, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand
+head. True, if only his head had been seen he would have been a
+beautiful horse. Like men, horses show what they are in the shape, the
+size, the line, the character of the head. This one denoted fire, speed,
+blood, loyalty, and his eyes were as soft and dark as a woman's. His
+face was solid black, except in the middle of his forehead, where there
+was a round spot of white.
+
+“Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?” asked a ragged urchin, with born
+love of a horse in his eyes.
+
+“Bullet,” replied the rider.
+
+“Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?” whispered the youngster to
+another. “Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen.”
+
+Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican make, a
+lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a tarpaulin.
+
+This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his horse. His
+apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without vanity, and it
+was torn and travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an intimate
+acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, this man was a giant in
+stature, but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking
+thing about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair
+white over the temples. He packed two guns, both low down--but that was
+too common a thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer,
+however, would have noted a singular fact--this rider's right hand was
+more bronzed, more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove
+on that right hand!
+
+He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide,
+high-boarded front the sign, “Hotel.” There were horsemen coming and
+going down the wide street between its rows of old stores, saloons,
+and houses. Ord certainly did not look enterprising. Americans had
+manifestly assimilated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel
+had a wide platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk.
+Upon it, and leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages,
+most of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were
+booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all wore
+vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the men.
+
+It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature did not
+appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and boisterous kind
+natural to the cowboy or rancher in town for a day. These men were
+idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this
+arriving stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an
+atmosphere never associated with work.
+
+Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely
+detached himself from the crowd.
+
+“Howdy, stranger,” he said.
+
+The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and
+nodded. Then: “I'm thirsty!”
+
+That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting.
+One and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark,
+ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head.
+A bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks.
+
+“Line up, gents,” said the stranger.
+
+They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and
+oaths and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear
+so thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the
+motions, he did not drink at all.
+
+“My name's Jim Fletcher,” said the tall man with the drooping, sandy
+mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that
+showed he expected to be known. Something went with that name. The
+stranger did not appear to be impressed.
+
+“My name might be Blazes, but it ain't,” he replied. “What do you call
+this burg?”
+
+“Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to
+you?”
+
+He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes, clear as
+crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded
+close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise,
+according to how the tall interrogator marked the new-comer.
+
+“Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it?
+Funny trails hereabouts.”
+
+“How fur was you goin'?”
+
+“I reckon I was goin' as far as I could,” replied the stranger, with a
+hard laugh.
+
+His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the
+men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed
+thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.
+
+“Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place,” he said, presently. “Sure you've
+heerd of the Big Bend country?”
+
+“I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it,” replied the stranger.
+
+Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. “Knell,
+come in heah.”
+
+This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than
+a boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless
+face, thin and sharp.
+
+“Knell, this heah's--” Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. “What'd you
+call yourself?”
+
+“I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately.”
+
+This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless,
+indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present knew, that this show
+of Fletcher's, this pretense of introduction, was merely talk while he
+was looked over.
+
+Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than he had
+appeared upon the scene.
+
+“Any business here?” he queried, curtly. When he spoke his
+expressionless face was in strange contrast with the ring, the quality,
+the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of
+friendliness, of heart.
+
+“Nope,” replied the stranger.
+
+“Know anybody hereabouts?”
+
+“Nary one.”
+
+“Jest ridin' through?”
+
+“Yep.”
+
+“Slopin' fer back country, eh?”
+
+There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and
+drew himself up disdainfully.
+
+“Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down
+here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes--I am in on the
+dodge,” he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+
+“From west of Ord--out El Paso way, mebbe?”
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“A-huh! Thet so?” Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. “You're
+from way down the river. Thet's what they say down there--'on the
+dodge.'... Stranger, you're a liar!”
+
+With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving
+Knell and the stranger in the center.
+
+Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve.
+Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger
+suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before
+manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar
+to him. His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a
+compass-needle.
+
+“Sure I lied,” he said; “so I ain't takin' offense at the way you called
+me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one
+of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are--go ahead
+an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till
+they go fer theirs.”
+
+Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the
+least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here was metal which
+rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight
+or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner
+characteristic of only the genuine gunman.
+
+“Stranger, I pass,” he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor.
+
+The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the
+incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger,
+and now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity.
+
+“Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge,” he said.
+
+“Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again--an' if you can't be
+friendly, be careful!”
+
+Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+
+Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El Paso
+he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise
+outfitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely he rode
+from town to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk
+and his occupation to the impression he wanted to make upon different
+people whom he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman,
+a stock-buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the
+wild and inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting
+into new territory. He passed on leisurely because he wanted to learn
+the lay of the country, the location of villages and ranches, the work,
+habit, gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he came
+in contact. The one subject most impelling to him--outlaws--he never
+mentioned; but by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and
+cattle story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In
+this game time was of no moment; if necessary he would take years to
+accomplish his task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it showed
+in the slow, wary preparation. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced
+Knell he knew he had reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on
+the fringe of the grazing country, of doubtful honesty, from which,
+surely, winding trails led down into that free and never-disturbed
+paradise of outlaws--the Big Bend.
+
+Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and
+several other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and then, after
+having a care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to
+a grove he had marked, and there, well hidden, he prepared to spend the
+night. This proceeding served a double purpose--he was safer, and the
+habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined
+to see in him the lone-wolf fugitive.
+
+Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned
+victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been;
+but the inner life had tremendously changed. He could never become a
+happy man, he could never shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had
+once been his despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible
+for any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow
+strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness
+of how passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his
+former infamy. The iron fetters no more threatened his hands; the iron
+door no more haunted his dreams. He never forgot that he was free.
+Strangely, too, along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered
+the force of imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms.
+He never called them outlaws--but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers,
+criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, and
+sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in
+this ranger service, it was the old, terrible inherited killing instinct
+lifting its hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure.
+He dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+
+Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving,
+yet not improbably even more potent of new significance to life, was
+the imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw
+days.
+
+For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him
+from place to place, to beat and spur and goad mercilessly in flight;
+now this giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend,
+a brother, a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden
+with an intense appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years
+the daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the
+ruddy close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or
+willow brake or deserted hut, had been hated because it augmented danger
+of pursuit, because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding;
+now the dawn was a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan,
+to remember, and sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky--all were joys to him,
+somehow speaking his freedom. For years the night had been a black
+space, during which he had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to
+peer with cat-eyes through gloom for the moving shape that ever pursued
+him; now the twilight and the dusk and the shadows of grove and canyon
+darkened into night with its train of stars, and brought him calm
+reflection of the day's happenings, of the morrow's possibilities,
+perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old phantoms, then sleep. For
+years canyons and valleys and mountains had been looked at as retreats
+that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an outlaw; now he saw
+these features of the great desert with something of the eyes of the boy
+who had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+
+This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against
+the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared
+itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder
+that Duane gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in
+its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret
+stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from
+El Paso Duane had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds,
+his cunning, his widely separated raids, of his flitting here and there
+like a Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his
+appearance.
+
+Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north,
+riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been
+used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west,
+this northern direction led him into totally unfamiliar country. While
+he passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the
+future he would know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced
+that way again.
+
+The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills gradually
+leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing country, upon which till
+noon of that day Duane did not see a herd of cattle or a ranch. About
+that time he made out smoke from the railroad, and after a couple of
+hours' riding he entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford.
+It was the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated
+must have a thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including
+Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for
+a while, being the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he
+hitched his horse in front of a store and leisurely set about studying
+Bradford.
+
+It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions
+concerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one
+long row of saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane
+visited them all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to
+that of the old river camp of Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was
+forced upon him that the farther west one traveled along the river
+the sparser the respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard
+characters, and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness.
+Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's
+task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he
+reflected, a company of intrepid and quick-shooting rangers could have
+soon cleaned up this Bradford.
+
+The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and
+wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man
+had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning
+toward companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself
+as Colonel Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane
+made no comment about himself.
+
+“Sir, it's all one to me,” he said, blandly, waving his hand. “I have
+traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier
+and just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion.
+You might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little,
+of El Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.”
+
+Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not
+have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was
+a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come
+out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who
+had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+
+“Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,” said Colonel Webb.
+“And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't
+want to expiate my sins there.”
+
+“Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,”
+ replied Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+
+The Colonel swore lustily.
+
+“My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was
+wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun,
+and he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work
+to offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws
+alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs,
+sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers.”
+
+Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+
+“Do you know anything about the service?” he asked.
+
+“I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of
+men, sir, and the salvation of Texas.”
+
+“Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,” said Duane.
+
+Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice
+for a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a
+while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to
+get a benefit from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that
+here was just the kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen
+that he had been trying to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to
+be agreeable and interesting; and he saw presently that here was an
+opportunity to make a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend.
+
+“I'm a stranger in these parts,” said Duane, finally. “What is this
+outlaw situation you speak of?”
+
+“It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just
+wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
+honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know,
+the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to
+get rid of big bunches--that's the hard job. The gang operating between
+here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where
+the stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of
+it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New
+Orleans, also to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and
+Marfa and Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray
+cattle out in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and
+stragglers are not rounded up.”
+
+“Wholesale business, eh?” remarked Duane. “Who are these--er--big
+stock-buyers?”
+
+Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
+penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.
+
+“Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
+accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer.”
+
+When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
+freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
+subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that
+any man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
+Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
+person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine,
+and those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in
+descriptions of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to
+the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as
+there was no one who could identify him, so there was no one who could
+prove he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the
+Big Bend country, and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact
+remained there were no eye-witnesses to connect any individual called
+Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in striking contrast to
+this mystery was the person, character, and cold-blooded action of
+Poggin and Knell, the chief's lieutenants. They were familiar figures in
+all the towns within two hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record,
+but as gunman with an incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme.
+If Poggin had a friend no one ever heard of him. There were a hundred
+stories of his nerve, his wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for
+gambling, his love of a horse--his cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out
+of his path any man that crossed it.
+
+“Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name,” said Colonel Webb. “Sometimes
+I wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where does the brains of
+this gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this
+border pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and
+Knell. Of all the thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the
+last twenty years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down
+between the Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many
+bad men. But I doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane,
+ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?”
+
+“Yes, a little,” replied Duane, quietly. “I'm from southern Texas. Buck
+Duane then is known out here?”
+
+“Why, man, where isn't his name known?” returned Colonel Webb. “I've
+kept track of his record as I have all the others. Of course, Duane,
+being a lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like
+Cheseldine. Out here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible
+some of them. But despite them a sort of romance clings to that Nueces
+outlaw. He's killed three great outlaw leaders, I believe--Bland,
+Hardin, and the other I forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had
+friends there. Bland had a hard name at Del Rio.”
+
+“Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?”
+ inquired Duane.
+
+“He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men.
+I understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties swear by
+him--secretly, of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his
+head. His fame in this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play
+and his enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I
+wish to God that Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred
+pesos to see him and Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how
+jealous these great outlaws are of each other.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, all about them is singular,” replied Duane. “Has
+Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?”
+
+“No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's
+unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock that's being
+shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,
+too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not
+heard of at all for a spell. These lulls are pretty surely indicative of
+a big storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer
+and farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some
+people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the bank-robberies
+and train-holdups during the last few years in this country. But that's
+poor reasoning. The jobs have been too well done, too surely covered, to
+be the work of greasers or ordinary outlaws.”
+
+“What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will
+the outlaw ever be driven out?” asked Duane.
+
+“Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All the
+armies in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that fifteen
+hundred miles of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is enjoyed
+by these great leaders, will sooner or later be past. The criminal
+element flock to the Southwest. But not so thick and fast as the
+pioneers. Besides, the outlaws kill themselves, and the ranchers are
+slowly rising in wrath, if not in action. That will come soon. If they
+only had a leader to start the fight! But that will come. There's talk
+of Vigilantes, the same hat were organized in California and are now in
+force in Idaho. So far it's only talk. But the time will come. And the
+days of Cheseldine and Poggin are numbered.”
+
+Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long trail was
+growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new ideas. It came
+to Duane in surprise that he was famous along the upper Rio Grande.
+Assuredly he would not long be able to conceal his identity. He had
+no doubt that he would soon meet the chiefs of this clever and bold
+rustling gang. He could not decide whether he would be safer unknown or
+known. In the latter case his one chance lay in the fatality connected
+with his name, in his power to look it and act it. Duane had never
+dreamed of any sleuth-hound tendency in his nature, but now he felt
+something like one. Above all others his mind fixed on Poggin--Poggin
+the brute, the executor of Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the
+gunman. This in itself was a warning to Duane. He felt terrible forces
+at work within him. There was the stern and indomitable resolve to
+make MacNelly's boast good to the governor of the state--to break up
+Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange
+grim and deadly instinct--which he had to drive away for fear he would
+find in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word
+to MacNelly, but for himself. Had his father's blood and the hard years
+made Duane the kind of man who instinctively wanted to meet Poggin? He
+was sworn to MacNelly's service, and he fought himself to keep that, and
+that only, in his mind.
+
+Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from
+Bradford toward the north. There was a stage which made the journey
+twice a week.
+
+Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale. He rode
+leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the country.
+There were few ranches. The farther he traveled the better grazing he
+encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer herds of cattle.
+
+It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that
+marked the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had
+learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.
+
+When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number
+of loungers greeted him laconically.
+
+“Beat the stage in, hey?” remarked one.
+
+“There she comes now,” said another. “Joel shore is drivin' to-night.”
+
+Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a lumbering
+coach. When he had looked after the needs of his horse he returned to
+the group before the inn. They awaited the stage with that
+interest common to isolated people. Presently it rolled up, a large
+mud-bespattered and dusty vehicle, littered with baggage on top and
+tied on behind. A number of passengers alighted, three of whom excited
+Duane's interest. One was a tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the
+other two were ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard
+the proprietor of the inn address the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as
+the party entered the inn Duane's quick ears caught a few words which
+acquainted him with the fact that Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+
+Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready.
+At table he found himself opposite the three who had attracted his
+attention.
+
+“Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,” Longstreth was saying.
+
+Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+
+“I'm crazy to ride bronchos,” she said.
+
+Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other girl's
+deep voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had
+beauty as he had never seen it in another woman. She was slender, but
+the development of her figure gave Duane the impression she was twenty
+years old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen.
+She did not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She
+looked tired, quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face;
+clear, olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal,
+beautiful to look into; a slender, straight nose that had something
+nervous and delicate about it which made Duane think of a thoroughbred;
+and a mouth by no means small, but perfectly curved; and hair like
+jet--all these features proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed
+her a descendant of one of the old French families of eastern Texas. He
+was sure of it when she looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent
+gaze. There were pride, fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt
+himself blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been rude, perhaps,
+but unconscious. How many years had passed since he had seen a girl like
+her! Thereafter he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet he seemed to be
+aware that he had aroused the interest of both girls.
+
+After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open
+fire place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow.
+Duane took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper,
+began to read. Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced
+men, strangers who had not appeared before, and were peering in from a
+doorway. When they saw Duane had observed them they stepped back out of
+sight.
+
+It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas
+in the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded.
+Duane pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men.
+The doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
+dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks
+to the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
+whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
+outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect,
+it was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on
+the border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character,
+or at least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these
+strangers were dishonest.
+
+“Hey somethin'?” one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
+down.
+
+“No thanks, I don't drink,” Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
+with interest. “How's tricks in the Big Bend?”
+
+Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to recognize
+a type of ruffian most frequently met along the river. These strangers
+had that stamp, and their surprise proved he was right. Here the
+innkeeper showed signs of uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his
+customers. No more was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly
+went out.
+
+“Say, boss, do you know those fellows?” Duane asked the innkeeper.
+
+“Nope.”
+
+“Which way did they come?”
+
+“Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today,” he
+replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked at Duane. “They
+nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the
+stage.”
+
+When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was absent,
+also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had
+vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss Longstreth. Duane went
+directly to them.
+
+“Excuse me,” said Duane, addressing them. “I want to tell you there are
+a couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen them. They mean
+evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors--bar your windows
+to-night.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Ruth, very low. “Ray, do you hear?”
+
+“Thank you; we'll be careful,” said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The
+rich color had faded in her cheek. “I saw those men watching you
+from that door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really
+danger--here?”
+
+“I think so,” was Duane's reply.
+
+Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: “Hands up!”
+
+No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His
+hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into
+her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls
+were staring at some one behind Duane.
+
+“Turn around!” ordered the harsh voice.
+
+The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade
+in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked
+gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him,
+and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out
+his roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and
+took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another
+weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish
+satisfaction that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice
+at this kind of game.
+
+His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who
+stood there frightened, speechless.
+
+“Git a move on, Bill,” called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance
+backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had
+horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with
+brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to
+search them. The robber in the doorway called “Rustle!” and disappeared.
+
+Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the
+other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his
+searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well
+remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle,
+stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his
+bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched,
+but the little girl appeared about to faint.
+
+“Don't yap, there!” he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to
+Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a
+plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold
+glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in
+his pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+
+“Any money, jewelry, diamonds!” ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+
+Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with
+her hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to
+mean that she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had
+instinctively pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.
+
+“Come out with it!” he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+
+“Don't dare touch me!” she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She
+had nerve.
+
+It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had
+been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted,
+and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped
+Duane, yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man
+made at her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull
+ripped it asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+
+She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not
+shaken Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half
+her waist.
+
+The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself
+he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held
+dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow
+made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a
+magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He
+bellowed something again.
+
+Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It was
+a kind of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot
+Longstreth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth's torn waist
+loosened its hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped
+till it pointed to the floor. That was Duane's chance.
+
+Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and
+he could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into
+the ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood
+spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small
+bullet had glanced.
+
+Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported
+her. It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half
+carried her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through
+the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a
+saddled horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot.
+His comrade had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a
+condition approaching pandemonium.
+
+The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out
+at the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel,
+the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The
+woman, wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The
+girls were still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and
+Duane guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing
+that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such
+passion. Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a
+quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:
+
+“Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear
+to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them fellers!”
+
+“I ought to kill you anyhow!” replied Longstreth. And his voice now
+astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+
+Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber's
+temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed,
+had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of
+returning consciousness.
+
+“Drag him out of here!” ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his
+daughter.
+
+Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and
+gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other
+men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
+
+Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay
+Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane
+did not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very
+still, with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel,
+now that he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and
+kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure,
+said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
+
+“Can I be of any service?” asked Duane, solicitously.
+
+“Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened
+girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,”
+ he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he
+went out.
+
+Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the
+other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange
+thrill.
+
+“You saved my life,” she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+
+“No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He might have struck you, hurt you, but no
+more.”
+
+“I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I
+couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was
+in peril.”
+
+“Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+
+“Oh no. He's not badly hurt.”
+
+“I'm very glad he's alive,” said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+
+“My intention was bad enough,” Duane went on. “It was a ticklish place
+for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go
+off. Fool careless he was!”
+
+“Yet you say you didn't save me,” Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
+
+“Well, let it go at that,” Duane responded. “I saved you something.”
+
+“Tell me all about it?” asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
+
+Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of
+view.
+
+“Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of
+nothing--watching for nothing except a little moment when you might draw
+your gun?” asked Miss Ruth.
+
+“I guess that's about it,” he replied.
+
+“Cousin,” said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, “it was fortunate for us
+that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts--laughs at danger.
+He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came.”
+
+“Go with us all the way to Fairdale--please?” asked Miss Ruth, sweetly
+offering her hand. “I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray
+Longstreth.”
+
+“I'm traveling that way,” replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not
+know how to meet the situation.
+
+Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night,
+which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls,
+he led them away.
+
+Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured
+robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he
+was gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said
+that he left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
+
+“Had he come to?” inquired Duane.
+
+“Sure. He asked for whisky.”
+
+“Did he say anything else?”
+
+“Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.”
+
+“You mean Colonel Longstreth?”
+
+“I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame
+fer that two-bit of a hold-up!”
+
+“What did you make of the old gent's rage?” asked Duane, watching the
+innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane
+believed in his honesty.
+
+“Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's
+either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.”
+
+“More nerve, maybe,” Duane replied. “Show me a bed now, innkeeper.”
+
+Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the
+several events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup
+and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under
+circumstances where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed
+Duane, and he put it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on
+the action of the robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in
+upon him. This ruffian, as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever
+encountered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. From whatever
+point Duane viewed the man's strange indecision he could come to
+only one conclusion--his start, his check, his fear had been that of
+recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly acquired sense
+he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that
+desperate robber lowered his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound
+of the Mayor of Fairdale? This was not answerable. There might have been
+a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane
+could not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for his
+daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had advanced in
+front of a cocked gun. Duane probed deep into this singular fact, and he
+brought to bear on the thing all his knowledge and experience of
+violent Texas life. And he found that the instant Colonel Longstreth
+had appeared on the scene there was no further danger threatening his
+daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not answer. Then his rage,
+Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS daughter being
+assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a thought-disturber,
+but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more careful
+consideration.
+
+Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It
+was larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street
+and back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and
+dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane
+heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake
+hands with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he
+spoke with force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The
+fellow laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly
+he espied Miss Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his
+sombrero. Duane went closer.
+
+“Floyd, did you come with the teams?” asked Longstreth, sharply.
+
+“Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,” was the reply.
+
+“Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later.” Then Longstreth turned to
+his daughter. “Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to
+play with him ten years ago--Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter--and my
+niece, Ruth Herbert.”
+
+Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game
+to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant
+personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+
+He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples--dark, smooth-shaven, with
+lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
+strong and bitter, and a square chin--a reckless, careless, handsome,
+sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace
+of a gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice.
+Duane doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to
+the frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not
+quite effaced the mark of good family.
+
+Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter
+and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this
+meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready
+for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a
+wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To
+the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday,
+and to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat.
+The driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered
+ground rapidly.
+
+The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the
+horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to
+cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster
+of adobe and stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called
+Longstreth, named after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale
+there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
+
+Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
+patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
+sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization
+than its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast
+western third of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to
+settle there and establish places like Fairdale.
+
+It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's
+ranch. The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and
+it was not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the
+town. It was a low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and
+covered what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about
+it, except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed
+gray and red.
+
+Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the
+town with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The
+street he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was
+a solid row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched
+all along the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here
+and there breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+
+From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other
+frontier towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the
+afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his
+horse. Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the
+subject most in mind.
+
+“Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?”
+
+“Reckon he has,” replied the lad. “Doan know how many cowboys. They're
+always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them.”
+
+“Much movement of stock these days?”
+
+“Stock's always movin',” he replied, with a queer look.
+
+“Rustlers?”
+
+But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
+
+“Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?”
+
+“Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.”
+
+“Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys
+who were arrested.”
+
+“Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--they belong
+heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.”
+
+Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk
+into other channels.
+
+After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
+darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
+watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
+rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
+ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted
+crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with
+wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the
+guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted by
+six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up
+by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
+southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
+some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for
+a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
+
+Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
+conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+
+“Laramie, what's the stranger's name?” asked one.
+
+“He didn't say,” replied the other.
+
+“Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
+cattleman, him. How'd you size him?”
+
+“Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for
+a man for years--to kill him when he found him.”
+
+“Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin'
+for Long--”
+
+“'S--sh!” interrupted Laramie. “You must be half drunk, to go talkie'
+that way.”
+
+Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and
+presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself
+agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not
+communicative.
+
+Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's
+visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane
+inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something
+wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if
+there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The
+innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's
+thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of
+her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him
+remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of his life.
+What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the
+present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray
+Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed,
+it seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew
+conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like
+a pang in his breast.
+
+Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to
+the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented
+himself with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he
+decided Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was
+on the track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much
+the same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for
+a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that.
+He would answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn
+that Laramie had seen better days--that he was now broken, bitter, and
+hard. Some one had wronged him.
+
+Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to
+Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the
+stores unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to
+find out that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling,
+drinking, and fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled
+horses, the town full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in
+any place Duane had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon
+that spoke forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided
+that Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to this
+Fairdale, which was a secret center of rustlers and outlaws. And what
+struck Duane strangest of all was the fact that Longstreth was mayor
+here and held court daily. Duane knew intuitively, before a chance
+remark gave him proof, that this court was a sham, a farce. And he
+wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his was equivalent to
+suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached himself. Then
+he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry had
+brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live with her
+father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana, where his
+family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich rancher;
+he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd
+Lawson was his lieutenant and associate in deals.
+
+On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he
+returned to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed
+to have a rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside
+Laramie was lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did
+not appear to be dangerously hurt.
+
+“Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,” said Laramie,
+laboring to his feet.
+
+“Are you hurt much?” queried Duane.
+
+“I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before
+without that.”
+
+“Well, I'll take a look after Bo,” replied Duane.
+
+He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of the town.
+He did not see any one he could take for the innkeeper's assailant. Then
+he looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow about a block away,
+hurrying along and gazing back.
+
+Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him. Snecker broke
+into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him. There were two motives
+in Duane's action--one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend
+of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much.
+
+Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained
+rapidly upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get
+out of sight. Then he took to the open country and ran straight for
+the green hill where Longstreth's house stood. Duane had almost caught
+Snecker when he reached the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him.
+But Duane kept him in sight, in the shade, on the paths, and up the
+road into the courtyard, and he saw Snecker go straight for Longstreth's
+house.
+
+Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He did not
+stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate had directed him to
+the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane entered the first open door
+on that side of the court. It opened into a corridor which led into a
+plaza. It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in
+the center. Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was giving a
+little party.
+
+Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the
+porch roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably, expressing
+amazement, consternation, then fear.
+
+In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her dress.
+The young women present stared in astonishment, if they were not equally
+perturbed. There were cowboys present who suddenly grew intent and
+still. By these things Duane gathered that his appearance must
+be disconcerting. He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His big
+gun-sheath showed plainly at his hip.
+
+Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was
+plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no one but her.
+
+“Miss Longstreth--I came--to search--your house,” panted Duane.
+
+He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he realized
+that that should have been the last thing for him to say. He had
+blundered. But he was not used to women, and this dark-eyed girl made
+him thrill and his heart beat thickly and his wits go scattering.
+
+“Search my house!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the
+white in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry. “What for? Why,
+how dare you! This is unwarrantable!”
+
+“A man--Bo Snecker--assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie,” replied Duane,
+hurriedly. “I chased Snecker here--saw him run into the house.”
+
+“Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the
+absence of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you to search.”
+
+Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward.
+
+“Ray, don't be bothered now,” he said, to his cousin. “This fellow's
+making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you clear out!”
+
+“I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him,” replied Duane,
+quietly.
+
+“Bah! That's all a bluff,” sneered Lawson. “I'm on to your game. You
+just wanted an excuse to break in here--to see my cousin again. When you
+saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the
+worse for you.”
+
+Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he felt that
+he was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable to put this Ray
+Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her eyes now.
+And somehow that checked his embarrassment.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?” he asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then--I regret to say--I'll do so without your permission.”
+
+“You'll not dare!” she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling.
+
+“Pardon me, yes, I will.”
+
+“Who are you?” she demanded, suddenly.
+
+“I'm a Texas Ranger,” replied Duane.
+
+“A TEXAS RANGER!” she echoed.
+
+Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses,” said Duane.
+“I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your permission. A ruffian
+has taken refuge here--in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere.
+May I look for him?”
+
+“If you are indeed a ranger.”
+
+Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at
+them.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better
+place for women and children. I don't wonder at your resentment. But to
+doubt me--insult me. Some day you may be sorry.”
+
+Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+
+“All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys
+and go with this--this Texas Ranger.”
+
+“Thanks,” said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. “Perhaps you'll be able
+to find Snecker quicker than I could.”
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he
+was a man of fierce quick passions.
+
+“Don't quarrel,” said Miss Longstreth. “Floyd, you go with him. Please
+hurry. I'll be nervous till--the man's found or you're sure there's not
+one.”
+
+They started with several cowboys to search the house. They went through
+the rooms searching, calling out, peering into dark places. It struck
+Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the calling. He was
+hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead. Duane wondered if he knew his
+voice would be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was
+Duane who peered into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said
+“Come out!”
+
+He came forth into the flare--a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing
+sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him before any of the
+others could move and held the gun close enough to make him shrink. But
+he did not impress Duane as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he
+had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a
+shock. He peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to
+him, then into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld relief
+it was then. That was all Duane needed to know, but he meant to find out
+more if he could.
+
+“Who're you?” asked Duane, quietly.
+
+“Bo Snecker,” he said.
+
+“What'd you hide here for?”
+
+He appeared to grow sullen.
+
+“Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres.”
+
+“Ranger, what'll you do with him?” Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
+the capture was made.
+
+“I'll see to that,” replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him
+out into the court.
+
+Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
+Longstreth in the court.
+
+When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men
+there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane
+had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near
+him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford
+Owens, county judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced
+fellow with a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a
+huge silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs.
+There were four other men whom Duane knew by sight, several whose faces
+were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
+
+Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was
+unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided,
+and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored Duane
+gathered that he had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+
+“What'd you break in here for,” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?” interrogated
+Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
+
+“Yes,” replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his
+intense interest.
+
+“I've arrested a criminal,” said Duane.
+
+“Arrested a criminal!” ejaculated Longstreth. “You? Who're you?”
+
+“I'm a ranger,” replied Duane.
+
+A significant silence ensued.
+
+“I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery--if not
+murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it keeps
+a record.”
+
+“What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,” said
+Longstreth, gruffly.
+
+Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had
+shuffled forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but
+not the boldness even of a rustler.
+
+“It ain't so, Longstreth,” he began, loudly. “I went in Laramie's place
+fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit
+Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger
+chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's
+hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.”
+
+Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that
+worthy nodded his great bushy head.
+
+“Bo, you're discharged,” said Longstreth, bluntly. “Now the rest of you
+clear out of here.”
+
+He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duane--his slap
+in the face to an interfering ranger service. If Longstreth was crooked
+he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost decided he was above
+suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative
+assurance--these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes were in significant
+contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow
+paling of his olive skin. In that momentary lull Duane's scrutiny of
+Longstreth gathered an impression of the man's intense curiosity.
+
+Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of
+silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+
+“Hold on!” called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a
+bullet.
+
+“Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,” said Duane, his voice still
+ringing. “What has the court to say to that?”
+
+“The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger
+service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you.”
+
+“That's a lie, Longstreth,” retorted Duane. “I've letters from Fairdale
+citizens all begging for ranger service.”
+
+Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared
+about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick reply.
+
+Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed black and
+thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable
+outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should
+reasonably have had for anger. Longstreth shoved him back with a curse
+and a warning glare.
+
+“Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?” shouted Longstreth.
+
+“I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of
+the power of Texas Rangers.”
+
+“You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block
+you.”
+
+That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had
+been waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to force
+Longstreth's hand and show the town his stand.
+
+Duane backed clear of everybody.
+
+“Men! I call on you all!” cried Duane, piercingly. “I call on you to
+witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by Longstreth, Mayor of
+Fairdale. It will be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General at
+Austin. Longstreth, you'll never prevent another arrest.”
+
+Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+
+“Longstreth, you've shown your hand,” said Duane, in a voice that
+carried far and held those who heard. “Any honest citizen of Fairdale
+can now see what's plain--yours is a damn poor hand! You're going to
+hear me call a spade a spade. In the two years you've been Mayor
+you've never arrested one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for
+rustlers! You've never sent a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to
+Austin. You have no jail. There have been nine murders during your
+office--innumerable street-fights and holdups. Not one arrest! But you
+have ordered arrests for trivial offenses, and have punished these out
+of all proportion. There have been lawsuits in your court-suits over
+water-rights, cattle deals, property lines. Strange how in these
+lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to you were always involved!
+Strange how it seems the law was stretched to favor your interest!”
+
+Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both outside
+and inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men.
+Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he betray anything but rage at
+this interloper?
+
+“Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale,” went on Duane. “I
+don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say STRANGE! Law here
+has been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to
+me--yet. But I call your hand!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down
+the street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen
+ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot
+trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely
+that Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting
+eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of
+Ray Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended.
+He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young
+woman. The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him,
+and then he was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the
+disgrace he might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked
+inside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was
+troubled.
+
+Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the
+worse for his injury.
+
+“How are you, Laramie?” he asked.
+
+“Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected,” replied Laramie. His
+head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had
+been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
+
+“That was a good crack Snecker gave you,” remarked Duane.
+
+“I ain't accusin' Bo,” remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane
+thoughtful.
+
+“Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's court. But
+they let him go.”
+
+Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
+
+“See here, Laramie,” went on Duane, “in some parts of Texas it's policy
+to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I
+want you to know I lean on your side of the fence.”
+
+Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his
+gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but
+even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out
+of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough.
+Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
+
+“Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?”
+
+“I didn't say.”
+
+“Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day.
+It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?”
+
+“When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.”
+
+“Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale.
+I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
+Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore--ha,
+ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope
+So joint.”
+
+“He owns considerable property hereabouts,” replied Laramie,
+constrainedly.
+
+“Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town,
+you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight,
+Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause
+I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.”
+
+“Talk's cheap,” replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the
+red was deeper in his face.
+
+“Sure. I know that,” Duane said. “And usually I don't talk. Then it's
+not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?”
+
+“Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't
+connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.”
+
+“That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that
+we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them.
+But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope
+So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.”
+
+“Thanks,” replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky.
+“Didn't you hear I used to run it?”
+
+“No. Did you?” Duane said, quickly.
+
+“I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
+years.”
+
+“Well, I'll be doggoned.” It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised,
+and with the surprise came a glimmering. “I'm sorry you're not there
+now. Did you sell out?”
+
+“No. Just lost the place.”
+
+Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had made
+him soft.
+
+“It was two years ago-two years last March,” he went on. “I was in a big
+cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteen
+hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come
+to a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined.”
+
+It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down
+his cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the
+man. He had failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had been
+swindled. All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had
+the man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now
+the secret of his bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse
+Longstreth, the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thought
+best to try to learn at some later time.
+
+“Hard luck! It certainly was tough,” Duane said. “But you're a good
+loser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need your
+advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest
+some. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I
+want you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of
+ranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with
+ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is
+full of them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must
+know a couple of men above suspicion.”
+
+“Thank God I do,” he replied, feelingly. “Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my
+friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You
+can gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me--don't invest
+money in stock now.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker
+'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen--these
+are easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy
+enough pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't
+know anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd
+fight if they--”
+
+“What?” Duane put in, as he paused. “If they knew who was rustling the
+stock?”
+
+“Nope.”
+
+“If they had the nerve?”
+
+“Not thet so much.”
+
+“What then? What'd make them fight?”
+
+“A leader!”
+
+“Howdy thar, Jim,” boomed a big voice.
+
+A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room.
+
+“Hello, Morton,” replied Laramie. “I'd introduce you to my guest here,
+but I don't know his name.”
+
+“Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names.”
+
+“Say, Morton,” put in Duane, “Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good
+man to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like to
+invest it in stock.”
+
+Morton smiled broadly.
+
+“I'm on the square,” Duane said, bluntly. “If you fellows never size up
+your neighbors any better than you have sized me--well, you won't get
+any richer.”
+
+It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant
+with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith
+held aloof.
+
+“I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you
+start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?”
+
+“Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle
+now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go
+back across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had
+more'n twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let
+me hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?”
+
+“Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton,” replied Duane, with
+impatience. “You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county.
+Who heads the gang, anyway?”
+
+Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his
+big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+
+“Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these
+rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly
+honest men--they CAN'T last.”
+
+“They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single
+steer left,” he declared.
+
+“Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
+of the rustlers.”
+
+Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his
+whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,
+something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
+
+“It's not so funny,” Duane went on. “If you're going to pretend a yellow
+streak, what else will I think?”
+
+“Pretend?” he repeated.
+
+“Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different from
+those in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand
+it's all bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men
+around Fairdale who're afraid of their shadows--afraid to be out after
+dark--afraid to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you
+claim these rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to
+help the popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out here
+is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?”
+
+“Wal, I reckon I do,” he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
+him. “Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I come to town.”
+
+Then he went out.
+
+Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+
+He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze
+fixed again on Duane.
+
+“Wal,” he replied, speaking low. “You've picked the right men. Now, who
+in the hell are you?”
+
+Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the
+lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object flashed as he shoved it,
+pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+
+“RANGER!” he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. “You sure rung
+true to me.”
+
+“Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers
+hereabouts?” asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him to
+come sharp to the point. His voice--something deep, easy, cool about
+him--seemed to steady Laramie.
+
+“No,” replied Laramie.
+
+“Does anybody know?” went on Duane.
+
+“Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS.”
+
+“But you have your suspicions?”
+
+“We have.”
+
+“Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons--the
+regulars.”
+
+“Jest a bad lot,” replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
+knowledge. “Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in.
+Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob,
+anythin' for a little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!”
+
+“Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with
+this gang here?”
+
+“Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever
+seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle
+Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggin
+doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around
+all over west of the Pecos.”
+
+“Now I'm puzzled over this,” said Duane. “Why do men--apparently honest
+men--seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only my
+impression?”
+
+“It's a sure fact,” replied Laramie, darkly. “Men have lost cattle an'
+property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been
+proved. An' in some cases when they talked--hinted a little--they was
+found dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk!
+Thet's why we're close mouthed.”
+
+Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
+intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of
+the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret,
+murderous hold on a little struggling community was something too
+strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
+
+The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
+interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got down.
+Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
+
+If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence. But Lawson
+showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from
+the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leaned
+easily against the counter.
+
+“Say, that was a bad break of yours,” Lawson said. “If you come fooling
+round the ranch again there'll be hell.”
+
+It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten
+years could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk.
+It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldom
+intolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmen
+of the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost
+gentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
+French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in
+anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the
+face of a situation like this made him simply a fool.
+
+“I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
+Longstreth,” Lawson sneered. “Mind you, if you come up there again
+there'll be hell.”
+
+“You're right. But not the kind you think,” Duane retorted, his voice
+sharp and cold.
+
+“Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,”
+ said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention
+to rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. “I'll call
+you right. You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering,
+conceited ranger!”
+
+“Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
+beautiful cousin,” replied Duane, in slow speech. “But let me return
+your compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap
+four-flush--damned, bull-headed RUSTLER!”
+
+Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
+working passion-blackened face.
+
+Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
+His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
+chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
+
+“Don't draw!” warned Duane.
+
+“Lawson, git away from your gun!” yelled Laramie.
+
+But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
+with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
+hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+
+Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+
+“What'd you wing him for?” he wailed. “He was drawin' on you. Kickin'
+men like him won't do out here.”
+
+“That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang
+right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides,
+shooting him would have been murder.”
+
+“Murder!” exclaimed Laramie.
+
+“Yes, for me,” replied Duane.
+
+“That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you think he
+is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleep
+of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me.”
+
+“Laramie, what are your eyes for?” demanded Duane. “Watch out. And now
+here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
+approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
+need your help.”
+
+Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
+watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and
+speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he
+stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were
+open; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in
+Longstreth's big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a
+buckboard drove up and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well
+hidden in the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
+glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see, he
+appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with
+an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to observe Lawson was
+lost. They went into the house without speaking and closed the door.
+
+At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset
+between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane
+waited there in the darkness with patience born of many hours of hiding.
+
+Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+
+“Something's happened surely, Ruth,” he heard Miss Longstreth say,
+anxiously. “Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed
+pale, worried.”
+
+“Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,” said Ruth. “For once he
+didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a
+bad day.”
+
+“Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life
+miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--”
+
+“I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,” declared Ruth,
+emphatically. “He'd run after any woman.”
+
+“A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,” laughed Ray.
+
+“I don't care,” replied Ruth, stubbornly, “it's so. He's mushy. And when
+he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!”
+
+There were steps on the hall floor.
+
+“Hello, girls!” sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety.
+
+“Floyd, what's the matter?” asked Ray, presently. “I never saw papa as
+he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what has happened?”
+
+“Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,” replied Lawson, with a blunt,
+expressive laugh.
+
+“Jar?” echoed both the girls, curiously.
+
+“We had to submit to a damnable outrage,” added Lawson, passionately,
+as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. “Listen, girls; I'll
+tell you-all about it.” He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that
+betrayed he had been drinking.
+
+Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his
+muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all
+acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently
+uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his
+clue.
+
+“It happened at the town hall,” began Lawson, rapidly. “Your father and
+Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from
+out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the
+fellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged
+assault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
+innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his
+insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There
+was no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. He
+made arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers,
+highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or--he just let them alone. He used
+his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the
+ranger yelled for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father,
+Ray, insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!”
+
+“Oh!” cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+
+“The ranger service wants to rule western Texas,” went on Lawson. “These
+rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they
+hunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became
+rangers. This is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent,
+smooth, and that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He
+wanted to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he
+would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman. My God,
+any instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!”
+
+“Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!” cried Ray Longstreth,
+passionately.
+
+“You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety. He made
+that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He
+tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was
+the worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies.”
+
+“What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?” said Ray
+Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. “After a moment's
+thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell
+papa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
+reputation by--by an adventurer.”
+
+“Yes, he can be injured,” replied Floyd, quickly. “The frontier is a
+queer place. There are many bitter men here--men who have failed at
+ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger
+has dropped poison, and it'll spread.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, new
+to Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waiting
+atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.
+Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by
+rowdies carousing in the streets.
+
+Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain
+the opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be a
+target for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they did
+happen so, it was more accident than design. But at night he was not
+idle. He met Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; a
+secret club had been formed; and all the members were ready for action.
+Duane spent hours at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed
+when he was not up at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least
+the house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--all
+that kindly disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane had
+not been able to recognize any of these night visitors; and he did
+not think the time was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them.
+Nevertheless, he was sure such an event would discover Lawson, or some
+one in that house, to be in touch with crooked men.
+
+Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,
+in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar of
+his restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
+found who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon the
+bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: “All
+friends of rangers look for the same.”
+
+This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. None
+of Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or the
+unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were held
+in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband's
+death was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with five
+children. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and
+moved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse
+and friend.
+
+After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meant
+business. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly
+glad of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great
+speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the
+wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he
+was a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He
+had killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all--it was actually said of him
+he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+
+At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious
+element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action
+calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at
+the bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: “Who's thet ranger
+after? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin'
+to draw on him fust--an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be
+found somewheres full of lead?”
+
+When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest
+stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,
+then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot at
+in the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the
+gunman, was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise up
+in a mass to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemies
+of the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to
+the frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if
+formidable. He would have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to
+play and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion. There
+was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.
+
+Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held the
+undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and
+quarrels except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were
+rife in them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usual
+run of strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone
+or was under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of
+Poggin, yet he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the
+habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble
+were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull,
+however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that
+it had lasted so long.
+
+Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon
+while he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the
+door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's
+trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room
+rather than meet them.
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you,” said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
+
+The little room was not very light, there being only one window and
+the doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,
+hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been a
+woman of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there to
+read in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter
+lines that had characterized her husband's.
+
+Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.
+Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+
+“So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?” queried the woman, with her
+bright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+
+“Yes,” replied Miss Longstreth, simply. “This is my cousin, Ruth
+Herbert. We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in
+any way you'll let us.”
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+“Well, you look a little like Longstreth,” finally said Mrs. Laramie,
+“but you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. Miss
+Longstreth, I don't know if I can--if I ought accept anything from you.
+Your father ruined my husband.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” replied the girl, sadly. “That's all the more reason you
+should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--mean so much to me.”
+
+If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in
+the warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's idea
+was that the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftly
+succeeded by that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had
+started well with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk to
+the children than both they and the mother were won. The opening of that
+big basket was an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings
+seemed too easily roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim
+Laramie's slayer if he could have laid eyes on him then. However, Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth, after the nature of tender and practical girls, did
+not appear to take the sad situation to heart. The havoc was wrought in
+that household.
+
+The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action--and these the
+girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?” presently asked Miss Longstreth.
+Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight,
+if any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of Ray
+Longstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
+
+“The ranger,” replied Mrs. Laramie.
+
+“The ranger!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+
+“Yes, he's taken care of us all since--since--” Mrs. Laramie choked.
+
+“Oh! So you've had no help but his,” replied Miss Longstreth, hastily.
+“No women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll come
+myself.”
+
+“It'll be good of you,” went on the older woman. “You see, Jim had
+few friends--that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to help
+us--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--”
+
+“That's awful!” burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. “A brave lot of
+friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.
+Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?”
+
+Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
+
+“Why, it's on hind side before,” declared Ruth. “I guess Mr. Ranger
+hasn't dressed many babies.”
+
+“He did the best he could,” said Mrs. Laramie. “Lord only knows what
+would have become of us!”
+
+“Then he is--is something more than a ranger?” queried Miss Longstreth,
+with a little break in her voice.
+
+“He's more than I can tell,” replied Mrs. Laramie. “He buried Jim. He
+paid our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for
+us and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first
+two nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so
+kind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near.
+Sometimes I'd wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how
+false were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.
+Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. When
+he has the baby up I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they
+say. He's good, but he isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far
+off sometimes when the children climb round him. They love him. His life
+is sad. Nobody need tell me--he sees the good in things. Once he said
+somebody had to be a ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like
+him!'”
+
+Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+
+“It was thoughtful of you,” Duane said. “Womankind are needed here. I
+could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad.
+And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying to
+puzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I
+tell you--friends would come? So will the brighter side.”
+
+“Yes, I've more faith than I had,” replied Mrs. Laramie. “Granger
+Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's
+death I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of
+my little ones? But I'm gaining courage to--”
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,” said Miss Longstreth.
+“I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you.”
+
+“Miss Longstreth, that's fine!” exclaimed Duane. “It's what I'd
+have--expected of you.”
+
+It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
+burned out in a beautiful blush.
+
+“And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come,” added Duane. “Let me
+thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
+task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
+ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's
+risk. And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again
+to-night. Good-by.”
+
+“Mr. Ranger, wait!” called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was
+white and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
+
+“I have wronged you,” she said, impulsively.
+
+“Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?” he returned.
+
+“I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see--I
+wronged you.”
+
+“You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
+wronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--and much said of me
+is true. My duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent,
+alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me.”
+
+“I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an
+honor. I--”
+
+“Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth,” interrupted Duane.
+
+“But, sir, my conscience flays me,” she went on. There was no other
+sound like her voice. “Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?”
+
+She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
+Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
+
+Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
+sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied
+or real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could
+have resisted her then.
+
+“I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman,” she said, and
+now her speech came swiftly. “When she was all alone and helpless you
+were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't the
+only unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how
+I may soon need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm
+terribly worried. I fear--I fear--Oh, surely I'll need a friend
+soon--soon. Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. I
+want to help you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone--all
+alone? Will you--will you be--” Her voice failed.
+
+It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to
+suspect--that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers they
+pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook him
+deeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. And
+with the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there
+came realization of a dangerous situation.
+
+“I must be true to my duty,” he said, hoarsely.
+
+“If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it.”
+
+“Well, then--I'll do anything for you.”
+
+“Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied--he
+lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me to
+go back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, I
+know something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if--if--Will
+you help me?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying. The night
+was dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane
+bent his steps toward the Longstreth's ranchhouse. He had so much to
+think about that he never knew where the time went. This night when he
+reached the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps
+and saw Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the
+darkness. Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was
+dark again outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window.
+
+Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be
+interesting to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but could
+hear only a murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. He
+went round the corner of the house.
+
+This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than
+the back and larger part. There was a narrow passage between the houses,
+leading from the outside through to the patio.
+
+This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to
+avail himself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on very
+stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage.
+In the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack
+in the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he
+entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew
+a very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the
+thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best by
+working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in
+reaching a vantage-point. When he did get there the crack he had marked
+was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in
+the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care what risk
+he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his
+brow was clouded. Lawson's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted
+by some indomitable resolve.
+
+“We'll settle both deals to-night,” Lawson was saying. “That's what I
+came for.”
+
+“But suppose I don't choose to talk here?” protested Longstreth,
+impatiently. “I never before made my house a place to--”
+
+“We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your
+nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to
+me?”
+
+“Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why, she's a
+woman, and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. I told you
+I was willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Ray
+hasn't any use for you now. She liked you at first. But now she doesn't.
+So what can I do?”
+
+“You can make her marry me,” replied Lawson.
+
+“Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be done even if
+I tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't the highest opinion
+of you as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray loved you I would
+consent. We'd all go away together before this damned miserable business
+is out. Then she'd never know. And maybe you might be more like you used
+to be before the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your
+own game with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose.”
+
+“What'd you want to let her come out here for?” demanded Lawson, hotly.
+“It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over her. I'll have her or
+die. Don't you think if she was my wife I'd soon pull myself together?
+Since she came we've none of us been right. And the gang has put up a
+holler. No, Longstreth, we've got to settle things to-night.”
+
+“Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,” replied
+Longstreth, rising. “Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand.”
+
+They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself
+and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But
+he could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had
+thought him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he
+was worse.
+
+The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have
+been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally
+he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leaden-faced,
+humiliated. Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode
+the room; he cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now appreciably calmer.
+Duane could not but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection
+of Lawson's proposal.
+
+“Don't fuss about it, Floyd,” he said. “You see I can't help it. We're
+pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter and give her to you
+as I would an unruly steer.”
+
+“Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me,” declared Lawson, thickly.
+
+“How?”
+
+“You know the hold I got on you--the deal that made you boss of this
+rustler gang?”
+
+“It isn't likely I'd forget,” replied Longstreth, grimly.
+
+“I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it
+broadcast--tell this ranger--unless she'd marry me.”
+
+Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had
+no shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Longstreth gazed with
+dark, controlled fury at this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong,
+unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed
+Lawson to be the wild and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also
+how during all the years of association this strong man had upheld
+the weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on
+Longstreth's part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great majority
+of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where
+influence was futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.
+
+“But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a
+rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border,”
+ replied Longstreth, impressively.
+
+Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred
+to him. But he was not long at a loss.
+
+“She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now
+there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes. Mark what I say.”
+
+“Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's
+a boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor.
+Also I think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to
+certain property.”
+
+Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared himself as if
+this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed
+an absence of his usual nervous excitement.
+
+“Longstreth, that may well be true,” he said. “No doubt all you say is
+true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her--I
+reckon we'll all go to hell!”
+
+He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly
+had something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely
+perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head
+down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long
+experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means
+to vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right
+then and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson.
+For Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a
+conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put
+Longstreth in conflict with himself.
+
+Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to
+talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking
+to smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the
+fateful significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree
+decided than if he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself.
+How, Duane wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone
+so far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was,
+perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The
+coming of Ray Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension.
+
+“You're too impatient,” concluded Longstreth. “You'll ruin any chance
+of happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am
+she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate
+you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her.
+Cut out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out
+here--stock, ranch, property--and leave the country. Then you'd have a
+show with her.”
+
+“I told you we've got to stick,” growled Lawson. “The gang won't
+stand for our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice
+everything.”
+
+“You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them
+here to face whatever comes?”
+
+“I mean just that.”
+
+“I'm bad enough, but not that bad,” returned Longstreth. “If I can't
+get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same,
+Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years
+have been YOURS?”
+
+“Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had
+cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here.”
+
+“Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached
+our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--at a time when
+rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then
+came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before
+we knew it--before I knew it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS
+on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!”
+
+“I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all
+think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing
+can be proved. We're too strong.”
+
+“There's where you're dead wrong,” rejoined Longstreth, emphatically.
+“I imagined that once, not long ago. I was bullheaded. Who would ever
+connect Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? I've changed my mind.
+I've begun to think. I've reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we
+can't last. It's the nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow
+better. The wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the
+country, all of us.”
+
+“But you and I have all the stock--all the gain,” protested Lawson.
+
+“I'll split mine.”
+
+“I won't--that settles that,” added Lawson, instantly.
+
+Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince
+this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more
+than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
+
+“Your stock and property will last a long time--do you lots of good when
+this ranger--”
+
+“Bah!” hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to
+powder. “Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon--any time--same as Laramie
+is?”
+
+“Yes, you mentioned the--the supposition,” replied Longstreth,
+sarcastically. “I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to
+be brought about.”
+
+“The gang will lay him out.”
+
+“Bah!” retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+
+“Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've
+packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they
+killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in
+all that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough
+to see him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only
+way to get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then
+he's going to drop some of them.”
+
+“Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did
+drop some of them,” declared Lawson; and now he was sarcastic.
+
+“To tell you the truth, I wouldn't,” returned the other, bluntly. “I'm
+pretty sick of this mess.”
+
+Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to
+his intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen a
+vainer or more arrogant man.
+
+“Longstreth, I don't like your talk,” he said.
+
+“If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do,” replied
+Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of
+eyes and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.
+
+“Well, after all, that's neither here nor there,” went on Lawson,
+unconsciously cowed by the other. “The thing is, do I get the girl?”
+
+“Not by any means except her consent.”
+
+“You'll not make her marry me?”
+
+“No. No,” replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched.
+
+“All right. Then I'll make her.”
+
+Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that he
+wasted no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that
+was that Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use
+it. Then heavy footsteps sounded outside tramping upon the porch. Duane
+might have been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps saved Lawson's
+life.
+
+“There they are,” said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+
+Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big
+man with burly shoulders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others
+stood back.
+
+The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a
+nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man--a stranger to
+Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from this band,
+of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of
+these men. There was power here, and he was bound.
+
+The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others
+gathered around him close to the table. There were evidently some signs
+of membership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads were bent over the
+table. Low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. By straining his
+ears Duane caught a word here and there. They were planning, and they
+were brief. Duane gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near
+Ord.
+
+Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present
+convention, got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had come, and was
+followed by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet smoke. Lawson
+seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. He smoked fiercely and drank
+continually. All at once he straightened up as if listening.
+
+“What's that?” he called, suddenly.
+
+Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+
+“Must be a rat,” replied Longstreth.
+
+The rustle became a rattle.
+
+“Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,” said Lawson.
+
+Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+
+Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the
+adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. But
+the rattle inside Longstreth's room was mingling with little dull thuds
+of falling dirt. The adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane
+distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+his heart.
+
+“What in the hell!” exclaimed Longstreth.
+
+“I smell dust,” said Lawson, sharply.
+
+That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite
+his care he made a noise.
+
+“Did you hear a step?” queried Longstreth.
+
+No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud.
+Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+
+“There's somebody between the walls!” thundered Longstreth.
+
+Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to
+squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
+
+“Hear him!” yelled Lawson. “This side!”
+
+“No, he's going that way,” yelled Longstreth.
+
+The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of desperation. He
+was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was
+another matter. He almost tore his clothes off in that passage. The dust
+nearly stifled him. When he burst into the patio it was not a single
+instant too soon. But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up,
+gun in hand, running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps
+turned him back. While there was a chance to get away he did not want to
+fight. He thought he heard someone running into the patio from the other
+end. He stole along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it
+might lead, he softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth
+sitting on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her
+to be silent he turned to close the door. It was a heavy door without
+bolt or bar, and when Duane had shut it he felt safe only for the
+moment. Then he gazed around the room. There was one window with blind
+closely drawn. He listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating,
+dying away.
+
+Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the bed, half
+to her knees, and was holding out trembling hands. She was as white as
+the pillow on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with warning
+hand commanding silence, Duane stepped softly forward, meaning to
+reassure her.
+
+“Oh!” she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to faint.
+When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood the strange,
+dark expression in them. She was terrified because she believed he meant
+to kill her, or do worse, probably worse. Duane realized he must have
+looked pretty hard and fierce bursting into her room with that big gun
+in hand.
+
+The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him.
+
+“Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get away--to
+save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on--on your father and
+his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was
+listening. They're after me now.”
+
+Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening
+windows of thought.
+
+Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a
+woman in her eyes.
+
+“Tell me now. You were spying on my father?”
+
+Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not
+omitting a terse word as to the character of the men he had watched.
+
+“My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong here--with
+him--with the place--the people. And right off I hated Floyd Lawson. Oh,
+it'll kill me if--if--It's so much worse than I dreamed. What shall I
+do?”
+
+The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's attention,
+reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted more with him, made
+clear the probability of being discovered in her room.
+
+“I'll have to get out of here,” whispered Duane.
+
+“Wait,” she replied. “Didn't you say they were hunting for you?”
+
+“They sure are,” he returned, grimly.
+
+“Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got away.
+Stay. If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the light. I'll meet
+them at the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets down, if we
+have to wait till morning. Then you can slip out.”
+
+“I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to--I won't,” Duane replied, perplexed
+and stubborn.
+
+“But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.”
+
+“Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every
+room and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't
+start a fight. You might be hurt. Then--the fact of my being here--”
+
+Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the
+door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him.
+She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been
+either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make
+Duane weak.
+
+“Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to
+be natural.
+
+“No. I'm in bed reading. Good night,” instantly replied Miss Longstreth,
+so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between
+man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He
+slipped in, but the door would not close altogether.
+
+“Are you alone?” went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+
+“Yes,” she replied. “Ruth went to bed.”
+
+The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half
+entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and
+indistinctly another man.
+
+Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as
+well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced
+around he went out and closed the door.
+
+Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent once
+more. Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard her quick
+breathing. How long did she mean to let him stay hidden there? Hard and
+perilous as his life had been, this was a new kind of adventure. He
+had divined the strange softness of his feeling as something due to the
+magnetism of this beautiful woman. It hardly seemed possible that he,
+who had been outside the pale for so many years, could have fallen in
+love. Yet that must be the secret of his agitation.
+
+Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss
+Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared to be in
+distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+
+“I think I can go now--safely,” he whispered.
+
+“Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe,” she replied.
+
+“I--I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me--this finding
+out--and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't understand myself
+well. But I want you to know--if I were not an outlaw--a ranger--I'd lay
+my life at your feet.”
+
+“Oh! You have seen so--so little of me,” she faltered.
+
+“All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my
+coming caused you.”
+
+“You will not fight my father?”
+
+“Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+
+“But you spied upon him.”
+
+“I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.”
+
+“And oh! I am a rustler's daughter,” she cried. “That's so much more
+terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he
+was engaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions aroused.”
+
+“How? Tell me.”
+
+“I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange a
+meeting for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to
+go. Floyd taunted him with a name.”
+
+“What name?” queried Duane.
+
+“It was Cheseldine.”
+
+“CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?”
+
+“What difference does that make?”
+
+“Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same,” whispered Duane,
+hoarsely.
+
+“I gathered so much myself,” she replied, miserably. “But Longstreth is
+father's real name.”
+
+Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part
+in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she betrayed the secret
+Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a
+great flood.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable,” he whispered.
+“Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here to get. He's only a
+name. Your father is the real man. I've sworn to get him. I'm bound by
+more than law or oaths. I can't break what binds me. And I must disgrace
+you--wreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I--I love
+you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How
+fatal--terrible--this is! How things work out!”
+
+She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+
+“You won't kill him?” she implored. “If you care for me--you won't kill
+him?”
+
+“No. That I promise you.”
+
+With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+
+Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to
+the court.
+
+When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
+his relief equaled his other feelings.
+
+The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
+soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
+But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
+throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
+Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have
+a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he
+could save her.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try
+to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men
+Duane wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine,
+was the brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who
+needed to be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane
+experienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more
+than thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
+this emotion.
+
+Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
+for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
+in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let
+his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
+
+He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
+Bradford.
+
+The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
+express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
+messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
+away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and
+engineer and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men
+and citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up
+before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane
+had the sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to
+find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford
+unobserved. As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the
+direction of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope
+that he might be taken for a train-robber.
+
+He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak of
+Ord Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and
+slept until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his time
+cooking breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and,
+leaving the trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put
+his horse to the rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough,
+roundabout, and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill
+of a long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded and
+covered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival that the man
+Duane remembered as Fletcher and several others saw him come in the back
+way through the lots and jump a fence into the road.
+
+Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard.
+He was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morning
+drink.
+
+“Howdy, Dodge,” said Fletcher, laconically.
+
+Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
+
+“Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as
+might happen to ride up curious-like.”
+
+“Haw! haw! haw!”
+
+Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
+
+“Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in
+the 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev to
+rustle water.”
+
+Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and
+left him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the group
+of men had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before.
+Without comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever
+one of the tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This
+procedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+
+“Wal, Dodge,” remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, “thet's safer 'n
+prayin' fer rain.”
+
+Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect
+that a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They all
+joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most
+assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his
+ability, it probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at that
+time these men had nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern.
+Evidently they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed
+they could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane set
+out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was card-playing
+for small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature, much bantering among the
+younger fellows, and occasionally a mild quarrel. All morning men came
+and went, until, all told, Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty.
+Toward the middle of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloon
+and yelled one word:
+
+“Posse!”
+
+From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing
+action was rare in Ord.
+
+“What the hell!” muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,
+compact bunch of horses and riders. “Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!
+We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was
+here or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'.”
+
+The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted in
+a bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men,
+all heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbed
+cowboy. Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence of
+the sheriff who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was
+out in another direction with a different force.
+
+“Hello, Jim Fletcher,” called the cowboy.
+
+“Howdy,” replied Fletcher.
+
+At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before
+the posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The
+outlaw was different now.
+
+“Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.
+Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit
+into the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us.
+Think he went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the
+rest of the way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last
+night or early this mornin'?”
+
+“Nope,” replied Fletcher.
+
+His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently
+the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the
+posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference
+of opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
+
+“Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?”
+ protested an old hawk-faced rancher. “Them hoss tracks we follored ain't
+like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up.”
+
+“I'm not so sure of that,” replied the leader.
+
+“Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--'
+
+“But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.”
+
+“Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent
+fer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this
+road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through
+town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some
+greasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute.”
+
+“But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the
+greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no
+ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine
+an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his
+gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did
+the killin'--he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it.”
+
+Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old
+cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
+
+“Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons
+Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell you what--I'd
+take a chance an' clean up this hole!”
+
+All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
+
+“Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,” he said. The
+menace was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+
+“You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!” called Guthrie, as the horses
+started.
+
+Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the
+posse out of sight.
+
+“Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here,” he said, as they disappeared.
+Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away
+from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it
+was somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
+
+“Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal,
+seein' I staved off Guthrie.”
+
+Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it.
+First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledge
+whatever of the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself.
+Then at Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show of
+friendliness he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swell
+with pride, though still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent
+will-power and seemed to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and
+grew silent, then surly. Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory,
+desisted for the time being; however, in his solicitous regard and close
+companionship for the rest of that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+
+Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse
+and make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
+
+“Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.
+Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I
+hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now.
+I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square.”
+
+“I'll square it. I pay my debts,” replied Duane. “But I can't put up
+here all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different.”
+
+“What gang?” asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+
+“Why, Cheseldine's.”
+
+Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+
+Duane laughed. “I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,
+he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I
+had for bein' on earth or some such like--why, I up an' told him.”
+
+Fletcher appeared staggered.
+
+“Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?”
+
+“Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over
+there.”
+
+All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white.
+“Cheseldine--Longstreth!” he whispered, hoarsely. “Gord Almighty! You
+braced the--” Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He
+gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he
+could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this
+rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement,
+the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a
+master of men!
+
+“WHO AIR YOU?” queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+
+“You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore
+it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin'
+in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.”
+
+The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he
+returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness--all
+without a word.
+
+Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and
+mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night.
+His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing
+his game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end,
+always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the
+approach that needed all his mind.
+
+He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail
+and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
+disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
+expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
+Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
+
+That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently
+well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane heard him say, before he
+could possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss
+of money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of
+this report. He pretended not to have heard.
+
+In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
+and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to
+a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took
+out a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
+handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through
+the roll.
+
+“Five hundred!” he exclaimed. “Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
+considerin' the job wasn't--”
+
+“Considerin' nothin',” interrupted Duane. “I'm makin' no reference to
+a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If
+thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this
+country.”
+
+Fletcher was won.
+
+The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
+history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
+laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
+that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
+then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
+boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a
+stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any
+influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all
+the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved
+anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine
+was already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have
+killed Duane.
+
+Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed
+to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory!
+Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,
+high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job,
+where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed
+he basked in the sunshine before one or another of the public places
+he owned. He was there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the
+biggest job yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as
+yet been advised.
+
+Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details
+pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering
+a period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith
+was unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in
+its brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and
+grasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was
+stunned. Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher,
+stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane
+had ever known sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned
+Duane; the strange fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate
+inside working of his great system was equally stunning. But when Duane
+recovered from that the old terrible passion to kill consumed him,
+and it raged fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handed
+Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But
+they were not, and Duane with help of time got what he hoped was the
+upper hand of himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a leashed
+hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he
+was bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold,
+wild brow of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for
+Knell and Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting
+one.
+
+But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A
+messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do
+with Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful
+moods and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a
+striking contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw.
+Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few
+words whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger
+or fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger,
+a lean, dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy
+Guthrie, left the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the
+west. This west mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south
+beyond Mount Ord. Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not
+at present with the leader on the mountain. After the messenger left
+Fletcher grew silent and surly. He had presented a variety of moods to
+Duane's observation, and this latest one was provocative of thought.
+Fletcher was dangerous. It became clear now that the other outlaws
+of the camp feared him, kept out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet
+closely watched him.
+
+Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher
+manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then
+he went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape
+both to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep
+close until he returned. Then he mounted.
+
+“Come here, Dodge,” he called.
+
+Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher
+walked his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log
+bridge, when he halted.
+
+“Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell,” he said. “An' it 'pears I'm the cause
+of friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but
+Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, an'
+here it's been held up because of this scrap. He's waitin' over there on
+the mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's
+showin' up. I've got to stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the
+prospects.”
+
+“What's the trouble about, Jim?” asked Duane.
+
+“Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge,” said Fletcher, dryly. “Knell
+hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer a man onless he
+can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with
+my say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethin' about
+you that'll make both the boss an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But
+he's keepin' quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better
+go back to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come
+back.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too.”
+
+“The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, I'll light a
+fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you don't see
+it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks
+to his pals. So long, Dodge.”
+
+Then he rode away.
+
+He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been
+working out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not
+know which way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to
+Bradford. Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open
+hostility between one of them and another of the chief's right-hand
+men! Among outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such
+matters were settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from
+disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band had
+already begun. But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around
+the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this
+stranger in Ord, this new partner of Fletcher's, was no less than Buck
+Duane. Well, it was about time, thought Duane, that he made use of his
+name if it were to help him at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope.
+He had anchored all his scheme to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to
+ride off after Fletcher and stay with him. This, however, would hardly
+be fair to an outlaw who had been fair to him. Duane concluded to await
+developments and when the gang rode in to Ord, probably from their
+various hiding-places, he would be there ready to be denounced by Knell.
+Duane could not see any other culmination of this series of events than
+a meeting between Knell and himself. If that terminated fatally for
+Knell there was all probability of Duane's being in no worse situation
+than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here Duane accused
+himself again--tried in vain to revolt from a judgment that he was only
+reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws.
+
+Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his
+mountain retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than he was
+hurrying for his horse.
+
+He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of sight, he
+turned off the road, circled through the brush, and several miles south
+of town he struck a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told him
+led to Cheseldine's camp. The horse tracks along this trail were not
+less than a week old, and very likely much more. It wound between
+low, brush-covered foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with
+mesquite, cottonwood, and scrub-oak.
+
+In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he
+got a view of the rolling, black-spotted country, partly desert, partly
+fertile, with long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away to grow
+dim in the distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the
+open, downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to
+find the trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress. Finally
+he climbed into a region of all rock benches, rough here, smooth there,
+with only an occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide him. Many
+times he had to go ahead and then work to right or left till he found
+his way again. It was slow work; it took all day; and night found him
+half-way up the mountain. He halted at a little side-canyon with grass
+and water, and here he made camp. The night was clear and cool at that
+height, with a dark-blue sky and a streak of stars blinking across. With
+this day of action behind him he felt better satisfied than he had been
+for some time. Here, on this venture, he was answering to a call that
+had so often directed his movements, perhaps his life, and it was one
+that logic or intelligence could take little stock of. And on this
+night, lonely like the ones he used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and
+memorable of them because of a likeness to that old hiding-place, he
+felt the pressing return of old haunting things--the past so long ago,
+wild flights, dead faces--and the places of these were taken by one
+quiveringly alive, white, tragic, with its dark, intent, speaking
+eyes--Ray Longstreth's.
+
+
+That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+
+In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than
+he had followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the head of the
+canyon, there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar
+fenced him in. Then he went back and took up the trail on foot.
+
+Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts,
+wide canyons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along precipices--a long,
+hard climb--till he reached what he concluded was a divide. Going down
+was easier, though the farther he followed this dim and winding trail
+the wider the broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black
+fringe of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow,
+like a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great
+escarpments, he saw the lower country beyond the range, and beyond this,
+vast and clear as it lay in his sight, was the great river that made the
+Big Bend. He went down and down, wondering how a horse could follow that
+broken trail, believing there must be another better one somewhere into
+Cheseldine's hiding-place.
+
+He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and presently
+came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen
+through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two sides he
+could see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet below him; and, plain as all
+the other features of that wild environment, there shone out a big red
+stone or adobe cabin, white water shining away between great borders,
+and horses and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful
+scene. Duane could not help grinding his teeth at the thought of
+rustlers living there in quiet and ease.
+
+Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a niche,
+he settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He made note of the
+position of the sun and saw that if anything developed or if he decided
+to descend any farther there was small likelihood of his getting back to
+his camp before dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would be
+vain effort.
+
+Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
+structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been built by
+outlaws.
+
+There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting for the
+rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with mud, the valley was
+as wild, probably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to have been
+watching for a long time before he saw any sign of man, and this one
+apparently went to the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+
+The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the darker
+places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer to that cabin.
+What had he taken this arduous climb for? He held back, however, trying
+to evolve further plans.
+
+While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he
+was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And
+suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the
+valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment
+of rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and
+stopped at the stream for a long drink.
+
+Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as fast
+as he could without making noise. It did not take him long to reach the
+valley floor. It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and there
+clumps of bushes. Twilight was already thick down there. Duane marked
+the location of the trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through
+the grass and from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he
+made out the dark outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry
+whistle, a coarse song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He
+smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light.
+Evidently there was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.
+
+Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus
+was able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward
+the back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make
+no noise, and he could scarcely be seen--if only there was no watch-dog!
+But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life
+at stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an
+Indian. He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their
+shadows, for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their
+tops. From there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with
+his hands.
+
+He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He
+saw a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He
+saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the
+fire. Voices came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther
+along--all the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only
+the flare of light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he
+paused at the crack again, saw that no man was in the room, and then
+he went on round that end of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There
+were bushes, an old shed, a wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that
+corner. He did not even need to crawl.
+
+Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
+close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from
+that he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no
+dread. There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the
+same. Then he looked.
+
+He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while
+he handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against
+the wall, with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second
+glance, not so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men,
+three in the shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+
+“It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one
+right over the mountain,” one outlaw was saying.
+
+“What's eatin' you, Panhandle?” ejaculated another. “Blossom an' me rode
+from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang.”
+
+“Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said
+nothin'.”
+
+“It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well,”
+ spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+
+Longstreth's voice--Cheseldine's voice!
+
+Here they were--Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith,
+Boldt--how well Duane remembered the names!--all here, the big men of
+Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest--Poggin. Duane had holed them, and
+his sensations of the moment deadened sight and sound of what was before
+him. He sank down, controlled himself, silenced a mounting exultation,
+then from a less-strained position he peered forth again.
+
+The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might have been
+that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane listened with
+eager ears, waiting for the business talk that he felt would come. All
+the time he watched with the eyes of a wolf upon its quarry. Blossom
+Kane was the lean-limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt
+was a giant in stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the
+red-faced cook, merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling many
+rustlers Duane had known, particularly Luke Stevens. And Knell, who sat
+there, tall, slim, like a boy in build, like a boy in years, with
+his pale, smooth, expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And
+Longstreth, who leaned against the wall, handsome, with his dark face
+and beard like an aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana planter
+Duane had met. The sixth man sat so much in the shadow that he could not
+be plainly discerned, and, though addressed, his name was not mentioned.
+
+Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully
+called out: “If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed
+you with a spoon.”
+
+The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to
+their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+
+Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept round to
+the other side of the cabin. After he became used to the dark again
+he ventured to steal along the wall to the window and peeped in. The
+outlaws were in the first room and could not be seen.
+
+Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded.
+Longstreth entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of cigars
+from the table, he carried it out.
+
+“Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke,” he said. “Knell, come on in
+now. Let's get it over.”
+
+He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his
+booted feet on the table.
+
+Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished.
+There must have been a good trail, he thought, else how could all that
+stuff have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come
+over the trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside,
+and their voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated
+himself without any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as
+always, cold.
+
+“What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?” queried
+Longstreth.
+
+“Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again.”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway,
+an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept him, I reckon, more
+than anythin'.”
+
+“What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job.”
+
+“Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago--weeks--a
+stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he owned the place.
+He seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I
+left, tryin' to place him in my mind.”
+
+“What'd he look like?”
+
+“Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard face,
+eyes like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he walked an'
+stood an' swung his right hand showed me what he was. You can't fool me
+on the gun-sharp. An' he had a grand horse, a big black.”
+
+“I've met your man,” said Longstreth.
+
+“No!” exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise expressed by
+this man that did not in the least show it in his strange physiognomy.
+Knell laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. “Boss, this here big gent
+drifts into Ord again an' makes up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is
+easy led. He likes men. An' when a posse come along trailin' a blind
+lead, huntin' the wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim--he
+up an' takes this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to him.
+Got money out of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more. What's this
+man's game? I happen to know, boss, that he couldn't have held up No.
+6.”
+
+“How do you know?” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“Because I did the job myself.”
+
+A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+
+“Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break
+like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?”
+
+“Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to
+kill me.”
+
+“Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?”
+
+“It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake. I got
+the country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I just couldn't help
+it. You know what idleness means to one of us. You know also that this
+very life breeds fatality. It's wrong--that's why. I was born of good
+parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the
+end, that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes.”
+
+“Fine wise talk from you, Knell,” said Longstreth, scornfully. “Go on
+with your story.”
+
+“As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're
+together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he knew an' then
+some. A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over
+from Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new
+man for the gang. Poggin, you know, is always ready for any new man.
+He says if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather
+liked the way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always
+hit it up together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was already in
+the gang, without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin'
+hard. Just where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never
+had seen him, which accounts for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget
+any man I'd seen. I dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over
+them. Letters, pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty
+good notion what I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of. At
+last I found it. An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin.
+Oh no! I want to have some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be
+wilder than a trapped wolf. I sent Blossom over to Ord to get word from
+Jim, an' when he verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a
+message calculated to make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for
+Jim, an' I could come over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet
+me in Ord.”
+
+Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale
+eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell to a whisper.
+
+“Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?”
+
+“Who?” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“BUCK DUANE!”
+
+Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid.
+
+“That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed
+Bland, Alloway--?”
+
+“An' Hardin.” Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the
+apparent circumstance demanded.
+
+“Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows--Buck Duane!”
+
+Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache seemed
+outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood
+each other without more words. It was enough that Buck Duane was there
+in the Big Bend. Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from
+which he drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+
+“Knell,” began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, “I gathered you
+have some grudge against this Buck Duane.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men
+would--don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a Texas
+Ranger now.”
+
+“The hell you say!” exclaimed Knell.
+
+“Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and
+they'll fix even Buck Duane.”
+
+“All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane--”
+
+“Don't run into him!” Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of
+its passion and command. He wiped his face, drank again from the flask,
+sat down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket
+he began to study it.
+
+“Well, I'm glad that's settled,” he said, evidently referring to the
+Duane matter. “Now for the new job. This is October the eighteenth. On
+or before the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of gold reach the
+Rancher's Bank of Val Verde. After you return to Ord give Poggin these
+orders. Keep the gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle
+Smith, and Boldt to be in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll
+leave Ord on the twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till you
+get within sight of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from Bradford to Val
+Verde--about the same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val
+Verde on the morning of the twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than
+trot your horses. At two o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town
+and up to the Rancher's Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been
+any holdups there. Town feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job.
+That's all. Have you got the details?”
+
+Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+
+“Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?” he asked.
+
+Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+
+“You never can tell what'll come off,” continued Knell. “I'll do my
+best.”
+
+“The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I
+say again--look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry
+the job through. But I want both of you in it. Break for the hills, and
+when you get up in the rocks where you can hide your tracks head for
+Mount Ord. When all's quiet again I'll join you here. That's all. Call
+in the boys.”
+
+Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the level toward
+the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung wire. For a little while
+his mind was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, from which,
+like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The
+game was now in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat
+was improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford, forty
+miles from the foothills before eight o'clock next morning. He must
+telegraph MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty-fifth. He must ride
+back to Ord, to intercept Knell, face him be denounced, kill him, and
+while the iron was hot strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as
+he had wholly won Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws
+alone to bide their time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job
+in Val Verde. In the mean time he must plan to arrest Longstreth. It
+was a magnificent outline, incredible, alluring, unfathomable in
+its nameless certainty. He felt like fate. He seemed to be the iron
+consequences falling upon these doomed outlaws.
+
+Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags
+showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was merely a grayness
+between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not
+seem steep. His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and,
+looking down into the ebony gulf pierced by one point of light, he
+lifted a menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter
+till he reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there
+was none; but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches of rock
+above. Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of
+broken walls the moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the
+mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to magic silver light.
+It seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a
+transparent sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes,
+and, like a goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew his
+way and lost no time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then
+had all downhill before him. Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of
+his memory of the landmarks. He did not remember having studied them in
+the ascent, yet here they were, even in changed light, familiar to his
+sight. What he had once seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as
+a deer striking for home, he reached the canyon where he had left his
+horse.
+
+Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle and pack,
+cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The worst was now to come.
+Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weathered slopes, narrow black
+gullies, a thousand openings in a maze of broken stone--these Duane had
+to descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked the
+loose fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+
+Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great opportunity. But
+he could not quell that self in him which reached back over the lapse
+of lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He who had been worse
+than dead was now grasping at the skirts of life--which meant victory,
+honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind.
+Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,
+his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true
+course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time
+a spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had
+left her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with
+the trap to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not
+dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and
+the dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and
+toil were nothing.
+
+The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to
+the other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks,
+with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work
+of the long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down
+to Ord. The little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of
+houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on
+the lower trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He
+watched the dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time
+to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous
+about the time Duane turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset
+they would meet.
+
+The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west.
+The stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the
+world, thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it
+lightened, until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.
+
+Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the
+tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard
+the clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An
+operator sat inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked
+up with startled glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.
+
+“Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,” whispered Duane.
+
+With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message
+he had carefully composed.
+
+“Send this--repeat it to make sure--then keep mum. I'll see you again.
+Good-by.”
+
+The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+
+Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse
+a couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day.
+The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.
+
+When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord
+he saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew
+what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he
+could ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make
+his power felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That
+would be fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a
+presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities
+held them. He knew what to exaggerate.
+
+There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance
+that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the
+tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed
+two guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the
+right side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door
+and stepped inside.
+
+The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's
+pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom
+Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were
+familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or
+heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+great and evil deeds.
+
+There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table
+upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a
+huge gold-mounted gun.
+
+“Are you gents lookin' for me?” asked Duane. He gave his voice all the
+ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back,
+free of anything, with the outlaws all before him.
+
+Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other
+outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.
+
+“My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?” he said, plaintively, and
+slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He
+meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.
+
+“Back, Fletcher!” called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.
+
+“Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody,” said Fletcher. “Let me talk,
+seein' I'm in wrong here.”
+
+His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+
+“Go ahead. Talk,” said Poggin.
+
+Fletcher turned to Duane. “Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet
+enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my fault. I'll stand
+by you if you let me.”
+
+“No, Jim,” replied Duane.
+
+“But what'd you come fer without the signal?” burst out Fletcher, in
+distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.
+
+“Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad--”
+
+Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a
+rude dignity.
+
+“Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd
+make him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer him than fer
+me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life.
+Here's my pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to
+be hell if you don't. An' us with a big job on hand!”
+
+While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his
+gaze riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He
+was tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But
+looked at closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that
+thing which shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that
+swelled and rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and
+face of the cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+
+Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal
+and hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward
+quaking fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within
+him and numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed,
+but did not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper
+than thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+
+That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+
+“Jim, I ante up,” he said, “an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big
+hand--why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set in the game.”
+
+Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one
+hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an
+assurance which made him master of the situation.
+
+“Poggin, you're a gambler, you are--the ace-high, straight-flush hand of
+the Big Bend,” he said, with stinging scorn. “I'll bet you my roll to a
+greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play.”
+
+“Phil, you're talkin' wild,” growled Poggin, with both advice and menace
+in his tone.
+
+“If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody
+else when he's not. Thet so?”
+
+Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+
+“Well, Jim's new pard--this man Dodge--he's not who he seems. Oh-ho!
+He's a hell of a lot different. But _I_ know him. An' when I spring
+his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get
+me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be
+lightnin'--All because you'll realize you've been standin' there five
+minutes--five minutes ALIVE before him!”
+
+If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested
+itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust
+before Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could
+be plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging
+either way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center
+of the room.
+
+“Spring his name, then, you--” said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
+
+Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce.
+He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat
+expressive of what his face disguised.
+
+“BUCK DUANE!” he yelled, suddenly.
+
+The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's
+passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought
+to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's
+manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his
+passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw
+certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin,
+had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated
+and feared by all outlaws.
+
+Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility
+in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the
+great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
+
+“BUCK DUANE! Yes,” he broke out, hotly. “The Nueces gunman! That
+two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard a thousand
+times of him--talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you!
+Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd
+fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know him. An' I know why he drifted
+in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me
+he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself.
+Don't you always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to
+meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I
+know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An' when I sprung his name,
+what ought you have done? What would the boss--anybody--have expected of
+Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
+froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love
+to have. Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
+damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
+we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
+Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
+lesser man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every
+gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad!
+Here's once I show you up!”
+
+The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade
+he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
+
+“Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?” he asked, in scarcely audible
+voice.
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's
+attitude.
+
+“You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Hardin was the best pard I ever had.”
+
+His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
+
+The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words
+had passed. In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually
+stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a
+soul-piercing fire.
+
+Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought--the breaking of
+Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+
+Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's
+bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild
+thing in agony.
+
+Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a
+stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
+
+Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+
+“Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!” he yelled.
+
+With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
+
+Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he could
+think of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was
+slowly but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what
+love was and also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode like one
+possessed down the rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through
+the brush, with a sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the
+wind. Something dragged at him.
+
+Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other
+was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of
+sensations. He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily,
+he hurried faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive;
+it eased the weight. But the farther he went on the harder it was to
+continue. Had he turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life
+itself?
+
+There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of
+himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed
+haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under
+which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed
+up, then stopped, only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a low
+ridge, Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the
+sight was a conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and
+Duane sought the shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot,
+glary sun and no wind. Here Duane had to have out his fight. Duane was
+utterly unlike himself; he could not bring the old self back; he was
+not the same man he once had been. But he could understand why. It was
+because of Ray Longstreth. Temptation assailed him. To have her his
+wife! It was impossible. The thought was insidiously alluring. Duane
+pictured a home. He saw himself riding through the cotton and rice and
+cane, home to a stately old mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed him
+welcome, and a woman looked for him and met him with happy and beautiful
+smile. There might--there would be children. And something new, strange,
+confounding with its emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There
+would be children! Ray their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast
+always yearned for and never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+
+But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was
+then there was something cold and death-like in Duane's soul. For he
+knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was sure--he would have to kill
+either Longstreth or Lawson. Longstreth might be trapped into arrest;
+but Lawson had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a
+panther and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+
+Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore--in the most
+fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. He had
+fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams, now rendered poignant by
+reason of love. He drove away those dreams. In their places came the
+images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the
+dark, evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and
+sinister the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+
+It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for
+the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
+He found them at length, restless, somber, anxious, but unaware of the
+part he had played at Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was
+possible that Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+
+Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might
+need them, and then with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth's ranch.
+
+Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch
+he heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were
+quarreling again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of
+action, but his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions.
+He meant to take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men
+were out on the porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery
+and crouched low to watch for his opportunity.
+
+Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he
+had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid on a table near the
+wall. He wore no belt.
+
+Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink,
+though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate
+man in his last stand. It was his last stand, though he was ignorant of
+that.
+
+“What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings,” said Lawson.
+
+“Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,” replied Longstreth.
+
+Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the
+rush of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane
+awaited his chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise.
+
+“But why should your daughter meet this ranger?” demanded Lawson,
+harshly.
+
+“She's in love with him, and he's in love with her.”
+
+Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the
+force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was his game?
+
+Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then
+Longstreth.
+
+“You damned selfish fool!” cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. “All
+you think of is yourself--your loss of the girl. Think once of ME--my
+home--my life!”
+
+Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently dawned upon
+the other. Somehow through this girl her father and cousin were to be
+betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he could not tell how true
+it was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
+
+“To hell with you!” burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied.
+“I'll have her, or nobody else will!”
+
+“You never will,” returned Longstreth, stridently. “So help me God I'd
+rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!”
+
+While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of
+hate and menace in his mien.
+
+“Lawson, you made me what I am,” continued Longstreth. “I backed
+you--shielded you. YOU'RE Cheseldine--if the truth is told! Now it's
+ended. I quit you. I'm done!”
+
+Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+
+“GENTLEMEN!” Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out.
+“YOU'RE BOTH DONE!”
+
+They wheeled to confront Duane.
+
+“Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!” he warned.
+
+Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned
+from gray to ashen.
+
+“What d'ye mean?” yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
+obey a command, to see impending death.
+
+All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his
+left hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed
+brightly.
+
+Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer
+impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke
+his action.
+
+Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped
+behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the
+gun from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself
+with the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke;
+he heard quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like
+wind, light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him.
+The hot rend of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode,
+yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
+
+Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the
+hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the
+loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane
+waited, cool and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to
+edge him closer toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering
+the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent
+peering at Duane under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side.
+Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was
+never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like
+those. More than once Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top of
+Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.
+
+Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before
+Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered
+him, called piercingly to him:
+
+“Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill
+you!”
+
+Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane
+saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced
+Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that
+gun. He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill
+him.
+
+“Longstreth, listen,” cried Duane, swiftly. “The game's up. You're done.
+But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life--I'll try to get you
+freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed--all the
+proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid.
+Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for
+Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man!
+Your answer!”
+
+“Suppose I refuse?” he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
+
+“Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
+death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second
+now--I'll kill you!”
+
+“All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,” he said, and deliberately
+walked to the chair and fell into it.
+
+Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
+
+“There come the girls!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Can you help me drag
+Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.”
+
+Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching,
+evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the
+house before the girls saw him.
+
+“Duane, you're not hard hit?” said Longstreth.
+
+“Reckon not,” replied Duane.
+
+“I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him!
+Always I've split over him!”
+
+“But the last time, Longstreth.”
+
+“Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked
+me out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be
+harder than facing a gun.”
+
+“Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.”
+
+“Duane, will you do me a favor?” he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter.
+Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll
+be here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change
+places with Lawson if I could!”
+
+“Glad you--said that, Longstreth,” replied Duane. “And sure--Lawson
+plugged me. It's our secret.”
+
+Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so
+different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She
+lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and
+mute, she gazed from that to her father.
+
+“Papa!” cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+
+“Don't give way,” he replied, huskily. “Both you girls will need your
+nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is--is dead. Listen. Let me
+tell it quick. There's been a fight. It--it was Lawson--it was Lawson's
+gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm
+to divide my property--return so far as possible what I've stolen--leave
+Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get
+MacNelly, the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!”
+
+She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic
+glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+
+“You must rise above this,” said Duane to her. “I expected this to ruin
+you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can
+promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor
+will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in
+San Antonio and Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line
+between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border
+days. Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher
+say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father
+drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's
+perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and
+morality of a civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with
+bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This
+matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out
+of court. I'm sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting.
+Then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing
+that took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him. And
+so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed that way
+out here. He could not control them. He became involved with them. And
+eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. That
+meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew
+into the leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be
+judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to
+catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him.
+Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not
+be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had
+turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it
+as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his
+party by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and
+reached Bradford as he had planned.
+
+That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was
+in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be
+there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of
+that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours
+and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the
+outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him
+leap.
+
+It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+
+Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car,
+changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken.
+Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a
+seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted
+briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed
+a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right
+alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty
+miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting
+eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang!
+He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward
+contraction. He thought he recognized the clean-cut Blossom Kane, the
+black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher.
+There was another man strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not
+have been Knell.
+
+Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
+
+“Look!” he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
+
+The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
+
+“Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?” whispered Duane.
+
+Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
+Verde.
+
+They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
+travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
+there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
+train.
+
+Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
+familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but
+was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him--MacNelly,
+clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
+
+When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
+hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
+yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from
+Duane to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did
+not look the part of an outlaw.
+
+“Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you,” was the Captain's greeting. Then at
+closer look into Duane's face his warmth fled--something he saw there
+checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
+
+“MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,” said Duane, low-voiced.
+
+The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's
+instant action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
+
+“Any of your men down here?” queried Duane, sharply.
+
+“No. They're up-town.”
+
+“Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come
+behind with them.”
+
+They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on
+the way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a
+trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
+
+Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street.
+There was a big sign, “Rancher's Bank.”
+
+“There's the hotel,” said MacNelly. “Some of my men are there. We've
+scattered around.”
+
+They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane
+asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the
+Captain complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and,
+drawing a deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable
+now,” he said. “And don't be distressed.” Then he turned to his captain.
+“MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I've brought to you, and
+this one is his niece.”
+
+Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not
+spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+
+“When I went after Longstreth,” concluded Duane, “it was either to kill
+him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his
+daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe
+he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return.
+The name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it'll fade.”
+
+A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a
+hall, and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them--rangers!
+
+MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+
+“Boys, here he is.”
+
+“How many men have you?” asked Duane.
+
+“Fifteen.”
+
+MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the
+dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed,
+he sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside
+himself. And his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to
+run. They all talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent
+in their speech was “outlaws.”
+
+MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+
+“This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the
+Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how'd you
+ever do it?”
+
+“Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The
+gang's coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They'll ride
+into town on the dot--two-thirty.”
+
+“How many?” asked MacNelly.
+
+“Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another
+man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll
+bet they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced.”
+
+“Poggin--that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since
+I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and
+blazes!”
+
+“Knell's dead.”
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and
+of harder aspect. “Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm only a ranger under
+orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make
+your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who're not here.”
+
+“You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and
+that lot?” queried Duane.
+
+“No, I don't understand that,” replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+
+“It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them
+they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no
+equal with a gun--unless--He's got to be killed quick. They'll all have
+to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in
+action.”
+
+“Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The
+boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now.”
+
+“Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let
+him hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we
+might fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It's
+well situated for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the
+bank--four men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game
+begins. They want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise
+before they're down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your
+men put inside behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to
+the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, and don't let them
+shut up the bank. You want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold.
+But the clerks and cashier ought to be at their desks or window when
+Poggin rides up. He'll glance in before he gets down. They make no
+mistakes, these fellows. We must be slicker than they are, or lose. When
+you get the bank people wise, send your men over one by one. No hurry,
+no excitement, no unusual thing to attract notice in the bank.”
+
+“All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?”
+
+Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had
+seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he was confronted
+by the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with
+lowered head.
+
+“Where'll you wait, Duane?” insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes
+speculating.
+
+“I'll wait in front, just inside the door,” replied Duane, with an
+effort.
+
+“Why?” demanded the Captain.
+
+“Well,” began Duane, slowly, “Poggin will get down first and start in.
+But the others won't be far behind. They'll not get swift till inside.
+The thing is--they MUSTN'T get clear inside, because the instant they
+do they'll pull guns. That means death to somebody. If we can we want to
+stop them just at the door.”
+
+“But will you hide?” asked MacNelly.
+
+“Hide!” The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+
+“There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a vestibule, with
+steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in the vestibule, too. It
+leads somewhere. We can put men in there. You can be there.”
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+“See here, Duane,” began MacNelly, nervously. “You shan't take any undue
+risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?”
+
+“No!” The word was wrenched from Duane.
+
+MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit
+over his face.
+
+“Duane, I can give you no orders to-day,” he said, distinctly. “I'm only
+offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've done a grand
+job for the service--already. You've paid me a thousand times for
+that pardon. You've redeemed yourself.--The Governor, the
+adjutant-general--the whole state will rise up and honor you. The game's
+almost up. We'll kill these outlaws, or enough of them to break for
+ever their power. I say, as a ranger, need you take more risk than your
+captain?”
+
+Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces. And one,
+a tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him.
+Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the weaker, found a
+voice.
+
+“Captain, you want this job to be sure?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met. Just
+WHAT I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings like this the
+moment decides. But I'll be there!”
+
+MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and
+sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+
+“Now you've done your work--laid the trap--is this strange move of yours
+going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?” asked MacNelly, in significant low
+voice.
+
+Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked
+up as if he had seen a ghost.
+
+Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: “You can win her, Duane! Oh, you
+can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover--then go
+back to her. You will have served the Texas Rangers as no other man has.
+I'll accept your resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That girl
+loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She's--”
+
+But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet,
+and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still
+there was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.
+
+“Enough. I'm done,” he said, somberly. “I've planned. Do we agree--or
+shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?”
+
+MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled
+chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they rested upon
+Duane.
+
+Duane was left alone.
+
+Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses
+of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him
+before any one else had a chance--Poggin first--and then the others!
+He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its
+acceptance he had become stone.
+
+Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared nothing
+for the state. He had no thought of freeing the community of a dangerous
+outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle to its progress and
+prosperity. He wanted to kill Poggin. It was significant now that
+he forgot the other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the
+gun-fighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit
+of the surviving pioneer--these had been in him; and the killings, one
+after another, the wild and haunted years, had made him, absolutely in
+spite of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly.
+The thing he had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the gunman.
+Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kind--the
+need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last
+victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still there in his mind,
+and now it stalked out, worse, more powerful, magnified by its rest,
+augmented by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to that
+strange, wild product of the Texas frontier--the gun-fighter. And those
+passions were so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought
+to have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record! Actual
+vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any rival!
+
+Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice. What
+he had feared for years had become a monstrous reality. Respect for
+himself, blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to while in
+outlawry--all, like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood
+stripped bare, his soul naked--the soul of Cain. Always since the first
+brand had been forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now
+with conscience flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this
+tiger instinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the
+utter abasement the soul he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with
+the thought of Ray Longstreth.
+
+Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal
+meeting--as all his swift and deadly genius must be occupied with
+Poggin, perhaps in vain--as hard-shooting men whom he could not watch
+would be close behind, this almost certainly must be the end of Buck
+Duane. That did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All
+her sweetness, her fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+
+“Duane,” she said, softly. “Captain MacNelly sent me to you.”
+
+“But you shouldn't have come,” replied Duane.
+
+“As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not.
+You left me--all of us--stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I
+do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't
+expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and
+here I'm selfishly using time.”
+
+“Go, then--and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a
+desperate game to finish.”
+
+“Need it be desperate?” she whispered, coming close to him.
+
+“Yes; it can't be else.”
+
+MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt
+that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful,
+and they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
+
+“You're going to take some mad risk,” she said. “Let me persuade you not
+to. You said--you cared for me--and I--oh, Duane--don't you--know--?”
+
+The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and
+failed.
+
+Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of
+thought.
+
+She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in
+a flood of tears.
+
+“My God! You can't care for me?” he cried, hoarsely.
+
+Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+
+“But I do-I do!”
+
+Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood
+holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing breast and the
+clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear.
+He felt her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all
+the demons that possessed him. And he held her as if she had been his
+soul, his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+
+The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there
+rushed over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and full, strong
+like an intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and
+terrible as the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become
+an outcast, a wanderer, a gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost
+and suffered worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the
+endless bloody trail, a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly
+and inevitably closed to all except the instinct to survive and a black
+despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her swelling breast
+against his, in this moment almost of resurrection, he bent under the
+storm of passion and joy possible only to him who had endured so much.
+
+“Do you care--a little?” he whispered, unsteadily.
+
+He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+
+She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped up to
+his neck.
+
+“A littler Oh, Duane--Duane--a great deal!”
+
+Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth
+seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry
+heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats. He felt the outcast's need
+of love. And he gave up to the enthralling moment. She met him half-way,
+returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes
+closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+shoulder.
+
+Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she
+had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not even her life, in
+that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of regret at
+his unrestraint.
+
+Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and leaned upon
+him with her face upturned. He felt her hands on his, and they were
+soft, clinging, strong, like steel under velvet. He felt the rise and
+fall, the warmth of her breast. A tremor ran over him. He tried to draw
+back, and if he succeeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing
+closer. She held her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was
+wonderful now: white, yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark
+eyes alluring. But that was not all. There was passion, unquenchable
+spirit, woman's resolve deep and mighty.
+
+“I love you, Duane!” she said. “For my sake don't go out to meet this
+outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you. Conquer it if you love
+me.”
+
+Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his arms again
+he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed
+more than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She was throbbing,
+palpitating, quivering, with hot wet cheeks and arms that clung to him
+like vines. She lifted her mouth to his, whispering, “Kiss me!” She
+meant to change him, hold him.
+
+Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him close.
+With his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss closed his
+eyes, and he could not lift his head. He sat motionless holding her,
+blind and helpless, wrapped in a sweet dark glory. She kissed him--one
+long endless kiss--or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks,
+her hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her
+arms, the swell of her breast--all these seemed to inclose him.
+
+Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and arms,
+watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure now of her
+intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost lost.
+This was what it was to be loved by a woman. His years of outlawry had
+blotted out any boyish love he might have known. This was what he had
+to give up--all this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he
+feared yet loved, this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never
+until that moment had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That
+meaning was physical inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what
+marvel in the touch of quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he
+saw there might have been for him, under happier circumstances, a life
+of noble deeds lived for such a woman.
+
+“Don't go! Don't go!” she cried, as he started violently.
+
+“I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you.”
+
+He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+
+“Ray, dearest--I believe--I'll come back!” he whispered.
+
+These last words were falsehood.
+
+He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever
+in memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
+
+“DUANE!”
+
+He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+
+To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
+Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar,
+with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's
+wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had
+sent the cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated
+life so? Poggin was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous
+instinct, now deep as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild
+and fatal issue. There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance
+that Poggin likewise had been taunted in fear of him.
+
+So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
+fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
+as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+
+There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
+clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
+vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
+were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
+cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men--the rangers--crouching
+down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
+iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money
+in sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
+to-morrow.
+
+Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into
+the country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no
+person near him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural
+strain.
+
+At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
+appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot--a
+group that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They
+came a little faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they
+were four blocks away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle
+of the vestibule, up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide
+doorway.
+
+There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
+ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the
+street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There
+was a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
+
+Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted
+quickly. They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to
+conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the
+bank door, quickening step a little. The others, close together, came
+behind him. Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was
+left at the curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.
+
+Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
+other, a little in his rear.
+
+As he strode in he saw Duane.
+
+“HELL'S FIRE!” he cried.
+
+Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
+fear?
+
+“BUCK DUANE!” echoed Kane.
+
+One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+
+Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his
+arm.
+
+The guns boomed almost together.
+
+Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
+like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in
+his hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his
+breast. He pulled--pulled--at random. Thunder of booming shots all about
+him! Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end;
+yes, the end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's,
+back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns spouting red!
+
+All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
+There it drifted--Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark, tragic
+eyes, fading from his sight... fading.. . fading...
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Light shone before Duane's eyes--thick, strange light that came and
+went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all.
+It was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden;
+darkness, light, sound, movement; and vague, obscure sense of time--time
+that was very long. There was fire--creeping, consuming fire. A dark
+cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.
+
+He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
+over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
+clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full
+of those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff,
+like a stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his
+bound body racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
+
+A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
+old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent
+over him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a
+distance: “Duane--Duane! Ah, he knew me!”
+
+After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light
+came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him.
+It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
+
+Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move
+them.
+
+“Poggin!” he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
+Ruling passion--eternal instinct!
+
+“Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces,” replied MacNelly, solemnly.
+“What a fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he
+was a tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him.”
+
+“Who-got--away?”
+
+“Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
+job's done--it's done! Why, man, you're--”
+
+“What of--of--HER?”
+
+“Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped
+the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when
+you sank low--so low--I think it was her spirit that held yours back.
+Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her
+nerve for a moment. Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go
+with us. Colonel Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I
+advised it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave.”
+
+“Have I--a--chance--to recover?”
+
+“Chance? Why, man,” exclaimed the Captain, “you'll get well! You'll pack
+a sight of lead all your life. But you can stand that. Duane, the whole
+Southwest knows your story. You need never again be ashamed of the name
+Buck Duane. The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes you've been
+a secret ranger all the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your
+mother, of this noble girl--of your future.”
+
+The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+
+A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had
+grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was
+carried from the train.
+
+A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he
+remembered--schoolmates, friends, old neighbors. There was an upflinging
+of many hands. Duane was being welcomed home to the town from which he
+had fled. A deadness within him broke. This welcome hurt him somehow,
+quickened him; and through his cold being, his weary mind, passed a
+change. His sight dimmed.
+
+Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real!
+His heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet
+strange it was, and all seemed magnified.
+
+They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and
+lifted his head upon pillows. The house was still, though full of
+people. Duane's gaze sought the open door.
+
+Some one entered--a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a light
+upon her face. She was leading an old lady, gray-haired, austere-faced,
+somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked erect. She
+was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity.
+
+The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His
+mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+
+“This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where
+is my son? My son--oh, my son!”
+
+When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west window and
+watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his talk. The old man
+was broken now. He told many interesting things about people Duane had
+known--people who had grown up and married, failed, succeeded, gone
+away, and died. But it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of
+guns, outlaws, fights. He could not seem to divine how mention of these
+things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great pride
+in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there
+was one thing more than another that pleased him it was to talk about
+the bullets which Duane carried in his body.
+
+“Five bullets, ain't it?” he asked, for the hundredth time.
+
+“Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?”
+
+“Yes, uncle,” replied Duane.
+
+“Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all
+that lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards,
+right here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem
+to mind them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad
+man in his day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger
+than you--got more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the
+doctor only bein' able to cut one bullet out of you--that one in your
+breastbone? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it,
+and I wanted it, but Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there
+was a bullet left in one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same
+kind as the one cut out of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if
+it'd stayed there.”
+
+“It would indeed, uncle,” replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
+mood returned.
+
+But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping
+Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine
+Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all
+suggestion.
+
+One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came
+for him. They read it together.
+
+You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+
+MACNELLEY.
+
+Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak
+then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but
+sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes
+were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
+
+“I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane.
+
+She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank
+a little.
+
+“The pain--Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly.
+
+“No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you
+know. But I don't mind a little pain.”
+
+“Then--it's the old mood--the fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.”
+
+“Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon--able to go out. Then that--that
+hell will come back!”
+
+“No, no!” she said, with emotion.
+
+“Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every
+town, wherever I go,” he went on, miserably. “Buck Duane! To kill Buck
+Duane!”
+
+“Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde,
+when I came to you--plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a
+terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle
+between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved
+you then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that--that thing
+which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have
+to kill another man, thank God!”
+
+Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not
+voice his passionate query.
+
+She put tender arms round his neck. “Because you'll have me with
+you always,” she replied. “Because always I shall be between you and
+that--that terrible thing.”
+
+It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came
+to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger
+woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day.
+
+“We'll--we'll be married and leave Texas,” she said, softly, with the
+red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+
+“Ray!”
+
+“Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.”
+
+“But, dear--suppose,” he replied, huskily, “suppose there might be--be
+children--a boy. A boy with his father's blood!”
+
+“I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even
+so--he'll be half my blood.”
+
+Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of
+joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made
+him weak as a child. How could she love him--how could she so bravely
+face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her
+hands round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and
+beauty--these she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past.
+They were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think
+of accepting her sacrifice.
+
+“But Ray--you dear, noble girl--I'm poor. I have nothing. And I'm a
+cripple.”
+
+“Oh, you'll be well some day,” she replied. “And listen. I have money.
+My mother left me well off. All she had was her father's--Do you
+understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to
+Louisiana--to my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to
+work. There are horses and cattle--a great cypress forest to cut. Oh,
+you'll have much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my
+home. It's a beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss
+blows all day and the nightingales sing all night.”
+
+“My darling!” cried Duane, brokenly. “No, no, no!”
+
+Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not
+resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?
+
+“We'll be happy,” she whispered. “Oh, I know. Come!--come!-come!”
+
+Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous,
+waiting lips.
+
+With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed
+to him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills
+in the west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the
+Nueces and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see
+again.
+
+It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness
+and faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be
+stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.
+
+It would come back--that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that
+driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those
+pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his
+life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be
+the faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1027 ***
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+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
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+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
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+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
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+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
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+  <body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1027 ***</div>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE LONE STAR RANGER
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Zane Grey
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      To<br /><br /> CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES<br /> and his Texas Rangers
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard on the Rio
+      Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane&mdash;outlaw and
+      gunman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes has haunted
+      me, and I have given full rein to imagination and have retold it in my own
+      way. It deals with the old law&mdash;the old border days&mdash;therefore
+      it is better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing
+      of the border of to-day, which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, &ldquo;Shore is
+      'most as bad an' wild as ever!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier of the
+      West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in stories. As I think
+      of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he made that remark, while he grimly
+      stroked an unhealed bullet wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that
+      typical son of stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head,
+      his thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him. Only a
+      few months have passed since then&mdash;when I had my memorable sojourn
+      with you&mdash;and yet, in that short time, Russell and Moore have crossed
+      the Divide, like Rangers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gentlemen,&mdash;I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and the
+      hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the truth about a
+      strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men&mdash;the Texas Rangers&mdash;who
+      made the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest and
+      sleep, who are passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
+      come into their own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ZANE GREY <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I. THE OUTLAW</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <b>BOOK II. THE RANGER</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BOOK I. THE OUTLAW
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So it was in him, then&mdash;an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
+      intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting stock
+      of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the pleading of his
+      soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle who stood before him
+      now, had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of the dark passionate
+      strain in his blood. It was the recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in
+      power, of a strange emotion that for the last three years had arisen in
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,&rdquo;
+       repeated the elder man, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the second time,&rdquo; muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up. He ain't
+      got it in for you when he's not drinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what's he want me for?&rdquo; demanded Duane. &ldquo;To insult me again? I won't
+      stand that twice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants
+      gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a wind
+      of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding to leave him strangely
+      chilled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kill me! What for?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with most of the
+      shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to Everall's kill one
+      another dead all because they got to jerkin' at a quirt among themselves?
+      An' Cal has no reason to love you. His girl was sweet on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I quit when I found out she was his girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's here, just
+      drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody. He's one of them
+      four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot of
+      wild cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick
+      they are on the draw. They ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all
+      the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along the Rio
+      Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd fix the
+      rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only keep out
+      of his way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean for me to run?&rdquo; asked Duane, in scorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not afraid
+      Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your father's eye
+      an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of is that you'll kill
+      Bain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to
+      realize their significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws,
+      why, a young man will have a lookout,&rdquo; went on the uncle. &ldquo;You're
+      twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your
+      temper. You've a chance in life. But if you go gun-fightin', if you kill a
+      man, you're ruined. Then you'll kill another. It'll be the same old story.
+      An' the rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law an' order
+      for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with them. If you resist
+      arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to arrest, then you go to jail, an'
+      mebbe you hang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd never hang,&rdquo; muttered Duane, darkly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you wouldn't,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;You'd be like your father.
+      He was ever ready to draw&mdash;too ready. In times like these, with the
+      Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad would have been driven to the
+      river. An', son, I'm afraid you're a chip off the old block. Can't you
+      hold in&mdash;keep your temper&mdash;run away from trouble? Because it'll
+      only result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was
+      killed in a street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after
+      a bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible nature of a
+      man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give
+      it a chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What you say is all very well, uncle,&rdquo; returned Duane, &ldquo;but the only way
+      out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain and his outfit have
+      already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out and
+      face him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides, Cal
+      would shoot me in the back some day if I didn't face him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what're you goin' to do?&rdquo; inquired the elder man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't decided&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin' in
+      you. You're different to-day. I remember how you used to be moody an' lose
+      your temper an' talk wild. Never was much afraid of you then. But now
+      you're gettin' cool an' quiet, an' you think deep, an' I don't like the
+      light in your eye. It reminds me of your father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,&rdquo; said
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a glove
+      on his right hand for twenty years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have
+      done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with downcast eyes,
+      and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of the future. Presently he
+      turned to Duane with an expression that denoted resignation, and yet a
+      spirit which showed wherein they were of the same blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got a fast horse&mdash;the fastest I know of in this country.
+      After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a saddle-bag packed for you
+      and the horse ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that he turned on his heel and went into the house, leaving Duane to
+      revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if he
+      shared his uncle's opinion of the result of a meeting between himself and
+      Bain. His thoughts were vague. But on the instant of final decision, when
+      he had settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm of
+      passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken with ague. Yet
+      it was all internal, inside his breast, for his hand was like a rock and,
+      for all he could see, not a muscle about him quivered. He had no fear of
+      Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of this strange
+      force in him, made him ponder and shake his head. It was as if he had not
+      all to say in this matter. There appeared to have been in him a reluctance
+      to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a distance, something
+      he was not accountable for, had compelled him. That hour of Duane's life
+      was like years of actual living, and in it he became a thoughtful man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a
+      Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it, on
+      and off, for five years. Before that it had been used by his father. There
+      were a number of notches filed in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun
+      was the one his father had fired twice after being shot through the heart,
+      and his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in the death-grip that his
+      fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn upon any man since
+      it had come into Duane's possession. But the cold, bright polish of the
+      weapon showed how it had been used. Duane could draw it with inconceivable
+      rapidity, and at twenty feet he could split a card pointing edgewise
+      toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought, she
+      was away from home. He went out and down the path toward the gate. The air
+      was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds. Outside in
+      the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they
+      spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride
+      down the road toward the town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
+      great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles of
+      territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings, some
+      brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by far the
+      most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into this
+      street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and saddled
+      horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down the street,
+      taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving leisurely up and
+      down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his stride, and by the
+      time he reached Sol White's place, which was the first saloon, he was
+      walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and turned to look back after
+      they had passed. He paused at the door of White's saloon, took a sharp
+      survey of the interior, then stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The noise
+      ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke to the
+      clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who was
+      behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without speaking,
+      he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the Mexican
+      gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen, speculative,
+      questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble; they probably
+      had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do? Several of the
+      cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had been weighed by
+      unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The boy was the son
+      of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned to their drinks and
+      cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out upon the bar; he was a
+      tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed to sharp points.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Buck,&rdquo; was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and averted
+      his dark gaze for an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Sol,&rdquo; replied Duane, slowly. &ldquo;Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
+      town looking for me bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon there is, Buck,&rdquo; replied White. &ldquo;He came in heah aboot an hour
+      ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me confidential
+      a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he was hell-bent on
+      wearin' it home spotted red.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody with him?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
+      They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looked on the flowin'
+      glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
+      ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
+      length of the long block, meeting many people&mdash;farmers, ranchers,
+      clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
+      that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
+      had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
+      deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
+      street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
+      instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
+      with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could not
+      fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on the
+      street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet his
+      enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he swerved
+      out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment, then went
+      ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the length of the
+      block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off,&rdquo; he said, quick and low-voiced. &ldquo;Cal Bain's
+      over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll show
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
+      statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened, and he
+      traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a person.
+      Everall's place was on the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange fury
+      that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this encounter
+      more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his sensations,
+      he felt as if in a dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was raised
+      high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a vigorous hand.
+      A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon the sidewalk. At
+      sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he uttered a savage
+      roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
+      dozen rods from Everall's door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered
+      forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty, disheveled, and hatless,
+      his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent, he was a
+      wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this showed in
+      his demeanor. His hands were extended before him, the right hand a little
+      lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor in speech mostly
+      curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A good twenty-five
+      paces separated the men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't nothin' make you draw, you&mdash;!&rdquo; he shouted, fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm waitin' on you, Cal,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bain's right hand stiffened&mdash;moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy
+      throws a ball underhand&mdash;a draw his father had taught him. He pulled
+      twice, his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was
+      pointed downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel
+      at Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun
+      ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon
+      his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely
+      the red had left his face&mdash;and also the distortion! The devil that
+      had showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to
+      speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+      changed&mdash;rolled&mdash;set blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool, glad
+      the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. &ldquo;The fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When he looked up there were men around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plumb center,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned
+      down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand.
+      He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered the
+      two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like father
+      like son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have
+      spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to kill
+      a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a drunken,
+      bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a
+      mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place, a
+      subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind&mdash;the
+      consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle
+      recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
+      anger took hold of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The d&mdash;d fool!&rdquo; he exclaimed, hotly. &ldquo;Meeting Bain wasn't much,
+      Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on
+      the dodge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Son, you killed him&mdash;then?&rdquo; asked the uncle, huskily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I stood over him&mdash;watched him die. I did as I would have been
+      done by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
+      spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her&mdash;what she
+      always feared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! Uncle, what have I done?&rdquo; His broad shoulders shook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, son, an' remember what I say,&rdquo; replied the elder man, earnestly.
+      &ldquo;Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see you take it this
+      way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous. You're not to
+      blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are wild times. The
+      law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change life all in a
+      minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has had her share in
+      making you what you are this moment. For she was one of the pioneers&mdash;the
+      fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild times, before you was
+      born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save her life, her children,
+      an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It will be many years before it
+      dies out of the boys born in Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a murderer,&rdquo; said Duane, shuddering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
+      outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An outlaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
+      neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley Duane.
+      Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever you do-be a
+      man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as honest as you
+      can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become bad. There are
+      outlaws who 're not all bad&mdash;many who have been driven to the river
+      by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men avoid brawls.
+      Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do if it comes to
+      gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When this thing is lived
+      down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into the unsettled country.
+      It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember, be a man. Goodby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's hand
+      and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the black and
+      rode out of town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
+      distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed up,
+      and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He passed
+      several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and he took an
+      old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor growth of
+      mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of low
+      hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that section, and knew where
+      to find grass and water. When he reached this higher ground he did not,
+      however, halt at the first favorable camping-spot, but went on and on.
+      Once he came out upon the brow of a hill and saw a considerable stretch of
+      country beneath him. It had the gray sameness characterizing all that he
+      had traversed. He seemed to want to see wide spaces&mdash;to get a glimpse
+      of the great wilderness lying somewhere beyond to the southwest. It was
+      sunset when he decided to camp at a likely spot he came across. He led the
+      horse to water, and then began searching through the shallow valley for a
+      suitable place to camp. He passed by old camp-sites that he well
+      remembered. These, however, did not strike his fancy this time, and the
+      significance of the change in him did not occur at the moment. At last he
+      found a secluded spot, under cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a
+      goodly distance from the old trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse.
+      He looked among his effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had
+      failed to put one in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble,
+      and never on this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso and
+      used that. The horse, unused to such hampering of his free movements, had
+      to be driven out upon the grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This done, ending
+      the work of that day, he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had waned
+      into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show and brighten. Above the
+      low continuous hum of insects sounded the evening carol of robins.
+      Presently the birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet was more
+      noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more isolated
+      and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful, sleepless.
+      The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think back, to take note of
+      his late actions and their motives. The change one day had wrought amazed
+      him. He who had always been free, easy, happy, especially when out alone
+      in the open, had become in a few short hours bound, serious, preoccupied.
+      The silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing to him except a
+      medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds of pursuit. The
+      loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always been beautiful to him,
+      now only conveyed a sense of safety for the present. He watched, he
+      listened, he thought. He felt tired, yet had no inclination to rest. He
+      intended to be off by dawn, heading toward the southwest. Had he a
+      destination? It was vague as his knowledge of that great waste of mesquite
+      and rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out there was a refuge. For
+      he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no
+      sleep, no content, no life worth the living! He must be a lone wolf or he
+      must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest living he
+      still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If he did not
+      work on some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? The idea of
+      stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber enough.
+      And he was twenty-three years old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that stole along his
+      veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the few sticks of mesquite into
+      a last flickering blaze. He was cold, and for some reason he wanted some
+      light. The black circle of darkness weighed down upon him, closed in
+      around him. Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze in that position.
+      He had heard a step. It was behind him&mdash;no&mdash;on the side. Some
+      one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the touch of cold
+      steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But all was silent&mdash;silent
+      as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low murmuring of wind in the
+      mesquite. Had he heard a step? He began to breathe again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had taken on a
+      strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer shadows.
+      Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was another
+      present at that camp-fire vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in the middle
+      of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal Bain! His
+      features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo, more sharply
+      outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard face softening at the
+      threshold of eternity. The red tan of sun, the coarse signs of
+      drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so characteristic of Bain were no
+      longer there. This face represented a different Bain, showed all that was
+      human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white. The lips
+      wanted to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony of thought.
+      They revealed what might have been possible for this man if he lived&mdash;that
+      he saw his mistake too late. Then they rolled, set blankly, and closed in
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a
+      remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him. He
+      divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. He
+      remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of
+      accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep
+      those men he had killed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams
+      troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so early that in the
+      gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his horse. Day had just broken
+      when he struck the old trail again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and graze his
+      horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an easy trot. The country
+      grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the level of the monotonous
+      horizon. About three in the afternoon he came to a little river which
+      marked the boundary line of his hunting territory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing to two
+      facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt
+      reluctant to cross into that region where his presence alone meant that he
+      was a marked man. The bottom-lands through which the river wound to the
+      southwest were more inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The rest
+      or that day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated the
+      brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed to him that
+      in this lonely cover he would feel easy and content. But he did not. Every
+      feeling, every imagining he had experienced the previous night returned
+      somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of the same intensity
+      and color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during which
+      he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle&mdash;stolen
+      cattle, probably&mdash;had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
+      of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
+      quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
+      enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
+      rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+      assuredly would be his lot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It was
+      distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
+      throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was this
+      reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide berth.
+      Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he concluded
+      to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of provisions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which he
+      believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
+      horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless, he
+      followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far when
+      the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his rear. In
+      the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back along the
+      road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever they were,
+      had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the road was not
+      to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the mesquites and
+      halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was now a fugitive, it
+      seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of Duane's
+      position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the clink of
+      spurs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore he crossed the river below,&rdquo; said one man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
+      gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
+      him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what it
+      would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held his
+      breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his horse.
+      Suddenly he became aware that these horsemen had halted. They were
+      whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed. What had
+      made them halt so suspiciously?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong, Bill,&rdquo; said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
+      hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand,&rdquo; replied the man called Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
+      the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
+      breathed exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
+      straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
+      from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close by
+      his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound. These
+      shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a quick, hot
+      resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable. He must
+      escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or not.
+      Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these men.
+      After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over the
+      pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried to
+      guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods he
+      was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so well and
+      made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his pursuers. The
+      sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died away. Duane
+      reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they would go into
+      camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on again, walking
+      his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he might take
+      advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long while until he
+      came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when, striking the willow
+      brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the river, he picketed his
+      horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep. His mind bitterly
+      revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made efforts to think of
+      other things, but in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet was
+      ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and shades
+      of the night&mdash;these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
+      Doggedly Duane fought against the insidious phantom. He kept telling
+      himself that it was just imagination, that it would wear off in time.
+      Still in his heart he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not give
+      up; he would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river. Half an hour
+      of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and willow thickets. These he
+      threaded to come at length to the ford. It was a gravel bottom, and
+      therefore an easy crossing. Once upon the opposite shore he reined in his
+      horse and looked darkly back. This action marked his acknowledgment of his
+      situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge of the outlaws; he was
+      beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse passed his lips as he
+      spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether or
+      not he left a plain trail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let them hunt me!&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and thirst
+      made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him for a place to
+      halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which was hard packed
+      and smooth from the tracks of cattle. He doubted not that he had come
+      across one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed into it, and had
+      scarcely traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank upon a
+      single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their mounts
+      sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more than a hundred
+      paces separated them. They stood then for a moment watching each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mawnin', stranger,&rdquo; called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy,&rdquo; replied Duane, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seen you ain't no ranger,&rdquo; called the rider, &ldquo;an' shore I ain't none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?&rdquo; asked Duane, curiously. Somehow he had
+      instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a rancher
+      trailing stolen stock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, &ldquo;a ranger'd
+      never git ready to run the other way from one man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to
+      the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing brown
+      eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he was
+      a good-natured ruffian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his mind
+      how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a hunted man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?&rdquo; said this
+      stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're Buck Duane,&rdquo; went on Stevens. &ldquo;I heerd you was a damn bad
+      man with a gun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the idea
+      that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was proof of how
+      swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Buck,&rdquo; said Stevens, in a friendly manner, &ldquo;I ain't presumin' on
+      your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the river. But will you
+      stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,&rdquo; admitted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up before
+      you hit thet stretch of country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and there
+      was that in his action which seemed significant of a vast and barren
+      region.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stock up?&rdquo; queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along without whisky,
+      but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so embarrassin' travelin' these
+      parts dodgin' your shadow. Now, I'm on my way to Mercer. It's a little
+      two-bit town up the river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some grub.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+      companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept silence, however,
+      and then Stevens went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. I never was
+      much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it of necessity. It takes
+      a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. Why, I've been thet
+      sick I was jest achin' fer some ranger to come along an' plug me. Give me
+      a pardner any day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a feller, an' I'm
+      shore not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself sufficient.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you'd like me to go with you?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens grinned. &ldquo;Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be
+      braced with a man of your reputation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense,&rdquo; declared Duane, in some
+      haste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster,&rdquo; replied Stevens. &ldquo;I hate
+      a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're always
+      lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play. Buck, I don't know much about
+      you. But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a lot
+      about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your rep was
+      established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you was
+      lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the figger
+      on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes. Thet's the
+      word thet's gone down the border. It's the kind of reputation most sure to
+      fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the safest, too;
+      I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now you're only a
+      boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now, Buck, I'm not a
+      spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe a little of my
+      society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say you're right,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly. &ldquo;And I'll go to Mercer
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never been
+      much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his companion did
+      not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow, probably glad now
+      to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he
+      thought with a pang of the distinction of name and heritage of blood his
+      father had left to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens, having
+      rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town of
+      Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
+      hang up out here,&rdquo; Stevens was saying, as he mounted. &ldquo;You see, towns an'
+      sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad. They
+      sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb bad. Now,
+      nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been a thousand
+      men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours truly. You
+      jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin' sin will go
+      operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case there'll be&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
+      kind of wild humor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stevens, have you got any money?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money!&rdquo; exclaimed Luke, blankly. &ldquo;Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
+      since&mdash;wal, fer some time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll furnish money for grub,&rdquo; returned Duane. &ldquo;And for whisky, too,
+      providing you hurry back here&mdash;without making trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore you're a downright good pard,&rdquo; declared Stevens, in admiration, as
+      he took the money. &ldquo;I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never
+      broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the
+      town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be a
+      cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures of
+      alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder driving
+      in a meager flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping
+      the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour had
+      elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle, the
+      clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean
+      danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the
+      mesquites.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast. Stevens
+      apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had a steady
+      seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck Duane as
+      admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking
+      back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw several men
+      running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and got into a
+      swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the outlaw caught
+      up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no fun in the dancing
+      eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face seemed a shade paler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was jest comin' out of the store,&rdquo; yelled Stevens. &ldquo;Run plumb into a
+      rancher&mdash;who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll
+      chase us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and
+      when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his
+      companion steadily drew farther away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,&rdquo; called out Stevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode
+      somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of
+      hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the
+      willow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed with
+      sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished that
+      Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low, sandy
+      bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise Duane
+      leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of his
+      shirt was soaked with blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're shot!&rdquo; cried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift&mdash;on
+      this here pack?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount. The
+      outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, why didn't you say so!&rdquo; cried Duane. &ldquo;I never thought. You seemed all
+      right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he
+      doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from his
+      breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low down, and
+      the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding himself and that
+      heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane
+      did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no hope for the outlaw.
+      But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feller's name was Brown,&rdquo; Stevens said. &ldquo;Me an' him fell out over a hoss
+      I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then. Wal,
+      as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown, an'
+      seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't
+      breakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he did&mdash;an'
+      fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's pretty bad,&rdquo; replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful
+      outlaw in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe I
+      can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave me
+      some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave you here alone?&rdquo; asked Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will
+      foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in
+      this game.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you do in my case?&rdquo; asked Duane, curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide,&rdquo; replied Stevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he
+      decided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,
+      filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his own horse.
+      That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him in the
+      saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard or grassy
+      ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran across a
+      trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark&mdash;till I drop,&rdquo;
+       concluded Stevens, with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded
+      outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tired then
+      and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still
+      spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but asked
+      for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, will you take off my boots?&rdquo; he asked, with a faint smile on his
+      pallid face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did
+      not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I wasn't&mdash;an'
+      dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've a chance to-to get over this,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots&mdash;an' say, pard, if I
+      do go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance of
+      dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done he prepared
+      himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when he lay down to
+      sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens was still
+      alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All was quiet
+      except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile, then rose
+      and went for the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerful
+      as usual, and apparently stronger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help me,
+      will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood this evenin'.
+      Mebbe I've bled all there was in me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,
+      and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a hurry
+      to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would put them
+      beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the
+      hiding-places of the outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, &ldquo;Reckon you can
+      pull on my boots once more.&rdquo; In spite of the laugh accompanying the words
+      Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was broad
+      enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while upholding
+      Stevens in the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
+      were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens. The
+      red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while; darkness
+      set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars brightened.
+      After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept
+      the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane thought the
+      quiet night would never break to dawn, that there was no end to the
+      melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a grayness blotted out the stars
+      and mantled the level of mesquite and cactus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
+      little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one look
+      at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last ride.
+      He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots,&rdquo; he said, and
+      seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
+      Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
+      the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
+      the night before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads to a
+      hole where you'll find men&mdash;a few, mebbe, like yourself&mdash;some
+      like me&mdash;an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's
+      easy livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
+      never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man
+      can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
+      lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in here
+      will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
+      they'll kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not want
+      the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be quiet,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Talking uses up your strength.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, I'll talk till&mdash;I'm done,&rdquo; he replied, doggedly. &ldquo;See here,
+      pard, you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From
+      this camp we'll&mdash;you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will
+      be honest men. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along
+      the river fer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King
+      Fisher&mdash;you know him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among
+      respectable folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with
+      him ant his gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock
+      way up the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed
+      once right in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty
+      well hid. But Bland&mdash;I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use
+      fer him. Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his
+      place sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore
+      there's some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the
+      time. Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't likely to get on with Bland,&rdquo; he resumed, presently. &ldquo;You're
+      too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's got women
+      in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with a gun. Shore
+      I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' he loves his hide.
+      I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer you when you ain't
+      goin' it alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens had
+      been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.
+      Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birds
+      came down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable
+      seat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but
+      with a changed tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feller's name&mdash;was Brown,&rdquo; he rambled. &ldquo;We fell out&mdash;over a
+      hoss I stole from him&mdash;in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one
+      of them sneaks&mdash;afraid of the open&mdash;he steals an' pretends to be
+      honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day&mdash;You an' me are
+      pards now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll remember, if I ever meet him,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his head,
+      but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across the bronzed
+      rough face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them. The
+      outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fell
+      asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duane
+      watching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed
+      clearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+      surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wanted
+      anything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duane
+      realized what it meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pard, you&mdash;stuck&mdash;to me!&rdquo; the outlaw whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise
+      in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he
+      could not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones to
+      mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the
+      weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the
+      trail in the gathering twilight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged the two
+      horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and found himself
+      on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at his feet, the
+      yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great, wild,
+      mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+      likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he had
+      not the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably the
+      inclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent the last
+      two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had ever seen.
+      From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of his travel was
+      yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down to the river.
+      The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood, and nestling
+      down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight and a relief to his
+      tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find a place to rest,
+      Duane began the descent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. He
+      kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a short time
+      he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A stream of
+      clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran into
+      irrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that
+      fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet
+      water. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would be
+      his reception.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.
+      Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good
+      hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle were
+      everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.
+      Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to and fro.
+      Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porch attached.
+      A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. No one else
+      appeared to notice him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of square
+      lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure. Within
+      sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women with children,
+      and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. His advent
+      created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who were lolling in
+      the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and saloon, and
+      from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a
+      loud exclamation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance
+      toward Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?&rdquo; queried the first man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plain as your nose,&rdquo; replied the fellow called Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ain't no doubt about thet, then,&rdquo; laughed another, &ldquo;fer Bosomer's
+      nose is shore plain on the landscape.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he thought
+      they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The man called
+      Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which showed
+      yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch
+      of sandy hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?&rdquo;
+       he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons
+      hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward
+      to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and he
+      remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curious interest
+      in regard to something that leaped inside him and made his breast feel
+      tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which had shot through him
+      often of late, and which had decided him to go out to the meeting with
+      Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, who are you?&rdquo; asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Duane,&rdquo; replied Duane, curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' how'd you come by the hoss?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,
+      during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of his
+      beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,&rdquo;
+       presently said Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mister Duane,&rdquo; began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, &ldquo;I happen to be
+      Luke Stevens's side-pardner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy sombrero.
+      That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' I want the hoss an' them guns,&rdquo; he shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them
+      in. But the pack is mine,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;And say, I befriended your
+      pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Civil? Haw, haw!&rdquo; rejoined the outlaw. &ldquo;I don't know you. How do we know
+      you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened to stumble
+      down here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to take my word, that's all,&rdquo; replied Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped
+      into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,&rdquo; said the man Euchre. He did not
+      appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, and the one
+      in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His manner proclaimed him
+      a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, and clear, cold blue
+      eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in
+      truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws as native to his
+      state.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Bland,&rdquo; said the tall man, authoritatively. &ldquo;Who're you and what're
+      you doing here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief appeared
+      to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story again,
+      this time a little more in detail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you,&rdquo; replied Bland, at once. &ldquo;Think I know when a fellow is
+      lying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're on the right trail,&rdquo; put in Euchre. &ldquo;Thet about Luke
+      wantin' his boots took off&mdash;thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal
+      dread of dyin' with his boots on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said Duane&mdash;Buck Duane?&rdquo; queried Bland. &ldquo;Are you a son of that
+      Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never met him, and glad I didn't,&rdquo; said Bland, with a grim humor. &ldquo;So you
+      got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had a fight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fight? Do you mean gun-play?&rdquo; questioned Bland. He seemed eager, curious,
+      speculative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,&rdquo; answered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,&rdquo; went on
+      Bland, ironically. &ldquo;Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in my camp.
+      But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?&rdquo; asked Duane, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly that,&rdquo; said Bland, as if irritated. &ldquo;If this isn't a free
+      place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want to
+      join my band?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an ugly
+      fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to kill somebody all
+      the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer is all one
+      color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the
+      trail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay,&rdquo; returned Duane. Even as he spoke he
+      felt that he did not know himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and as
+      he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like an angry
+      dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had been
+      devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other
+      outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer saw
+      Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change passed quickly in
+      him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the men who had followed
+      him out piled over one another in their hurry to get to one side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, and in
+      Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he had expected
+      a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew he was
+      neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran through him.
+      It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar to him.
+      Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to
+      kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a stranger, he
+      still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his ilk, he was victim of
+      a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane divined that no sudden
+      animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment
+      murder would have been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his
+      pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were absorbed in
+      conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment, his
+      eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thought
+      that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man. Still he
+      would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. When Bosomer's
+      hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only&mdash;both from
+      Duane's gun&mdash;and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.
+      Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the gun
+      with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane would not
+      kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any further
+      madness on his part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to lend
+      friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane and the horses away to a small
+      adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed their saddles.
+      Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had two rooms&mdash;windows without coverings&mdash;bare floors. One
+      room contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the other a stone
+      fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and various
+      blackened utensils.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay,&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;I ain't
+      rich in this world's goods, but I own what's here, an' you're welcome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass.&rdquo; Euchre left Duane
+      alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and mechanically he wiped the
+      sweat from his face. He was laboring under some kind of a spell or shock
+      which did not pass off quickly. When it had worn away he took off his coat
+      and belt and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+      thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it make on the
+      morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future. He
+      felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for the first time he took
+      notice of the outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face
+      clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut from long
+      gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his thin frame denoted
+      strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey a drink or a smoke?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he had
+      used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he felt
+      a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly what he
+      felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood, something
+      that made him fear himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. &ldquo;Reckon you feel a little
+      sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm twenty-three,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre showed surprise. &ldquo;You're only a boy! I thought you thirty anyways.
+      Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin' thet with my own figgerin',
+      I reckon you're no criminal yet. Throwin' a gun in self-defense&mdash;thet
+      ain't no crime!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Huh,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;I've been on this river fer years, an' I've
+      seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of them, though, was no
+      good. An' thet kind don't last long. This river country has been an' is
+      the refuge fer criminals from all over the states. I've bunked with bank
+      cashiers, forgers, plain thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all of which
+      had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions.
+      He's no Texan&mdash;you seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all
+      over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live fat an'
+      easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves they'd shore grow
+      populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent feller. I heard
+      you tell Bland you wouldn't join his gang. Thet'll not make him take a
+      likin' to you. Have you any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work a
+      decent feller could do. You can't herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men
+      would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows,&rdquo; replied Duane, hopelessly. &ldquo;I'll make my money last as long
+      as possible&mdash;then starve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it struck Duane again&mdash;that something human and kind and eager
+      which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked this
+      quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the outside
+      world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming feature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm much obliged to you, Euchre,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;But of course I won't
+      live with any one unless I can pay my share.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have it any way you like, my son,&rdquo; said Euchre, good-humoredly. &ldquo;You make
+      a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man
+      doesn't live who can beat my bread.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you ever pack supplies in here?&rdquo; asked Duane, thinking of the
+      almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river. Thet river
+      trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to any supply point. Bland
+      has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in from
+      down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this
+      stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's not my secret,&rdquo; replied Euchre, shortly. &ldquo;Fact is, I don't know.
+      I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock
+      with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest had
+      been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and glad to
+      have something to think about. For every once in a while he had a
+      sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the next
+      hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and eating of
+      the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several utensils, put
+      on his hat and turned to go out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come along or stay here, as you want,&rdquo; he said to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll stay,&rdquo; rejoined Duane, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but all the
+      printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on cartridge-boxes
+      and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch. There seemed to be
+      nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want to lie down any
+      more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the room to the other.
+      And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired habit of brooding over
+      his misfortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his
+      gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked at
+      it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty he traced
+      his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was accountable for his
+      act. He discovered, however, that he had a remarkable tendency to drop his
+      hand to his gun. That might have come from the habit long practice in
+      drawing had given him. Likewise, it might have come from a subtle sense,
+      scarcely thought of at all, of the late, close, and inevitable relation
+      between that weapon and himself. He was amazed to find that, bitter as he
+      had grown at fate, the desire to live burned strong in him. If he had been
+      as unfortunately situated, but with the difference that no man wanted to
+      put him in jail or take his life, he felt that this burning passion to be
+      free, to save himself, might not have been so powerful. Life certainly
+      held no bright prospects for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever
+      getting back to his home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to
+      let himself be handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging
+      cowboy, or be shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to
+      add another notch to his gun&mdash;these things were impossible for Duane
+      because there was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only
+      to fate and the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living
+      part of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+      discontinued&mdash;the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business
+      with him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had
+      become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and he
+      set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He stood
+      still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down, put himself
+      in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced throwing his
+      gun&mdash;practiced it till he was hot and tired and his arm ached and his
+      hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every day. It was one
+      thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From this
+      point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different
+      circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful spot.
+      Euchre's shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the wall, and
+      Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley. Assuredly
+      it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans, who, of course,
+      were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous flat-boats, crude of
+      structure, moored along the banks of the river. The Rio Grande rolled away
+      between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in the middle, was stretched
+      over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow, evidently used as a ferry,
+      lay anchored on the far shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big
+      scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim
+      Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost any
+      number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and quick.
+      What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river, and he
+      wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by use of
+      boats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he
+      returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was,&rdquo; he said,
+      by way of greeting. &ldquo;Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready. There's
+      shore one consolin' fact round this here camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too,
+      doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. An'
+      as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is Bland?&rdquo; asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. &ldquo;What do you
+      know about him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don't know who he is or where he hails from,&rdquo; replied Euchre. &ldquo;Thet's
+      always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been a young man
+      when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how years ago he
+      was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is now. Bland ain't
+      likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor you, an' he's shore a
+      knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet rules men. Outlaws are
+      always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if it hadn't been fer the
+      gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men around him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many in his gang now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland
+      has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on the
+      cattle-ranges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How does he control such a big force?&rdquo; asked Duane. &ldquo;Especially when his
+      band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for Bland. And
+      I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper, never
+      made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess Alloway.
+      Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an' some fer
+      nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is because
+      he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich. They say he
+      has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of gold. But he's
+      free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a shipment of cattle.
+      He throws money around. An' the fact is there's always plenty of money
+      where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty, bloody money!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!&rdquo;
+       exclaimed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; replied Euchre, dryly, &ldquo;he's been quicker on the draw than the
+      other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
+      remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speakin' of this here swift wrist game,&rdquo; went on Euchre, &ldquo;there's been
+      considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
+      thet among us fellers&mdash;us hunted men&mdash;there ain't anythin'
+      calculated to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland
+      say this afternoon&mdash;an' he said it serious-like an' speculative&mdash;thet
+      he'd never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an'
+      just couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen
+      you meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
+      any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself. Chess
+      is the captain with a Colt&mdash;or he was. An' he shore didn't like the
+      references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin' it,
+      but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your draw
+      might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different. An'
+      they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears to me I
+      once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago. Wal, I put
+      my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails you locoed
+      gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin' out, blood in
+      his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an' weren't his eyes
+      readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw&mdash;can't you-all see thet's
+      a family gift?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a slap
+      with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself a
+      champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could feel
+      in a young one whom he admired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; he resumed, presently, &ldquo;thet's your introduction to the border,
+      Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let severely alone by real
+      gun-fighters an' men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of the
+      other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, an' onless you
+      cross them they're no more likely to interfere with you than you are with
+      them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river country.
+      They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride into will scare up
+      some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired four-flush gunman or a
+      sheriff&mdash;an' these men will be playin' to the crowd an' yellin' for
+      your blood. Thet's the Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer ever in the
+      brakes or you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this ain't cheerful
+      news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you because I've taken a
+      likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet you ain't border-wise. Let's eat
+      now, an' afterward we'll go out so the gang can see you're not hidin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range of
+      mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to the
+      southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house near
+      at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little Mexican
+      boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The sweet, happy
+      voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boy&mdash;these seemed utterly
+      out of place here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane
+      remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where Bosomer
+      had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should be affected
+      strangely by the sight of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's have a look in here,&rdquo; said Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very
+      large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of
+      rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels
+      lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on posts
+      that sustained the log rafters of the roof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is Benson,&rdquo; said
+      Euchre. &ldquo;He runs the place an' sells drinks. The gang calls him Jackrabbit
+      Benson, because he's always got his eye peeled an' his ear cocked. Don't
+      notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to death of every
+      new-comer who rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason, I take it, is
+      because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from a sheriff or
+      ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like Jackrabbit Benson. He's
+      hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him to kill him. Wal, I'm always
+      expectin' to see some feller ride in here an' throw a gun on Benson. Can't
+      say I'd be grieved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare,
+      gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and dark
+      skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black mustache
+      hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the brow;
+      deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had a
+      restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that served
+      as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's glance he turned
+      hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you got against him?&rdquo; inquired Duane, as he sat down beside
+      Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What
+      did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained,&rdquo; replied Euchre, apologetically. &ldquo;Shore an
+      outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I never stole nothin'
+      but cattle from some rancher who never missed 'em anyway. Thet sneak
+      Benson&mdash;he was the means of puttin' a little girl in Bland's way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girl?&rdquo; queried Duane, now with real attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we get
+      out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be sociable, an' I can't talk
+      about the chief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and
+      Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all
+      gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly and
+      agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all invitations
+      to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a way, as one of
+      their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his affair with
+      Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One outlaw borrowed
+      money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans,
+      most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the
+      Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the
+      drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts&mdash;some of the
+      famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
+      license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
+      him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
+      perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+      gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
+      piles of silver&mdash;Mexican pesos&mdash;as large and high as the crown
+      of his hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States
+      coin. Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and
+      that heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession,
+      an intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly, as
+      befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
+      winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
+      grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
+      drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
+      gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
+      steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
+      was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
+      his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
+      his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
+      contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That seemed
+      to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent heads,
+      from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights, but these
+      served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked unrestrained
+      lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something at once
+      suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's not here to-night,&rdquo; Euchre was saying. &ldquo;He left today on one of
+      his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
+      here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
+      Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off. He's
+      one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn me!
+      there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as Bland's.
+      Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin' he looks.
+      Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see Bland. They're
+      friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser there&mdash;the
+      one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a Mexican bandit.
+      He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin. Next to him is
+      Bill Marr&mdash;the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in
+      the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot more'n any
+      feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because Bill's no
+      troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But he's the best
+      rustler Bland's got&mdash;a grand rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see
+      the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland's gang.
+      Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year out on the
+      border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of Staceytown, took
+      to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong,
+      an' now shore a hard nut.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he happened
+      to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked man in a
+      respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less distinction,
+      according to the record of his past wild prowess and his present
+      possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there, received in
+      careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts, experienced a
+      feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror. Was his being there
+      not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such ruffians? Then in a
+      flash of memory came the painful proof&mdash;he was a criminal in sight of
+      Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
+      heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
+      outside things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased. There
+      was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or action
+      sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and the
+      scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You stacked the cards, you&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say that twice,&rdquo; another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous
+      tone from the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll say it twice,&rdquo; returned the first gamester, in hot haste. &ldquo;I'll say
+      it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered gent!
+      You stacked the cards!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
+      Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
+      was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Run or duck!&rdquo; yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed
+      for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob. Heavy
+      gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with pell-mell out
+      into the darkness. There they all halted, and several peeped in at the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was the Kid callin'?&rdquo; asked one outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bud Marsh,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,&rdquo;
+       went on yet another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many shots?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three or four, I counted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's.38. Listen!
+      There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room.
+      Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night
+      and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The Kid&mdash;young
+      Fuller thet I was tellin' you about&mdash;he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost
+      his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as
+      any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm
+      was knocked up. He only hit a greaser.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened on
+      him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading round the
+      river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out that the
+      trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself to his
+      fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store for him.
+      He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared beyond his
+      power to tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril&mdash;the
+      danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which
+      threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he
+      considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was
+      bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years
+      inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright light of
+      day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at twilight or dusk
+      or in the dark night. By day these visitations became to him what they
+      really were&mdash;phantoms of his conscience. He could dismiss the thought
+      of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe that this strange feat
+      of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless
+      and sick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
+      unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
+      interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
+      possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's life
+      really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
+      clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
+      possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out upon
+      his uncertain way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Buck, I've news for you,&rdquo; he said; and his tone conveyed either
+      pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. &ldquo;Feller named
+      Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
+      ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you
+      plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles south
+      of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I certainly did not,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled with
+      gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems
+      likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an outlaw
+      an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more news.
+      You're goin' to be popular.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Popular? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you rode
+      in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women in
+      camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come in. It's
+      lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the towns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
+      women,&rdquo; rejoined Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
+      hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kid?&rdquo; inquired Duane, in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell you about Jennie&mdash;the girl Bland's holdin' here&mdash;the
+      one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,&rdquo; replied Duane, abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
+      years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
+      drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
+      across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I
+      reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched
+      the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she was
+      only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed. I reckon
+      she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said, was to use
+      her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never went much on
+      Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her&mdash;bought
+      her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from notions of
+      chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was better off with
+      Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept Bland an' the other
+      men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an
+      all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see hell
+      brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why I wish you'd come over
+      with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's invited you. Shore, if she
+      gets sweet on you, as she has on&mdash;Wal, thet 'd complicate matters.
+      But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could help her. Mind, I ain't
+      hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her in your way. You're a man an'
+      can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl once, an' if she'd lived she be
+      as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I wouldn't want her here in Bland's
+      camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go, Euchre. Take me over,&rdquo; replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes upon
+      him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached Bland's
+      cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the pretty woman
+      watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked like. The cabin
+      was the same as the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was
+      larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cottonwoods. In
+      the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman's hand. Through
+      the open door Duane caught a glimpse of bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, Euchre?&rdquo; asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone
+      of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered what
+      she would be like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?&rdquo; answered Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,&rdquo; replied the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw's
+      eyes was added significance to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
+      you about,&rdquo; Euchre said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I can't! I look so&mdash;so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind how you look,&rdquo; interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. &ldquo;It ain't
+      no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no rustler, no
+      thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance
+      shifting from side to side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in
+      the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek. She
+      had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be bashful, Jennie,&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;You an' Duane have a chance to
+      talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad to meet you, Miss&mdash;Miss Jennie,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Euchre didn't
+      mention your last name. He asked me to come over to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes
+      to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes
+      were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He
+      seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her
+      piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence. It
+      was no ordinary moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you come here for?&rdquo; she asked, at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see you,&rdquo; replied Duane, glad to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;Euchre thought&mdash;he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up
+      a bit,&rdquo; replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good
+      to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to
+      hide?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not,&rdquo; replied Duane, trying to smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why are you here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape at
+      home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can't be honest here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different.&rdquo; She kept the
+      strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her
+      youthful face were softening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the
+      unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O God! Maybe you're the man to save me&mdash;to take me away before it's
+      too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's spirit leaped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe I am,&rdquo; he replied, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek
+      flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress. Then
+      the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It can't be. You're only&mdash;after me, too, like Bland&mdash;like all
+      of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at me&mdash;straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a
+      father&mdash;a brother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're dead&mdash;killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was
+      carried away,&rdquo; Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand to
+      him. &ldquo;Forgive me. I believe&mdash;I know you're good. It was only&mdash;I
+      live so much in fear&mdash;I'm half crazy&mdash;I've almost forgotten what
+      good men are like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no. But take me away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll try,&rdquo; said Duane, simply. &ldquo;That won't be easy, though. I must have
+      time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider.
+      Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are you
+      watched&mdash;kept prisoner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have
+      fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me,
+      half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other
+      dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it for
+      love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing jealous.
+      There was' a man came here by the name of Spence&mdash;so he called
+      himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him. She was in
+      love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and that
+      ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with Bland
+      about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland laughs in
+      her face. Then I've heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland to give me
+      to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before Bland went away
+      things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished Mrs. Bland would
+      kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me. Duane, you must be
+      quick if you'd save me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I realize that,&rdquo; replied he, thoughtfully. &ldquo;I think my difficulty will be
+      to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she'd have the whole gang of
+      outlaws on me at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She would that. You've got to be careful&mdash;and quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of woman is she?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's&mdash;she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk
+      sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain. She
+      likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower yourself
+      to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To make love to her?&rdquo; interrupted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here,&rdquo; he said,
+      bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Duane,&rdquo; she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand.
+      &ldquo;Bland will kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange
+      tumult in his breast. The old emotion&mdash;the rush of an instinct to
+      kill! He turned cold all over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't,&rdquo; went on Jennie, with her
+      tragic eyes on Duane's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe he will,&rdquo; replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a smile.
+      But he achieved one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, better take me off at once,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Save me without risking so
+      much&mdash;without making love to Mrs. Bland!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait&mdash;a moment,&rdquo; whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. &ldquo;We've
+      settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps
+      through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage. Remember I'll save you
+      somehow. We'll try strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't
+      think less of me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart,&rdquo; she whispered,
+      passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame
+      and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the
+      approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to
+      make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie.
+      When the outlaw's wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall, strong,
+      full-bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+      attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression than with her
+      good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. The
+      situation then took on a singular zest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs. Bland.
+      She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so
+      prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and
+      brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she had
+      white teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to
+      meet her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and
+      rather musical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Duane&mdash;Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buckley,&rdquo; corrected Duane. &ldquo;The nickname's not of my choosing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane,&rdquo; she said, as she took the
+      seat Duane offered her. &ldquo;Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying over
+      at Deger's. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day. When
+      Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it sure takes my
+      time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that slattern girl of
+      mine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of
+      feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been alone,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Haven't seen anybody but a sick-looking
+      girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was Jen,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bland. &ldquo;She's the kid we keep here, and she sure
+      hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that I think of it, he did say something or other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he tell you about me?&rdquo; bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Kate,&rdquo; replied Euchre, speaking for himself, &ldquo;you needn't worry
+      none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested with
+      amusement upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day,&rdquo; went on the woman. &ldquo;It's a
+      common enough story along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted old
+      fool, and Jen has taken him in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct,&rdquo; replied Euchre, dryly,
+      &ldquo;I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bland,
+      amiably. &ldquo;You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I
+      guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with
+      curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland told me about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo; queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind of a man.
+      He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp&mdash;rode in here on the
+      dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. Wish he would.
+      Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him and
+      Chess meet out there in the road.' Then Bland went on to tell how you and
+      Bosomer came together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo; inquired Duane, as she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,&rdquo; she replied, gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; went on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a
+      great blue-eyed sunburned boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane. &ldquo;I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth
+      seeing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm not disappointed,&rdquo; she returned, archly. &ldquo;Duane, are you going to
+      stay long here in camp?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and
+      flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had lent her
+      a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some powerful
+      emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent, Duane
+      imagined, of deep, violent nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you, Duane,&rdquo; she said, earnestly, &ldquo;I'm sure glad if you mean to
+      bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw's wife, and
+      I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in
+      Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married
+      me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business.
+      But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family
+      cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then. I've
+      lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear anything
+      about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here&mdash;buried alive
+      with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being glad to
+      see a young fellow&mdash;a gentleman&mdash;like the boys I used to go
+      with? I tell you it makes me feel full&mdash;I want to cry. I'm sick for
+      somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not stay
+      here. I'm sick of this hole. I'm lonely&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine emotion
+      checked, then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and cried. It
+      seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife&mdash;and a woman who fitted
+      her consort and the wild nature of their surroundings&mdash;should have
+      weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry for you,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be SORRY for me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;That only makes me see the&mdash;the
+      difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these
+      outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me.
+      You'll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie.
+      Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking for
+      somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He explains that
+      gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing&mdash;that it is provoked
+      by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know is that
+      somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before Spence
+      ever saw me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
+      comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in love
+      with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to do
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before she
+      could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
+      conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
+      say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened. He
+      tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had suffered
+      a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter, morbid,
+      overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough, she was a
+      frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing which
+      struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In that,
+      better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had discovered a
+      trait through which he could manage her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
+      the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam of
+      Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching him,
+      listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
+      realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance, he
+      flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her face
+      was wonderful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning &ldquo;Adios&mdash;manana,&rdquo;
+       and was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
+      the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze with
+      hope and gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
+      sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to Euchre
+      for having put something worth while into his mind. During breakfast,
+      however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea of how much or
+      how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware of Euchre's
+      scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; began the old man, at last, &ldquo;how'd you make out with the kid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kid?&rdquo; inquired Duane, tentatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you done
+      the job too well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half crazy. She
+      was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her eyes hurt me. She
+      wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung onto my hands, an'
+      showed every way without speakin' how she wanted to thank me fer bringin'
+      you over. Buck, it was plain to me thet you'd either gone the limit or
+      else you'd been kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to think you'd
+      led Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can trust
+      me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there an' puttin' you wise to
+      my tryin' to help thet poor kid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations with Jennie
+      and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end Euchre set
+      down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion of the story
+      his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat stood out thickly
+      on his brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!&rdquo; he ejaculated, blinking at Duane. &ldquo;Young
+      man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to make your mark on this
+      river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what it means to
+      be a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my heart was in
+      the right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you know what it'll
+      take to do all you promised Jen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't any idea,&rdquo; replied Duane, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even if she
+      falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't be easy. An'
+      she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't mistaken
+      her none, are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe some
+      others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune time
+      sneak off without any gun-play?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't see how on earth,&rdquo; returned Euchre, earnestly. &ldquo;When Bland's away
+      he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin' the valley trails.
+      They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by them. But when the boss is
+      home there's a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their eyes
+      peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're playin'
+      monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to pick out a
+      good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a couple of
+      hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie with you,
+      an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If you had luck you might pull
+      thet stunt without throwin' a gun. But I reckon the best figgerin' would
+      include dodgin' some lead an' leavin' at least Bland or Alloway dead
+      behind you. I'm figgerin', of course, thet when they come home an' find
+      out you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally look fer results.
+      Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're swift on the draw&mdash;mebbe
+      swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this gun-play business. No one can ever
+      tell who's the swifter of two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a
+      fascination mebbe you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil
+      onless there was reason not to, an' then I don't believe he'd invite
+      himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put you out of
+      the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if you came across him at a bad
+      moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was with Bosomer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll meet what comes,&rdquo; said Duane, quickly. &ldquo;The great point
+      is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick
+      through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll take my chances,&rdquo; replied Euchre, gruffly. &ldquo;I'm goin' to help
+      Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There's only four men in
+      this camp who would shoot me&mdash;Bland, an' his right-hand pards, an'
+      thet rabbit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd
+      stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired&mdash;what's
+      the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even
+      if I am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the right
+      minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now let's figger all
+      the little details.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned, Duane
+      who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and his
+      lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the other
+      outlaws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness to spend a
+      little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day&mdash;Euchre
+      to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to blind the elder
+      woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon, they proceeded to put
+      them into action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+      good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than theirs
+      coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to their lower
+      level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That was why
+      life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. There were
+      men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible inexplicable
+      wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He could not
+      trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a deed, something might
+      call too deeply to that instinct he could no longer control. Jackrabbit
+      Benson was one of these men. Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk
+      Duane could scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden
+      valley, a robbers' den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained
+      red by deeds of wild men. And because of that there was always a charged
+      atmosphere. The merriest, idlest, most careless moment might in the flash
+      of an eye end in ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate
+      characters it could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Duane sensed
+      was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in;
+      the mountaintops were always blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid
+      slowly and majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the horses
+      grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love, freedom,
+      happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with money and speech; they
+      lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled, talked, laughed,
+      whiled away the idle hours&mdash;and all the time life there was wrong,
+      and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most
+      awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brooding shadow
+      over the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the Bland
+      woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never
+      troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It took
+      no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which
+      evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for the
+      moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+      himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always
+      with deference. That was his strong point, and it had made his part easy
+      so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without
+      involving himself any deeper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was playing at a game of love&mdash;playing with life and deaths
+      Sometimes he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or any other
+      man, but at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out
+      of his old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he
+      been haunted by the phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been
+      haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+      able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her was
+      through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses of her
+      every time he went to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to pass door
+      or window, to give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane discovered
+      with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with
+      Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just inside the window,
+      and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was all made for her. So at
+      least she came to know him while as yet she was almost a stranger. Jennie
+      had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to understand that this was
+      Duane's only chance to help keep her mind from constant worry, to gather
+      the import of every word which had a double meaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn up
+      with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference
+      Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The eyes
+      seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that soon it
+      might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a
+      strange fire wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash gone in an
+      instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in any other
+      woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that Jennie's
+      face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him, was
+      responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change he
+      fancied, was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his pale,
+      sickening ghosts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush
+      matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire
+      which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was that
+      while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking. Time
+      hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days passed by
+      without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace
+      than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but empty. He
+      spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on all the trails leading
+      out of the valley; he had a care for the condition of his two horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that they
+      go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin',&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;River gettin' low
+      an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a greaser freight-wagon
+      stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the freighters. Bland's
+      supposed to be in Mexico.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling in
+      the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw
+      offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily freighted
+      wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let
+      alone for the despised Mexicans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre
+      lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in
+      comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane was
+      alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was his belief
+      that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him. Moreover, these
+      rough men were always interesting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's been chased across the river,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Big deal on, hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, that order'll take a year to fill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders
+      bigger 'n thet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the outlaws.
+      He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kid Fuller's goin' to cash,&rdquo; said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad. But
+      he took the fever,&rdquo; rejoined a comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't got
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of the
+      outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will.
+      Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. Wal, it's happened before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane. He
+      did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's name
+      again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in
+      no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class of
+      men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until they
+      wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in the very
+      deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the simplest
+      and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip. There was
+      something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It never seemed to be
+      gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an awkward position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches
+      on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane
+      silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a familiar
+      speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his
+      possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Orful hot, ain't it?&rdquo; remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not keep
+      quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything
+      else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding; a wiry
+      little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black from
+      scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel eye. His shirt
+      was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?&rdquo; he
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!&rdquo; exclaimed a comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to join
+      him in a bath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,&rdquo; went on Bill, discontentedly.
+      &ldquo;Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll gamble?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, you're too good at cards,&rdquo; replied a lanky outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I might
+      take it to heart,&rdquo; replied Black, with a sudden change of tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it was again&mdash;that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to
+      reply would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No offense, Bill,&rdquo; said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
+      Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was out
+      of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?&rdquo; he
+      asked, in disgust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.&rdquo; replied one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game
+      obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest with
+      a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried their
+      luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their supply of
+      two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he offered to bet
+      on anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See thet turtle-dove there?&rdquo; he said, pointing. &ldquo;I'll bet he'll scare at
+      one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some one
+      chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could
+      withstand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take thet. Easy money,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's goin' to chuck the stone?&rdquo; asked another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody,&rdquo; replied Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,&rdquo; said the first outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,&rdquo; chimed in the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to
+      the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,&rdquo; he
+      offered, imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to cover
+      Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and they all
+      sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the tree. The
+      minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular remarks anent a
+      fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes had passed a
+      turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an impressive silence
+      while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it hadn't the same dove!&rdquo; exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. &ldquo;This
+      'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, pard? Now
+      I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with one
+      stone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No one offered to take his wager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with
+      one stone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise
+      disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their banding together.
+      The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to that
+      bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind of
+      wager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he appeared
+      at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a little ragged
+      Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly starved and
+      poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him a handful of
+      silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging the money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,&rdquo; declared Bill. &ldquo;I'll
+      bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became sullen
+      and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the fact that he
+      had won considerable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered what
+      was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as unstable
+      as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet
+      peon's packin',&rdquo; said the outlaw called Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon
+      carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted Indian
+      who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had met him
+      often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I'll take you up,&rdquo; replied Black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
+      caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot,&rdquo; said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
+      on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the
+      peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit a
+      moving object so small as a bucket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that
+      Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark
+      with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at
+      the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his
+      hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the
+      same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant and formidable
+      front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the
+      state of his soul!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains;
+      twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet;
+      the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only
+      sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate man
+      had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it threatened
+      so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him to die rather
+      than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate, savage men. But
+      the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed reason, conscience. He
+      could not resist it. He felt something dying in him. He suffered. Hope
+      seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and was driving him into a
+      reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her.
+      He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand
+      between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheered off his morbid
+      introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize that!
+      He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had been
+      stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in the
+      river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, she to be the
+      means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking to the level of her captors.
+      He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her, talk with
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's
+      house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time to
+      compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his
+      destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
+      him on the porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such a
+      shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
+      She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
+      embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
+      that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might have killed you,&rdquo; she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane had
+      ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After all,
+      she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in her
+      experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her advance
+      so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such as she
+      showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain charm. It
+      was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that, whatever
+      her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the lie she
+      made him act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, you love me?&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes,&rdquo; he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
+      he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt a
+      shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
+      promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
+      him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his arms?
+      Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes, thrilled
+      him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, dear,&rdquo; he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the girl.
+      &ldquo;I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill Bland,
+      Alloway, Rugg&mdash;anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged here.
+      You are good&mdash;I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere&mdash;a
+      home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland closed
+      her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart beat
+      against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved him so
+      much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him again,
+      and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy, that's good of you,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;but it's too late. I'm done
+      for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and stop
+      your gun-throwing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the
+      valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered
+      against the silver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his head
+      and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of the valley.
+      The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the narrow, moonlit
+      lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects. Two horses Duane
+      discerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Bland!&rdquo; whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands. &ldquo;You
+      must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's Bland! I know his
+      horse's trot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here,&rdquo; protested Duane.
+      &ldquo;Euchre's with me. It'll be all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe so,&rdquo; she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly
+      she had a great fear of Bland. &ldquo;If I could only think!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell Bland
+      you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your neck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland was herself
+      again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood near the window. Neither
+      spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They were small,
+      trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to convey what he
+      felt&mdash;that he would protect her. She leaned against him, and they
+      looked out of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself. His most
+      pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a curiosity as
+      to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the riders dismount
+      down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy led away the horses. Euchre,
+      the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable ease, considering what
+      he claimed was his natural cowardice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war,&rdquo; he
+      was saying. &ldquo;Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to what it is now. An'
+      times is rougher these days. This gun-throwin' has come to be a disease.
+      Men have an itch for the draw same as they used to have fer poker. The
+      only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I
+      presume Bill is burnin' now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the
+      porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to express
+      surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband warmly and
+      gave welcome to the other man. Duane could not see well enough in the
+      shadow to recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it was Alloway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dog-tired we are and starved,&rdquo; said Bland, heavily. &ldquo;Who's here with
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,&rdquo;
+       replied Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane!&rdquo; he exclaimed. Then he whispered low&mdash;something Duane could
+      not catch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I asked him to come,&rdquo; said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and
+      naturally and made no change in tone. &ldquo;Jen has been ailing. She gets
+      thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw
+      Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let
+      him come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent
+      action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?&rdquo; queried Bland, incredulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did,&rdquo; replied the wife, stubbornly. &ldquo;Why not? Jen's in love with
+      him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be a decent woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's lyin' or she's crazy,&rdquo; replied Alloway, and his voice carried an
+      unpleasant ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to keep
+      his mouth shut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, ho, ho!&rdquo; rolled out Bland's laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was
+      carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, boss?&rdquo; asked Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail. He
+      answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there a dark, silent
+      figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease the
+      situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably successful
+      trip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that Bland and
+      Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed,
+      and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. &ldquo;Jennie,&rdquo; whispered Duane, &ldquo;that was
+      clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be ready!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She pressed close to him, and a barely audible &ldquo;Hurry!&rdquo; came breathing
+      into his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night, Jennie,&rdquo; he said, aloud. &ldquo;Hope you feel better to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the
+      greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Met Jasper as I rode in,&rdquo; said Bland, presently. &ldquo;He told me you made
+      Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off the
+      handle about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane explained the incident. &ldquo;I'm sorry I happened to be there,&rdquo; he went
+      on. &ldquo;It wasn't my business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scurvy trick that 'd been,&rdquo; muttered Bland. &ldquo;You did right. All the same,
+      Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one of us&mdash;that'd
+      be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But I'm not called on to
+      let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my rustlers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane, and if I
+      know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're a
+      born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of them
+      have told me that something exploded in their brain, and when sense came
+      back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a little
+      shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to rid myself
+      of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest at night. That's the
+      gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new man&mdash;he's
+      driven to it to forget the last one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm no gun-fighter,&rdquo; protested Duane. &ldquo;Circumstances made me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; interrupted Bland, with a laugh. &ldquo;Circumstances made me a
+      rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young; you've got a temper; your
+      father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't see any
+      other career for you. Instead of going it alone&mdash;a lone wolf, as the
+      Texans say&mdash;why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live
+      longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of talk. Thet's
+      why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there won't
+      be any more trouble. An' he'd be a grand feller fer the gang. I've seen
+      Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an' Chess
+      here&mdash;all the fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to
+      present company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw is
+      different. You can't see how he does it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence.
+      Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and did
+      not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your
+      band,&rdquo; said Duane, easily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's good enough,&rdquo; replied Bland, shortly. &ldquo;Will you consider the idea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll think it over. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the
+      lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back.
+      Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down
+      under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and quiet,
+      a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life. The beauty
+      of the soaring moon, the ebony canyons of shadow under the mountain, the
+      melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane shudder in the
+      realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of these things.
+      Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His mind was clouded.
+      His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions of nature, but the
+      joy of them had fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead of
+      him there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in thought
+      of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in his. He did
+      not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his feelings. He just
+      had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were interspersed in the
+      constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the
+      moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached him
+      Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely
+      affected Duane. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland kept you pretty long,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait till I git my breath,&rdquo; replied Euchre. He sat silent a little while,
+      fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and then he
+      went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine night,&rdquo; he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with Euchre's
+      quaint humor. &ldquo;Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd noticed that,&rdquo; rejoined Duane, dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland choke his wife
+      till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in the face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; ejaculated Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When I got back
+      to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been too fagged out to
+      figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the house, where they lit up the
+      lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He's not the
+      talkin' kind, an' he's damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland asked me
+      some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them, an' I swore
+      the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always trusted me, an'
+      liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black thet way. But he's a hard
+      man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an' I'd double-cross him any day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little room, an'
+      Bland called her to come out. She said she was undressin'. An' he ordered
+      her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was some
+      surprisin'. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he pointed
+      his big blue Colt right at her, an' he says:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You lied to me,' he roars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made a grab fer
+      her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an' he got her by the
+      throat. He choked her till I thought she was strangled. Alloway made him
+      stop. She flopped down on the bed an' gasped fer a while. When she come to
+      them hardshelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give herself
+      away. I think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick with you an'
+      was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man to have&mdash;to
+      guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave it up after a while. An'
+      then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is worth pinnin' in
+      your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't need much fer
+      thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He was
+      so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin' off one
+      of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist her&mdash;hurt her&mdash;I
+      had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the only time in my life
+      I wished I was a gun-fighter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and
+      stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen her show any.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I believe
+      she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him, an' I want to KNOW.
+      If she's been an' you tell me the truth I'll let you go. I'll send you out
+      to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll give you
+      money.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet I seen
+      death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her. Thet's the
+      strange part of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'No,' said Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'He's been after you?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Yes.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I&mdash;I'm not&mdash;I don't know&mdash;he hasn't told me.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'But you're in love with him?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her! She thronged
+      up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed at sight
+      of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an outlaw cried right out.
+      He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. An' the look of her then
+      was enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the room. I told
+      you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen to him. So
+      even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in fear of your
+      life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love with Duane? She's let
+      him come to see you? There's been nuthin' between them?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Go to bed, you white-faced&mdash;' Bland choked on some word or other&mdash;a
+      bad one, I reckon&mdash;an' he positively shook in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle Euchre
+      ducked his nut out of the door an' come home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long harangue. He
+      experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal
+      worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie perjuring herself to save that
+      abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, there's where our little deal stands now,&rdquo; resumed Euchre,
+      meditatively. &ldquo;You know, Buck, as well as me thet if you'd been some
+      feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a gun you'd now be full of
+      lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as safe
+      on this here border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in this land
+      of the draw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead,
+      thoughtful of the fact that the time for the long-planned action was at
+      hand. It was remarkable that a man as loquacious as Euchre could hold his
+      tongue so long; and this was significant of the deadly nature of the
+      intended deed. During breakfast he said a few words customary in the
+      service of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an end
+      of deliberation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, the sooner the better now,&rdquo; he declared, with a glint in his eye.
+      &ldquo;The more time we use up now the less surprised Bland'll be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm ready when you are,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, saddle up, then,&rdquo; went on Euchre, gruffly. &ldquo;Tie on them two packs I
+      made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell&mdash;mebbe either hoss will be
+      carryin' double. It's good they're both big, strong hosses. Guess thet
+      wasn't a wise move of your Uncle Euchre's&mdash;bringin' in your hosses
+      an' havin' them ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are.
+      Let me do the rest now,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know, why, I'm in
+      bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He's
+      gettin' wise pretty quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, you're going with me?&rdquo; queried Duane, suddenly divining the
+      truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was a
+      gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin' a peg at Jackrabbit
+      Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin' while I go nosin' round.
+      It's pretty early, which 's all the better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore a
+      gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane had ever seen the
+      outlaw armed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then carried the
+      saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa in the corral showed
+      that the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost fat during his stay
+      in the valley. He watered them, put on the saddles loosely cinched, and
+      then the bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas water-bottles.
+      That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was no
+      more thinking and planning to do. The hour had arrived, and he was ready.
+      He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take. His thoughts
+      became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and goodness in the
+      hardened old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept glancing at his watch.
+      He hoped to start the thing and get away before the outlaws were out of
+      their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of Euchre's boots on the hard
+      path. The sound was quicker than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so astounded
+      as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat dripped
+      from him. He had a wild look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck ours&mdash;so-fur, Buck!&rdquo; he panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't look it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; asked Duane, startled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I went nosin'
+      round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's. He's thick with the
+      Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions. Anyway, I was sure glad to see him
+      away from Bland's. An' he didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's
+      there wasn't nobody there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was startin'
+      to work. Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he wouldn't
+      give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him have it,
+      plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I reckon I'll never sleep
+      again. But I had to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked sharp. Comin'
+      back I cut across through the cottonwoods past Bland's cabin. I meant to
+      keep out of sight, but somehow I had an idee I might find out if Bland was
+      awake yet. Sure enough I run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends Bland's
+      hosses. Beppo likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said Bland had
+      been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's how I
+      figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore, an' he went after
+      Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as likely he might have went
+      after Jennie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an' Kate must have had it
+      hot an' heavy. We're pretty lucky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems so. Well, I'm going,&rdquo; said Duane, tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most draggin'
+      ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy, sore, an' he won't be
+      expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you walk over to his house. Meet him
+      how you like. Thet's your game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes out an'
+      you want to parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his proposition
+      an' was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have to kill him, an'
+      it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be wise, too, fer it's
+      likely he'll do thet same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the horses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to me
+      you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside by the time I git there.
+      Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or anybody
+      else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit. Thet big
+      black will carry you both.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay&mdash;not to mix any
+      more in this,&rdquo; said Duane, earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give me
+      the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word&mdash;look out fer thet Bland
+      woman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he
+      strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove
+      and field, it was about five minutes' walk up to Bland's house. To Duane
+      it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in restraining
+      his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle change in his
+      feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in conflict. He could have
+      avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of his courting the encounter
+      he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of blood. The motive of
+      this deadly action was not personal, and somehow that made a difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle. Blue
+      columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant smell of
+      it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove. He noted a
+      cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in the sunlight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he entered Bland's lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of man
+      and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey of the
+      surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a
+      little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer through the
+      cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses. There was no
+      indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end. Duane had
+      feared this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch
+      and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!&rdquo; That was panted out in
+      Kate Bland's full voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!&rdquo; replied Bland, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the
+      laugh on her new lover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; cried Kate Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!&rdquo; His voice grew hoarser
+      with passion. &ldquo;Let me go now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the&mdash;the truth out of her&mdash;you'll
+      kill her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The TRUTH!&rdquo; hissed Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't&mdash;murder
+      her&mdash;for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
+      violent straining contact&mdash;the scrape of feet&mdash;the jangle of
+      spurs&mdash;a crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman
+      in pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
+      across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to her
+      feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's room
+      and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
+      shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold. His
+      sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for his
+      gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes the
+      desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland shifted his
+      glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate with the swing
+      of his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
+      floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
+      stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
+      gasped his last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, you've killed him!&rdquo; cried Kate Bland, huskily. &ldquo;I knew you'd have
+      to!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
+      clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half stunned,
+      but showed no grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie!&rdquo; called Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;Duane!&rdquo; came a halting reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Come out. Hurry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
+      Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared the
+      woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was protective,
+      and his movement toward the door equally as significant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
+      that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane. Kate
+      Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was changing
+      to realization.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where 're you taking Jen?&rdquo; she cried, her voice like a man's. &ldquo;Get out of
+      my way,&rdquo; replied Duane. His look perhaps, without speech, was enough for
+      her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You let
+      me believe&mdash;you swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer about
+      you. All for that girl! But you can't have her. You'll never leave here
+      alive. Give me that girl! Let me&mdash;get at her! She'll never win any
+      more men in this camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off her
+      onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second her
+      fury increased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HELP! HELP! HELP!&rdquo; she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated to
+      the remotest cabin in the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go! Let go!&rdquo; cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in his
+      right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward the woman off. His
+      coolness had gone with her shriek for help. &ldquo;Let go!&rdquo; he repeated, and he
+      shoved her fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her strong
+      hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell into
+      the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped upon her. He struck up
+      the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie flashed out of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it with
+      his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed woman off
+      the floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as strong as he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate! Let go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face, or
+      reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not care.
+      She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her lips they
+      seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she fought him; her
+      face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that outlaw life, the
+      wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in such a moment terribly
+      impressed upon Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard a cry from outside&mdash;a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block
+      his plan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go!&rdquo; he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
+      instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle down
+      and discharged it. Duane felt a blow&mdash;a shock&mdash;a burning agony
+      tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully upon
+      the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and seemed
+      stunned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp
+      cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his
+      bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled, and he
+      was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre's
+      ceased. He fell from the horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess
+      Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he
+      saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that
+      slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun
+      went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging
+      bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
+      face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, you've nerve, all right!&rdquo; cried Duane, as he dragged down the
+      horse she was holding. &ldquo;Up with you now! There! Never mind&mdash;long
+      stirrups! Hang on somehow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
+      The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into
+      the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. He heard shouts. But there
+      were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but without
+      stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and reached
+      out to grasp her arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the steep
+      and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No pursuers
+      were in sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, we're going to get away!&rdquo; he cried, exultation for her in his
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back
+      he faced her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!&rdquo; she faltered, pointing with
+      trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With her words Duane became aware of two things&mdash;the hand he
+      instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had
+      sustained a terrible wound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave
+      apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled
+      freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs
+      of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough
+      up a reddish-tinged foam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm badly hurt, Jennie,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I guess I'll stick it out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The woman&mdash;did she shoot you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't quick
+      enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn't have to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo; shivered the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses,
+      which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast time up
+      the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they surmounted
+      the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with no signs of
+      pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken fastnesses before
+      them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that they now had every
+      chance of escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;your&mdash;wound!&rdquo; she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. &ldquo;I
+      see&mdash;the blood&mdash;dripping from your back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware
+      presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But that
+      did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe enough.
+      What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where he could
+      hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire inside his
+      breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for him to take a
+      swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer considerable pain,
+      which increased as the hours went by and then gave way to a numbness. From
+      that time on he had need of his great strength and endurance. Gradually he
+      lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and he realized that if he were to
+      meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should come up with him, he could make
+      only a poor stand. So he turned off on a trail that appeared seldom
+      traveled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his
+      senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he
+      was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she was
+      left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll give out soon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No-I don't mean&mdash;what you
+      think. But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I die&mdash;you ride
+      back to the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail
+      goes to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some
+      rancher will take you in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on, and
+      soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse. He did not know whether
+      they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was conscious when the
+      horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and feeling Jennie's arms
+      before all became dark to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little hut of
+      mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some years old. There
+      were two doors or openings, one in front and the other at the back. Duane
+      imagined it had been built by a fugitive&mdash;one who meant to keep an
+      eye both ways and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire
+      to move. Where was he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time,
+      distance, of something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two packs
+      Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become of her?
+      There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a little blackened
+      coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses or getting
+      water. He thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt tired, and
+      presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way she
+      seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start and turned eagerly
+      to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?&rdquo; he said, finding it a little
+      difficult to talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm all right,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;And you've come to&mdash;your wound's
+      healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness of
+      skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fever? How long have we been here?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine. Nine days,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine days!&rdquo; he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her assured
+      him that she meant what she said. &ldquo;I've been sick all the time? You nursed
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's men didn't come along here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are the horses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass and
+      water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you slept any?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day
+      and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all about
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing much to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know, anyway, just what you did&mdash;how you felt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't remember very well,&rdquo; she replied, simply. &ldquo;We must have ridden
+      forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the time. Toward evening
+      you lay on your horse's neck. When we came to this place you fell out of
+      the saddle. I dragged you in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought
+      you'd die that night. But in the morning I had a little hope. I had
+      forgotten the horses. But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them and
+      kept them down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began to
+      breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever that put you
+      back. You raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn't stop you.
+      Anybody trailing us could have heard you a good ways. I don't know whether
+      I was scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was so dark and
+      lonely and still all around. Every day I put a stone in your hat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, you saved my life,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You saved
+      mine&mdash;more than my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, we're going to get away,&rdquo; he said, with gladness. &ldquo;I'll be well
+      in a few days. You don't know how strong I am. We'll hide by day and
+      travel by night. I can get you across the river.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll find some honest rancher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; she persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he began, slowly, &ldquo;that's as far as my thoughts ever got. It was
+      pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so much. It means your
+      safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be sent to some village or town and
+      taken care of until a relative or friend is notified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you?&rdquo; she inquired, in a strange voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane kept silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What will you do?&rdquo; she went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among
+      respectable people. I'm an outlaw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're no criminal!&rdquo; she declared, with deep passion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a
+      criminal doesn't count for much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness and
+      sweetness&mdash;all that's good about you? Oh, Duane, don't&mdash;don't
+      go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go
+      alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border. What else can I do,
+      Jennie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas&mdash;go
+      far away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide, but
+      a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse.
+      During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main
+      trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they rode
+      out of the canyons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the morning
+      halted at the first water to camp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding during
+      the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was assured of safety for her
+      and great danger for himself. They had crossed into a country he did not
+      know. Somewhere east of the river there were scattered ranches. But he was
+      as liable to find the rancher in touch with the outlaws as he was likely
+      to find him honest. Duane hoped his good fortune would not desert him in
+      this last service to Jennie. Next to the worry of that was realization of
+      his condition. He had gotten up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard,
+      and now he felt that any moment he might fall from his saddle. At last,
+      far ahead over a barren mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied
+      a patch of green and a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse
+      for it and turned a face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's sake. She
+      seemed both happy and sorry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And thrift
+      spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees, corrals,
+      windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all surrounding a neat little adobe
+      house. Some children were playing in the yard. The way they ran at sight
+      of Duane hinted of both the loneliness and the fear of their isolated
+      lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man. The latter looked
+      keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired, freckled Texan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, stranger,&rdquo; he called, as Duane halted. &ldquo;Get down, you an' your
+      woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He
+      thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one
+      sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martha, come out here!&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;This man's sick. No; he's shot, or I
+      don't know blood-stains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared about
+      to faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Air you his wife?&rdquo; asked the rancher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
+      Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane!&rdquo; exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. &ldquo;The man who killed Bland
+      an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and practical
+      essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far gone that he
+      could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and weakly asked for
+      water. When that was given him he found his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself&mdash;just all in. The wounds I
+      got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in&mdash;hide her
+      awhile till the excitement's over among the outlaws?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shore will,&rdquo; replied the Texan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. I'll remember you&mdash;I'll square it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What 're you goin' to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll rest a bit&mdash;then go back to the brakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here&mdash;any rustlers
+      on your trail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think we gave Bland's gang the slip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an' hide
+      both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor is five
+      miles off. We don't have much company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me,&rdquo; said
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
+      outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My horses might betray you,&rdquo; added Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
+      it. Come now, let me help you indoors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a
+      bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
+      cool hands on his hot face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
+      week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
+      After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end of
+      this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his illness
+      he had been silent, moody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll be riding off soon,&rdquo; he said, one evening. &ldquo;I can't impose
+      on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness. His
+      wife, too&mdash;she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will have
+      to say good-by very soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't hurry away,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the girl
+      he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance to say
+      good-by as another indication of her regret that he must go back to the
+      brakes. Yet somehow it made him observe her more closely. She wore a
+      plain, white dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep
+      and good food had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+      outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same paleness, the
+      same strained look, the same dark eyes full of haunting shadows. After
+      Duane's realization of the change in her he watched her more, with a
+      growing certainty that he would be sorry not to see her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's likely we won't ever see each other again,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's strange
+      to think of. We've been through some hard days, and I seem to have known
+      you a long time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to something
+      less personal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to Huntsville.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland outfit,&rdquo; he
+      said, important and full of news. &ldquo;It's some exaggerated, accordin' to
+      what you told me; but you've shore made friends on this side of the
+      Nueces. I reckon there ain't a town where you wouldn't find people to
+      welcome you. Huntsville, you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half the
+      people are crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in praise of
+      you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the boss outlaw
+      of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent citizen. He was tellin' me
+      what a grand job yours was for the border an' honest cattlemen. Now that
+      Bland and Alloway are done for, King Fisher will find rustlin' easier.
+      There's talk of Hardin movie' his camp over to Bland's. But I don't know
+      how true it is. I reckon there ain't much to it. In the past when a big
+      outlaw chief went under, his band almost always broke up an' scattered.
+      There's no one left who could run thet outfit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore,&rdquo; replied
+      Andrews. &ldquo;Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled to go on your
+      trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would be afraid to
+      trail you. An' you could go right in to Huntsville, where you'd be some
+      popular. Reckon you'd be safe, too, except when some of them fool saloon
+      loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it.
+      Them kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two,&rdquo; went on
+      Duane. &ldquo;Then I'll go&mdash;I'd like to talk to you about Jennie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's welcome to a home here with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to get farther
+      away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here. Besides, she may be
+      able to find relatives. She has some, though she doesn't know where they
+      are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd better take
+      her to some town. Go north an' strike for Shelbyville or Crockett. Them's
+      both good towns. I'll tell Jennie the names of men who'll help her. You
+      needn't ride into town at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which place is nearer, and how far is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you
+      ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at night
+      an' go careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said
+      good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane's
+      thanks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what can I do for you?&rdquo; asked Duane. &ldquo;I may come along here again
+      some day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there
+      ain't nothin' I can think of&mdash;I just happen to remember&mdash;&rdquo; Here
+      he led Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in a whisper. &ldquo;Buck,
+      I used to be well-to-do. Got skinned by a man named Brown&mdash;Rodney
+      Brown. He lives in Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on
+      fightin', or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me&mdash;stole all I had. He's a
+      hoss an' cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I
+      reckon I needn't say any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?&rdquo; queried Duane,
+      curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged Stevens
+      through the middle. But the outlaw rode off, an' nobody ever knew for
+      shore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the
+      left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said, Andrews?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. An' good luck to you both!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At the moment
+      an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke Stevens and the rancher
+      Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a man named Brown. Duane wished with
+      all his heart that they had not mentioned it, let alone taken for granted
+      the execution of the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men who robbed
+      and men who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the spirit of the
+      country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this Rodney Brown.
+      And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous he really was&mdash;to
+      men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how little stood between
+      his sane and better self and a self utterly wild and terrible. He reasoned
+      that only intelligence could save him&mdash;only a thoughtful
+      understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful views
+      of her future, and presently darkness set in. The sky was overcast with
+      heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression threatened
+      storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him, though his
+      horse had no difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was bothered by the
+      blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible, and any moment he
+      might miss the road that led off to the left. So he was compelled to give
+      all his attention to peering into the thick shadows ahead. As good luck
+      would have it, he came to higher ground where there was less mesquite, and
+      therefore not such impenetrable darkness; and at this point he came to
+      where the road split.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his
+      annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was not well dressed
+      for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat, which in
+      that dry warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his saddle, and he
+      put it on Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker.
+      Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat
+      better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite the
+      discomfort, and soon a gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be built to
+      dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk catching cold. In
+      fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find a shelter in that barren
+      waste seemed a futile task. Quite unexpectedly, however, they happened
+      upon a deserted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did
+      it prove to have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water was
+      available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their condition
+      as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane, however,
+      there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding-place. The rain fell
+      harder all the time, and the wind changed to the north. &ldquo;It's a norther,
+      all right,&rdquo; muttered Duane. &ldquo;Two or three days.&rdquo; And he felt that his
+      extraordinary luck had not held out. Still one point favored him, and it
+      was that travelers were not likely to come along during the storm. Jennie
+      slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant more to him than
+      any task he had ever assumed. First it had been partly from a human
+      feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and partly a motive to establish
+      clearly to himself that he was no outlaw. Lately, however, had come a
+      different sense, a strange one, with something personal and warm and
+      protective in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with bedraggled dress
+      and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep,
+      and her long, dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her
+      fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never before. But for him she
+      might at that very moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying back in
+      that cabin of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his importance
+      in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still young; she would
+      forget and be happy; she would live to be a good wife and mother. Somehow
+      the thought swelled his heart. His act, death-dealing as it had been, was
+      a noble one, and helped him to hold on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once
+      since Jennie had entered into his thought had those ghosts returned to
+      torment him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility of
+      finding her relatives. He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt a
+      pang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always alert, whether
+      he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain pattered steadily on the
+      roof and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the door. The horses
+      were outside in a shed that afforded poor shelter, and they stamped
+      restlessly. Duane kept them saddled and bridled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal and
+      afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never been, in his
+      observation of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, the
+      farthest removed from serenity and poise. That characteristic capacity for
+      agitation struck him as stronger in her this day. He attributed it,
+      however, to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes
+      when her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her freedom,
+      of her future.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where will you be?&rdquo; she asked, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl shuddered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the men of my
+      family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads, a
+      hearth with a fire, a warm bed&mdash;somebody to love them. And you, Duane&mdash;oh,
+      my God! What must your life be? You must ride and hide and watch
+      eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly word, no clean clothes,
+      no woman's hand! Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes&mdash;these must be
+      the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding, killing
+      until you meet&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was amazed,
+      deeply touched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My girl, thank you for that thought of me,&rdquo; he said, with a tremor in his
+      voice. &ldquo;You don't know how much that means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard tell&mdash;the best of men go to the bad out there. You won't.
+      Promise me you won't. I never&mdash;knew any man&mdash;like you. I&mdash;I&mdash;we
+      may never see each other again&mdash;after to-day. I'll never forget you.
+      I'll pray for you, and I'll never give up trying to&mdash;to do something.
+      Don't despair. It's never too late. It was my hope that kept me alive&mdash;out
+      there at Bland's&mdash;before you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But
+      if I could hope&mdash;so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf.
+      Fight for your life. Stick out your exile&mdash;and maybe&mdash;some day&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep
+      as hers promised to remember her words. In her despair for him she had
+      spoken wisdom&mdash;pointed out the only course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner reasserted
+      itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode, had broken
+      his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the sound of his
+      hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps of mesquite in
+      sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It turned out, however,
+      that he had not done so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near the road. So
+      he put her up on his horse and bade her follow. The rain had ceased for
+      the time being, though evidently the storm was not yet over. The tracks
+      led up a wash to a wide flat where mesquite, prickly pear, and thorn-bush
+      grew so thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was thoroughly
+      concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would soon be
+      night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly through that brake on
+      foot. Therefore he decided to risk leaving her at the edge of the thicket
+      and go in alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a branch he had
+      stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the impatient pound of his horse's
+      hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not wholly satisfied. He was
+      never satisfied in regard to safety; he knew too well that there never
+      could be safety for him in this country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane wondered what
+      had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there was none.
+      Presently he heard the horse tramping along, and then he ran. The mud was
+      deep, and the sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up with the
+      horse, and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh horse-tracks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that they had been
+      made very recently, even since it had ceased raining. They were tracks of
+      well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a cautious glance all around.
+      His instant decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he had come a goodly
+      way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush back. Once or twice
+      he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but did not halt to make
+      sure. Certain he was now that some kind of danger threatened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off somewhere
+      to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane leaped
+      forward, tore his way through the thorny brake. He heard Jennie cry again&mdash;an
+      appealing call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right, and he plunged
+      that way. He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire and ground covered
+      with footprints and tracks showed that campers had lately been. Rushing
+      across this, he broke his passage out to the open. But he was too late.
+      His horse had disappeared. Jennie was gone. There were no riders in sight.
+      There was no sound. There was a heavy trail of horses going north. Jennie
+      had been carried off&mdash;probably by outlaws. Duane realized that
+      pursuit was out of the question&mdash;that Jennie was lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's deeds, far up
+      where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs, stood
+      a small deserted shack of covered mesquite poles. It had been made long
+      ago, but was well preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail, and another
+      faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border fugitives from
+      law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged never lived in
+      houses with only one door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except for the
+      outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave for most of the
+      other wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the gorge there was
+      never-failing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady retreats,
+      deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of narrow-twisting,
+      deep canyon full of broken rocks and impenetrable thickets. The scream of
+      the panther was heard there, the squall of the wildcat, the cough of the
+      jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring blossoms, and, it seemed,
+      scattered honey to the winds. All day there was continuous song of birds,
+      that of the mocking-bird loud and sweet and mocking above the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On clear days&mdash;and rare indeed were cloudy days&mdash;with the
+      subsiding of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around the little
+      hut. Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually to fade
+      with the shading of light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in the
+      westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west and listener to
+      the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three years before,
+      Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of circumstances
+      that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had marked, if not a change,
+      at least a cessation in Duane's activities. He had trailed Sellers to kill
+      him for the supposed abducting of Jennie. He had trailed him long after he
+      had learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted absolute assurance of
+      Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and there, unauthenticated
+      stories, were all Duane had gathered in years to substantiate his belief&mdash;that
+      Jennie died shortly after the beginning of her second captivity. But Duane
+      did not know surely. Sellers might have told him. Duane expected, if not
+      to force it from him at the end, to read it in his eyes. But the bullet
+      went too unerringly; it locked his lips and fixed his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a friend, and when
+      he recovered from the wound Sellers had given him he started with two
+      horses and a pack for the lonely gorge on the Nueces. There he had been
+      hidden for months, a prey to remorse, a dreamer, a victim of phantoms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky fastness. And work,
+      action, helped to pass the hours. But he could not work all the time, even
+      if he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments and at night his task
+      was to live with the hell in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little
+      hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's presence. It was not
+      as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her
+      death. He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that
+      intense hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to
+      that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had found
+      things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of ribbon
+      Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No wandering outlaw or
+      traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further endeared it to
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of it&mdash;the
+      failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim it&mdash;to deaden
+      the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of
+      visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as
+      clearly as if she had stood there in the flesh. For hours he did that,
+      dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would taste.
+      He saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged dress in
+      which he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in Mexican
+      sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and swelling
+      throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark eyes. He
+      remembered every look she had given him, every word she had spoken to him,
+      every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty and sweetness, of
+      the few things which had come to mean to him that she must have loved him;
+      and he trained himself to think of these in preference to her life at
+      Bland's, the escape with him, and then her recapture, because such
+      memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had to fight suffering because
+      it was eating out his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his
+      white-haired mother. He saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by
+      dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he would
+      send out a voiceless cry no less poignant because it was silent: &ldquo;Poor
+      fool! No, I shall never see mother again&mdash;never go home&mdash;never
+      have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over!
+      These dreams torture me! What have I to do with a mother, a home, a wife?
+      No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am an outlaw,
+      an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am alone&mdash;alone.
+      Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall go mad thinking! Man,
+      what is left to you? A hiding-place like a wolf's&mdash;lonely silent
+      days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or the trail and the road with their
+      bloody tracks, and then the hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride to some
+      hole in rocks or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't I end it
+      all? What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the gun-fighter
+      to live&mdash;to hang on to miserable life&mdash;to have no fear of death,
+      yet to cling like a leach&mdash;to die as gun-fighters seldom die, with
+      boots off! Bain, you were first, and you're long avenged. I'd change with
+      you. And Sellers, you were last, and you're avenged. And you others&mdash;you're
+      avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering
+      round him, escorted him to his bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers, or
+      passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and exhaustion
+      made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually he required
+      less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little by little his
+      phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the saving power of
+      his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How many times he had said to himself: &ldquo;I am an intelligent man. I'm not
+      crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All this is fancy&mdash;imagination&mdash;conscience.
+      I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no hope&mdash;and my mind is obsessed,
+      thronged with images. And these images naturally are of the men with whom
+      I have dealt. I can't forget them. They come back to me, hour after hour;
+      and when my tortured mind grows weak, then maybe I'm not just right till
+      the mood wears out and lets me sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was
+      star-bright above the canyon-walls, darkly shadowing down between them. The
+      insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick song, low and
+      monotonous. Slow-running water splashed softly over stones in the
+      stream-bed. From far down the canyon came the mournful hoot of an owl. The
+      moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these things
+      weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In truth, they
+      did not constitute loneliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached out
+      to touch a cold, bright star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this star-studded,
+      velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of wild country between El
+      Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory&mdash;a refuge for
+      outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a book
+      with names and records of outlaws&mdash;three thousand known outlaws. Yet
+      these could scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had been
+      recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from camp to camp,
+      den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he knew these men. Most of
+      them were hopeless criminals; some were avengers; a few were wronged
+      wanderers; and among them occasionally was a man, human in his way, honest
+      as he could be, not yet lost to good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But all of them were akin in one sense&mdash;their outlawry; and that
+      starry night they lay with their dark faces up, some in packs like wolves,
+      others alone like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not make much
+      difference in Duane's thought of them that the majority were steeped in
+      crime and brutality, more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a
+      fine feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not realize his
+      moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted wretches who knew it.
+      He believed he could enter into their minds and feel the truth of all
+      their lives&mdash;the hardened outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who
+      murdered as Bill Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing,
+      who craved money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and, like
+      that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, &ldquo;Let her rip!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure; the cowboys
+      with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge that they
+      were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the North, defaulters,
+      forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, flat-chested men not fit for that
+      wilderness and not surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand and glove with
+      outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled, bow-legged genuine
+      rustlers&mdash;all these Duane had come in contact with, had watched and
+      known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as their lives were
+      bad, sooner or later to end dismally or tragically, so they must pay some
+      kind of earthly penalty&mdash;if not of conscience, then of fear; if not
+      of fear, then of that most terrible of all things to restless, active men&mdash;pain,
+      the pang of flesh and bone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the
+      internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by no means small
+      class of which he was representative. The world that judged him and his
+      kind judged him as a machine, a killing-machine, with only mind enough to
+      hunt, to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three endless years for
+      Duane to understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that the
+      gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who were evil and
+      had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis, had something far more
+      torturing to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and sleep and
+      peace; and that something was abnormal fear of death. Duane knew this, for
+      he had shot these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow in eyes, the
+      presentiment that the will could not control, and then the horrible
+      certainty. These men must have been in agony at every meeting with a
+      possible or certain foe&mdash;more agony than the hot rend of a bullet.
+      They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear, by every victim calling from
+      the grave that nothing was so inevitable as death, which lurked behind
+      every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep in the dark tube of every gun.
+      These men could not have a friend; they could not love or trust a woman.
+      They knew their one chance of holding on to life lay in their own
+      distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by the very nature of
+      their lives, could not be lasting. They had doomed themselves. What, then,
+      could possibly have dwelt in the depths of their minds as they went to
+      their beds on a starry night like this, with mystery in silence and
+      shadow, with time passing surely, and the dark future and its secret
+      approaching every hour&mdash;what, then, but hell?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would
+      have been glad to lay down the burden of life, providing death came
+      naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,
+      superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of
+      an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that
+      this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for
+      ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing domination of these
+      haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or
+      brutality or murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they
+      knew more than when they were alive, had learned that life was a divine
+      mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their
+      voiceless clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inaction of
+      his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather than to
+      hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The moment he
+      rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. A
+      strange warmth stirred in him&mdash;a longing to see the faces of people,
+      to hear their voices&mdash;a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it
+      was only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal vigilance.
+      When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all except his deeper,
+      better self; when he escaped from this into the haunts of men his force
+      and will went to the preservation of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends there.
+      Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of the village there
+      was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered post which marked
+      it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He had never read the
+      inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other than the erstwhile
+      ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the stockmen and
+      ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he or his outlaws
+      had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane when sore in need.
+      Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village, called him every name
+      known to border men, taunted him to draw, and killed him in the act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father,
+      and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice of
+      a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his gun,
+      good wholesome food, and change of clothes&mdash;these things for the time
+      being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often speak. The
+      price of his head and the weight of his burden made him silent. But
+      eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In the years of his
+      absence from home he had never heard a word about his mother or uncle.
+      Those who were his real friends on the border would have been the last to
+      make inquiries, to write or receive letters that might give a clue to
+      Duane's whereabouts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight fell
+      was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain overnight.
+      It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early in the evening,
+      while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and hero-worshiping sons of the
+      house, Jones returned from a quick visit down to the post-office.
+      Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored under intense excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, there's rangers in town,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;It's all over town, too,
+      that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw you. I
+      don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the women
+      might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows&mdash;devils
+      with the women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What company of rangers?&rdquo; asked Duane, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name in
+      the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders. He's
+      cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
+      hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
+      man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
+      you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
+      find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
+      but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
+      Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
+      Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
+      officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact
+      of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've already fixed up a pack of grub,&rdquo; went on Jones. &ldquo;I'll slip out to
+      saddle your horse. You watch here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded
+      on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet
+      clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared nearer
+      he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He slowed his
+      stride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Burt Jones live here?&rdquo; he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?&rdquo; replied Jones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands
+      up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the
+      river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after
+      dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?&rdquo; exclaimed Jones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A new one on me,&rdquo; replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor
+      tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross
+      anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he
+      must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without
+      bloodshed,&rdquo; observed Duane. &ldquo;Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about this,
+      Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer things.
+      Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his intentions, his
+      presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you hit the road and put
+      some miles between you the amiable Captain before daylight. To-morrow I'll
+      go out there and ask him what in the devil he meant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That messenger he sent&mdash;he was a ranger,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing you
+      that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that. Pretty
+      odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark
+      rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane
+      back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into
+      swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of mesquite,
+      dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a little grass. Here he
+      staked his horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a pillow, his
+      saddle-blanket for covering, he went to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days he
+      paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And in each
+      some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made Duane
+      profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call upon
+      these friends and left this message, &ldquo;Tell Buck Duane to ride into Captain
+      MacNelly's camp some time after night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new
+      ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill Buck
+      Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse, the
+      daring of which might appeal to certain outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it did not,
+      however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a
+      hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Here he
+      heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never but once
+      ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had been compelled to
+      shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the few ranchers and
+      their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both outlaws and Mexican
+      raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these ranchers. Being
+      unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed on into the heart of
+      this district, when all the time he really believed he was traveling
+      around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberate attempt to kill
+      him because he was an unknown rider in those parts, discovered to Duane
+      his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuaded him to return to his
+      old methods of hiding by day and traveling by night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering much
+      ground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice he came
+      to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick as
+      chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided
+      must be the lower Nueces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw the
+      lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unable to
+      because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to the outskirts
+      of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go round to the right.
+      Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so it was well after
+      midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or more then by
+      daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a road which appeared
+      to be well worn from travel. He passed several thickets where he would
+      have halted to hide during the day but for the fact that he had to find
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or
+      clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So he
+      kept on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here and
+      there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he
+      mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he could not
+      see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which was
+      down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse
+      heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough to
+      reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more, a
+      little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump of
+      cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of men facing him, and two dark, limp,
+      strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never before
+      found himself so unpleasantly close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hoarse voice pealed out: &ldquo;By hell! there's another one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!&rdquo; yelled another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be continuous. Duane
+      was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left
+      forearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightened
+      horse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the
+      road saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet steed
+      wend down the long hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief
+      concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the bones
+      were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was
+      an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,
+      Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand
+      tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more
+      coming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a
+      quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane needed
+      only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-riding cowboys in
+      a land where all riders were good. They would not have owned any but
+      strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers had
+      suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws. Duane
+      had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynching party at a
+      time of all times when any stranger would be in danger and any outlaw put
+      to his limit to escape with his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy piece of
+      ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon his pursuers.
+      When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to check a little
+      that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big, strong, fast;
+      but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test. And that worried
+      Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep one horse very long at a
+      time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had only one plan&mdash;the only plan possible in this case&mdash;and
+      that was to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in
+      the willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, and
+      this was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closely
+      pressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+      little in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It was
+      decidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane pondered
+      over this, looking backward several times to see if their horses were
+      stretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only one reason
+      presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with him headed
+      straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to force the
+      running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road turning off to
+      right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted and yucca-spired
+      country extended away on either side. Duane believed that he would be
+      compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was certain&mdash;he had
+      to go round the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the
+      village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes
+      strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon
+      descried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to the fact
+      that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene. More
+      than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did not keep
+      them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see this new
+      factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a muttered curse,
+      he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There were
+      patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite, and he
+      found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was impossible
+      for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he decided, and
+      take to his tracks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right into
+      a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get a horse over. He
+      wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to a
+      harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of
+      mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poor
+      cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw moving
+      dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile away,
+      and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved that they had
+      entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts,
+      straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this was seemingly made
+      impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feel
+      cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an
+      outlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. But
+      reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless, the
+      strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward he lost
+      sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant now to try to
+      reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though still saving him for
+      a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus, washes&mdash;all
+      operated against his following a straight line. Almost he lost his
+      bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies had not good
+      fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-over stretch of
+      ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within
+      gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horse
+      into that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never had Duane
+      bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about to accomplish
+      the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior to any horse in
+      pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough to spare a little
+      in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly terrorized, he kept the
+      pace through thickets that almost tore Duane from his saddle. Something
+      weighty and grim eased off Duane. He was going to get out in front! The
+      horse had speed, fire, stamina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here,
+      right in his path, within pistol-range, stood horsemen waiting. They
+      yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his
+      horse&mdash;faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing his
+      ground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figures hanging
+      from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw than do
+      anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. His horror of
+      hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion compared to his
+      gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duane
+      could scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across his
+      eyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of the
+      nearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did they shoot at
+      him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have been the cracking of
+      dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he handled the rein
+      with his right; and most of the time he hung low over the pommel. The gray
+      walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rush of wind, the heavy,
+      rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of his horse&mdash;these vied in
+      sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the rack of his wound, the
+      cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also was dull, raging fury. He
+      had to run when he wanted to fight. It took all his mind to force back
+      that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers, of this race for his useless
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long stretch
+      of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled his horse
+      upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out in front.
+      His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of breaking.
+      Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers&mdash;he could not count how many&mdash;were
+      loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them, and with
+      teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from corrals,
+      and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher running, and he
+      felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in the chase. Duane's
+      steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a lack of former
+      smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride which showed he
+      was almost done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner than
+      he expected. Then he made a discovery&mdash;he had entered the zone of
+      wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to ride
+      through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers were half
+      a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to intercept him in
+      his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and began to
+      labor. Duane did not believe he would last long enough to go through the
+      village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means
+      new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in his
+      heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the place,
+      and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was about to get
+      into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a foot in the
+      stirrup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine's done&mdash;but not killed,&rdquo; he panted. &ldquo;Trade with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,&rdquo; drawled the man. &ldquo;But
+      ain't you a little swift?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Duane&mdash;Buck Duane,&rdquo; he cried, menacingly. &ldquo;Will you trade?
+      Hurry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I'll trade,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snorted in
+      fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane flashed
+      by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But the road
+      ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for he had
+      ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert. When he
+      reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find six
+      horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high
+      sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see
+      extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it was to
+      his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his
+      hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to the
+      dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn beast
+      into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane cared to
+      risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So he
+      had to abandon the horse&mdash;a circumstance that only such sore straits
+      could have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the narrow
+      aisles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers
+      piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into
+      the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!&rdquo; called one, evidently to the man Duane had
+      forced into a trade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',&rdquo;
+       replied a voice from the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,&rdquo; said the first speaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS
+      BUCK DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a
+      rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can't git across the river, I tell you,&rdquo; came to Duane's ears. &ldquo;He's
+      corralled in the brake. I know thet hole.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no
+      more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading a
+      passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and
+      nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied by
+      an Indian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas
+      ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.
+      Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the
+      willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
+      an inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above, these
+      wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray and
+      yellow&mdash;a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were a
+      few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries&mdash;the
+      jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was clay and unusually dry,
+      sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a growth
+      of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there usually
+      was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender poles with
+      stems so close together that they almost touched, and with the leafy
+      foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake Duane had
+      penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle of the day
+      the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the foliage, then
+      slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green mantle and danced
+      like gold on the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and likewise
+      he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always seemed to him
+      to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any unwounded
+      creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided under the
+      low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard to conceal
+      tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could hunt each
+      other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and never know it.
+      The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then, hunted men and
+      animals survived on very little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping in the
+      brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more hospitable.
+      Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river, Duane had his
+      doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put the river
+      between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to be favored,
+      as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the willows, he
+      slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There were narrow aisles
+      and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by animals, all of which
+      he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling, stooping any way to get
+      along. To keep in a straight line was not easy&mdash;he did it by marking
+      some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and when he reached it looked
+      straight on to mark another. His progress necessarily grew slower, for as
+      he advanced the brake became wilder, denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to
+      whine about his head. He kept on without pause. Deepening shadows under
+      the willows told him that the afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear
+      he had wandered in a wrong direction. Finally a strip of light ahead
+      relieved his anxiety, and after a toilsome penetration of still denser
+      brush he broke through to the bank of the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank
+      extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance the
+      futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish
+      water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all
+      quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He
+      could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+      solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked
+      down. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from the high
+      bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there apparently
+      was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any hope of
+      crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would be just the
+      same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the pole and
+      lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his way back to
+      where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on up-stream till
+      the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling around for a place big
+      enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time being he was as safe
+      there as he would have been beyond in the Rim Rock. He was tired, though
+      not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain in his arm he dropped at
+      once into sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly so thick and
+      heavy as to have substance blanketed the black willow brake. He could not
+      see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even his hand before his eyes. He
+      lay there waiting, listening, sure that he had been awakened by an unusual
+      sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the wilderness never disturbed his
+      rest. His faculties, like those of old fugitives and hunted creatures, had
+      become trained to a marvelous keenness. A long low breath of slow wind
+      moaned through the willows, passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast
+      trotted by him in the darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a
+      fox barked lonesomely in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken
+      his slumber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound. Quickly
+      Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made him aware of his
+      crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. Silence enfolded
+      him again, all the more oppressive and menacing in his suspense.
+      Bloodhounds had been put on his trail, and the leader was not far away.
+      All his life Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he knew that if
+      the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he would be held at
+      bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising to his feet, prepared
+      to flee as best he could, he waited to be sure of the direction he should
+      take.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, full-toned, ringing
+      bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant in its power. It caused a cold
+      sweat to ooze out all over Duane's body. He turned from it, and with his
+      uninjured arm outstretched to feel for the willows he groped his way
+      along. As it was impossible to pick out the narrow passages, he had to
+      slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding stems. He made such a
+      crashing that he no longer heard the baying of the hounds. He had no hope
+      to elude them. He meant to climb the first cottonwood that he stumbled
+      upon in his blind flight. But it appeared he never was going to be lucky
+      enough to run against one. Often he fell, sometimes flat, at others upheld
+      by the willows. What made the work so hard was the fact that he had only
+      one arm to open a clump of close-growing stems and his feet would catch or
+      tangle in the narrow crotches, holding him fast. He had to struggle
+      desperately. It was as if the willows were clutching hands, his enemies,
+      fiendishly impeding his progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches
+      and his flesh suffered many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept
+      on until he brought up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly exhausted as he had
+      ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn and burning, his breast
+      laboring, his legs stinging from innumerable bruises. While he leaned
+      there to catch his breath he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a long
+      time there was no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive him into
+      any hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a trail, and
+      others that ran mostly silent. The former were more valuable to their
+      owner and the latter more dangerous to the fugitive. Presently Duane's
+      ears were filled by a chorus of short ringing yelps. The pack had found
+      where he had slept, and now the trail was hot. Satisfied that they would
+      soon overtake him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood, which in his
+      condition was difficult of ascent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up,
+      and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
+      the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the brake,
+      and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these were
+      bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult on that
+      side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he imagined he saw
+      more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be sure. While he sat
+      there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds, the mist and the
+      gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded was east and meant
+      that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score, he descended to the
+      first branch of the tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so hopeless
+      as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and he would kill
+      them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of possibility that any
+      men could have followed running hounds through that brake in the night.
+      The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the bonfires. He had gathered
+      from the words of one of his pursuers that the brake was a kind of trap,
+      and he began to believe there was only one way out of it, and that was
+      along the bank where he had entered, and where obviously all night long
+      his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further conjecture on this point,
+      however, was interrupted by a crashing in the willows and the rapid patter
+      of feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the ground,
+      nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would not be needed
+      to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush through the
+      willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above crash of brush
+      and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's pursuers far off to
+      the south would hear that and know what it meant. And at daybreak, perhaps
+      before, they would take a short cut across the brake, guided by the baying
+      of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
+      vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
+      had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually the
+      obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of the
+      hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader of the
+      pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That stopped
+      the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and fled, its
+      course easily marked by the howls of the crippled members. Duane reloaded
+      his gun, and, making certain all the hounds had gone, he descended to the
+      ground and set off at a rapid pace to the northward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his first halt
+      some miles north of the scene where he had waited for the hounds. A
+      barrier to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky bluff, rose
+      sheer from the willow brake. He skirted the base of the cliff, where
+      walking was comparatively easy, around in the direction of the river. He
+      reached the end finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape
+      from the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by some
+      hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where he could fill
+      his sombrero with water. After quenching his thirst he had a look at his
+      wound. It was caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off the arm was
+      seen to be inflamed and swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed it,
+      experiencing a soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged it as
+      best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated the pain
+      of the injured member and held it in a quiet and restful position, where
+      it had a chance to begin mending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His great strength
+      and endurance had always made fatigue something almost unknown to him.
+      However, tramping on foot day and night was as unusual to him as to any
+      other riders of the Southwest, and it had begun to tell on him. Retracing
+      his steps, he reached the point where he had abruptly come upon the bluff,
+      and here he determined to follow along its base in the other direction
+      until he found a way out or discovered the futility of such effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to listen. But
+      he was always listening, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness had
+      become second nature with him, so that except in extreme cases of caution
+      he performed it while he pondered his gloomy and fateful situation. Such
+      habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was facing south.
+      The bluff had petered out from a high, mountainous wall to a low abutment
+      of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough nature and afforded no
+      crack or slope where quick ascent could have been possible. He pushed on,
+      growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding that as he neared
+      the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper into the willows. In
+      the afternoon he reached a point where he could see men pacing to and fro
+      on the bluff. This assured him that whatever place was guarded was one by
+      which he might escape. He headed toward these men and approached to within
+      a hundred paces of the bluff where they were. There were several men and
+      several boys, all armed and, after the manner of Texans, taking their task
+      leisurely. Farther down Duane made out black dots on the horizon of the
+      bluff-line, and these he concluded were more guards stationed at another
+      outlet. Probably all the available men in the district were on duty.
+      Texans took a grim pleasure in such work. Duane remembered that upon
+      several occasions he had served such duty himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the land. For
+      several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He took stock of those
+      careless guards. They had rifles, and that made vain any attempt to pass
+      them in daylight. He believed an attempt by night might be successful; and
+      he was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there till dark and then
+      try it, when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards on the
+      bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he was lustily
+      true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together and begin to talk
+      excitedly and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him to slip away
+      under the willows. He made no noise, and he assured himself he must be
+      invisible. Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of rifles, and
+      bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The day was hot
+      and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he touched a willow stem,
+      even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent a quiver among the
+      leaves. Through this the guards had located his position. Once a bullet
+      hissed by him; another thudded into the ground before him. This shooting
+      loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from these men, and he hated them
+      and himself because of it. Always in the fury of such moments he wanted to
+      give back shot for shot. But he slipped on through the willows, and at
+      length the rifles ceased to crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept on,
+      wondering what the next mile would bring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a hot
+      fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape with no more
+      than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
+      and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had come
+      down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the blockade
+      of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and after the
+      brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to creep out of
+      the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff, here only a
+      bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of a shadow when a
+      hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the willows was as
+      perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he had accomplished
+      it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles, he felt that he had
+      indeed been favored by Providence. This time men followed him a goodly
+      ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead through the willows sounded
+      on all sides of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his mind
+      clamped between two things&mdash;whether to try again to escape or wait
+      for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
+      intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape. He
+      had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
+      attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound him.
+      There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench decision
+      out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not yet. He
+      had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his run he
+      found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms of
+      vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low and
+      near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang and
+      hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered his
+      head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a long and
+      wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but in a
+      dreadful state of mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
+      but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish, and
+      therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed. That
+      morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting to cross
+      the river. If he could find a light log it was within the bounds of
+      possibility that he might ford the shallow water and bars of quicksand.
+      But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next night,
+      he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff; and every hour forced
+      upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass. There
+      arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers at the extreme southern
+      corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows, driven to what
+      he believed was his last stand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him! Let him
+      fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But these hunters, eager
+      as they were to get him, had care of their own skins. They took few risks.
+      They had him cornered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive, threatening storm.
+      Like a snake Duane crawled into a little space in the darkest part of the
+      thicket and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, from the river,
+      seemingly from all sides. But he heard voices only from in front and
+      toward his left. Even if his passage to the river had not been blocked, it
+      might just as well have been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on fellers&mdash;down hyar,&rdquo; called one man from the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got him corralled at last,&rdquo; shouted another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,&rdquo; taunted
+      another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seen him, I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, thet was a deer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he's winged we needn't hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on thar, you boys,&rdquo; came a shout in authoritative tones from farther
+      up the bluff. &ldquo;Go slow. You-all air gittin' foolish at the end of a long
+      chase.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than
+      somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be huntin' us soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's surround this corner an' starve him out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the brake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear
+      his doom. This, then, was the end he had always expected, which had been
+      close to him before, yet never like now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God!&rdquo; whispered Duane, &ldquo;the thing for me to do now&mdash;is go out&mdash;meet
+      them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him. In that
+      moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die, that was the way
+      for him to die. What else could be expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
+      knees and drew his gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he held
+      what spare ammunition he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to
+      the edge of the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there was
+      a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had rifles. The
+      fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live on earth who could
+      make such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting them suddenly he
+      could kill a man for every shot in his gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate&mdash;to meet this
+      end. But when he tried to step forward something checked him. He forced
+      himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that opposed his will was as
+      insurmountable as it had been physically impossible for him to climb the
+      bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim and ghastly
+      dignity that had been his a moment before fell away from him. He lay there
+      stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He wondered was he afraid; had
+      he, the last of the Duanes&mdash;had he come to feel fear? No! Never in
+      all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet men face to face. It
+      was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding, this eternal
+      vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the situation was
+      that if he went out to meet these men there was absolutely no doubt of his
+      doom. If he clung to his covert there was a chance, a merest chance, for
+      his life. These pursuers, dogged and unflagging as they had been, were
+      mortally afraid of him. It was his fame that made them cowards. Duane's
+      keenness told him that at the very darkest and most perilous moment there
+      was still a chance for him. And the blood in him, the temper of his
+      father, the years of his outlawry, the pride of his unsought and hated
+      career, the nameless, inexplicable something in him made him accept that
+      slim chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the burning
+      sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe, sweating and bleeding. His
+      uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his flesh. Blotched and
+      swollen from the never-ending attack of flies and mosquitoes his face
+      seemed twice its natural size, and it ached and stung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the old hell,
+      terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought and
+      imagination had never been so swift. If death found him presently, how
+      would it come? Would he get decent burial or be left for the peccaries and
+      the coyotes? Would his people ever know where he had fallen? How wretched,
+      how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was monstrous for him to
+      cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in his heart, the hellish
+      hate of these men on his trail&mdash;that was like a scourge. He felt no
+      longer human. He had degenerated into an animal that could think. His
+      heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved; and this internal strife
+      seemed to thunder into his ears. He was now enacting the tragedy of all
+      crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in their dens. Only his tragedy
+      was infinitely more terrible because he had mind enough to see his plight,
+      his resemblance to a lonely wolf, bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling,
+      fire-eyed in a last instinctive defiance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching, listening
+      intensity so supreme that it registered impressions which were creations
+      of his imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not there; he saw
+      shadowy moving figures that were only leaves. A hundred times when he was
+      about to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from a
+      distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other sounds real
+      enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real from the false. There
+      were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering breath
+      down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching army.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in itself
+      was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading clouds. A
+      storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air was like steam.
+      If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common though rare to the
+      country, Duane believed he might slip away in the fury of wind and rain.
+      Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged again. He hailed it with a
+      bitterness that was sickening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention. He heard
+      a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening in the
+      thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while that beast came into full
+      view was an age. The dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had a trail or a
+      scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the inevitable
+      discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him in that thicket.
+      Voices from outside could be heard urging on the dog. Rover they called
+      him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog entered the little shaded covert.
+      Duane expected a yelping, a baying, or at least a bark that would tell of
+      his hiding-place. A strange relief swiftly swayed over Duane. The end was
+      near now. He had no further choice. Let them come&mdash;a quick fierce
+      exchange of shots&mdash;and then this torture past! He waited for the dog
+      to give the alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a yelp.
+      Duane could not believe the evidence of his senses. He thought he had
+      suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to and fro
+      among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all sound from
+      him ceased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thar's Rover,&rdquo; called a voice from the bluff-side. &ldquo;He's been through
+      thet black patch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nary a rabbit in there,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah! Thet pup's no good,&rdquo; scornfully growled another man. &ldquo;Put a hound at
+      thet clump of willows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching,
+      listening spell. After all, it was not to end just now. His chance still
+      persisted&mdash;looked a little brighter&mdash;led him on, perhaps, to
+      forlorn hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else
+      Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be caused by the approaching
+      storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder still
+      muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at
+      this time of overcast sky night was at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He would yet
+      elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he seized the significance of
+      all these fortunate circumstances which had aided him. Without haste and
+      without sound he began to crawl in the direction of the river. It was not
+      far, and he reached the bank before darkness set in. There were men up on
+      the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he half yielded
+      to a temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close in under the
+      willows. But when he raised himself to peer out he saw that an attempt of
+      this kind would be liable to failure. At the same moment he saw a
+      rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged against some willows. The end
+      of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him. Quick as a flash
+      he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he tied his gun in an
+      oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to splash
+      into the water. There was a willow growing back some few feet from the
+      edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over the water so
+      that when he released it there would be no springing back. Then he trusted
+      his weight to it, with his feet sliding carefully down the bank. He went
+      into the water almost up to his knees, felt the quicksand grip his feet;
+      then, leaning forward till he reached the plank, he pulled it toward him
+      and lay upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end
+      appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows. Very carefully
+      then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand. It
+      seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a movement
+      upward, and he pulled with all the power he dared use. It came slowly and
+      at length was free. The left one he released with less difficulty. The
+      next few moments he put all his attention on the plank to ascertain if his
+      weight would sink it into the sand. The far end slipped off the willows
+      with a little splash and gradually settled to rest upon the bottom. But it
+      sank no farther, and Duane's greatest concern was relieved. However, as it
+      was manifestly impossible for him to keep his head up for long he
+      carefully crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an arm and
+      shoulder upon the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous with fires.
+      There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the bluff, another a hundred
+      paces beyond. A great flare extended over the brake in that direction.
+      Duane heard a roaring on the wind, and he knew his pursuers had fired the
+      willows. He did not believe that would help them much. The brake was dry
+      enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the bonfires he
+      discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood, were keeping up
+      the light with oil and stuff from the village. A dozen men kept watch on
+      the bluff scarcely fifty paces from where Duane lay concealed by the
+      willows. They talked, cracked jokes, sang songs, and manifestly considered
+      this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the bright light lasted Duane
+      dared not move. He had the patience and the endurance to wait for the
+      breaking of the storm, and if that did not come, then the early hour
+      before dawn when the gray fog and gloom were over the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he
+      waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of withstanding any
+      strain endurable by the human frame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the willows,
+      carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down over the river, and
+      lightning began to flash. Then the rain fell in heavy sheets, but not
+      steadily. The flashes of lightning and the broad flares played so
+      incessantly that Duane could not trust himself out on the open river.
+      Certainly the storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on the
+      bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain and cramp
+      and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it had come, and the long
+      night set in. There were times when Duane thought he was paralyzed, others
+      when he grew sick, giddy, weak from the strained posture. The first paling
+      of the stars quickened him with a kind of wild joy. He watched them grow
+      paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow hovered down, rested upon
+      the river, and gradually thickened. The bonfire on the bluff showed as
+      through a foggy veil. The watchers were mere groping dark figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction, began to
+      move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at length overcame a
+      paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the sand and holding the
+      plank with his knees, he edged it out into the river. Inch by inch he
+      advanced until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy
+      figures of the men on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him, feared
+      that they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+      heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a little gurgle
+      and splash in the water. Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It
+      got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking
+      sound. There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered
+      straight advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the bang
+      of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look backward, but
+      failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving shadows a little
+      darker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling. Bringing
+      feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place. This way he
+      made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping
+      him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with
+      the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred patches of light.
+      But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit and
+      waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and when at last he
+      discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save
+      him. He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed
+      north through the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he
+      reached familiar country and found a rancher who had before befriended
+      him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a couple
+      of weeks he was himself again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his friend
+      reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles south, near
+      the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain cross-road a reward
+      for Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had
+      never seen one. His friend's reluctance and refusal to state for what
+      particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's curiosity. He had
+      never been any closer to Shirley than this rancher's home. Doubtless some
+      post-office burglary, some gun-shooting scrape had been attributed to him.
+      And he had been accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride
+      over there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first time
+      he had ever deliberately hunted trouble. Introspection awarded him this
+      knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces and while
+      he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless
+      bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope. All the
+      power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back from his
+      fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be what
+      he was credited with being&mdash;that is to say, to embrace evil. He had
+      never committed a crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? He
+      reasoned finally that the desperation of crime had been forced upon him,
+      if not its motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+      possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable actions
+      of certain noted outlaws&mdash;why they had returned to the scene of the
+      crime that had outlawed them; why they took such strangely fatal chances;
+      why life was no more to them than a breath of wind; why they rode straight
+      into the jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting rangers,
+      vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such bitterness as this
+      that drove these men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green fields
+      and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be Shirley. And
+      at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersecting road. There was a
+      placard nailed on the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and
+      leaned close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD OR
+      ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded print, Duane learned
+      that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff Aiken at her ranch near
+      Shirley. The month September was named, but the date was illegible. The
+      reward was offered by the woman's husband, whose name appeared with that
+      of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the
+      horror of his fate, wild with passion at those misguided fools who could
+      believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland, and, as
+      always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had
+      gone abroad that he had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to
+      fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often. Probably he bore
+      on his shoulders a burden of numberless crimes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm shakes
+      the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with clouded brow and piercing
+      eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight toward the
+      village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of some
+      railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by trees and
+      commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick. A large plaza
+      shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central location.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting,
+      before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a
+      spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of lazy
+      shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such placid,
+      lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their attitude so
+      swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for
+      an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them recognized
+      him, had a hint of his identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Buck Duane,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I saw that placard&mdash;out there on a
+      sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
+      see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
+      he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was simple
+      enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were tears in his
+      eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to
+      his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate. This
+      ignominy was the last straw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among these
+      villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the shuffle of
+      rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked his gun from its
+      holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf,
+      confronted him with his own gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!&rdquo; he roared, waving the gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
+      his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
+      not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt man,
+      and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy. He made
+      no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him,
+      emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of his
+      arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even if
+      Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from his
+      saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old men,
+      cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew. The
+      increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of girls
+      ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got to
+      Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of them
+      lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the
+      racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little time
+      before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up, will you-all?&rdquo; he was yelling. &ldquo;Give us a chance to hear
+      somethin'. Easy now&mdash;soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt.
+      Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
+      personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, put the gun down,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It might go off. Here, give it to me.
+      Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking
+      hand and pointed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet thar feller&mdash;he's Buck Duane!&rdquo; he panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!&rdquo; cried an
+      excited villager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane! Buck Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hang him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cowboy silenced these cries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?&rdquo; he asked, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;he said so,&rdquo; replied the man called Abe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; came the exclamation, incredulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a tarnal fact,&rdquo; panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was an
+      old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his deed.
+      &ldquo;He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off, says he
+      was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring as
+      the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had
+      restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope
+      over his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up with him!&rdquo; screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,&rdquo; ordered Abe's
+      interlocutor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former
+      statement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?&rdquo; bluntly
+      queried the cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;he set down thar&mdash;an' he kind of hid his face on his hand.
+      An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates
+      likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Buck Duane, all right.&rdquo; said Duane, quietly. &ldquo;It was this way&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left
+      his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out
+      in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out a
+      powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
+      ought to know that. You mean it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters?
+      Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad,
+      huh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a
+      little off his head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an'
+      all his doings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did.
+      That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward.
+      Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed
+      for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to
+      send for Jeff Aiken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?&rdquo;
+       queried the cowboy in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess that's it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or
+      what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen
+      him onct would never forget him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want to see Aiken for?&rdquo; asked the cowboy Sibert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I'm innocent, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you; what
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he won't believe me&mdash;why, then my case's so bad&mdash;I'd be
+      better off dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,&rdquo; replied a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out
+      above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a number
+      of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with hard faces,
+      like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these seemed
+      agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances
+      upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck. Women were
+      more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed
+      fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old women who
+      were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's
+      wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A
+      soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,&rdquo; called a man, loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart
+      build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Jeff,&rdquo; he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He spoke
+      so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's face.
+      At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken and Sibert
+      were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many
+      bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands&mdash;again the insane tumult was
+      about to break out&mdash;the demand for an outlaw's blood, the call for a
+      wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's bloody soil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat
+      and cuffed in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeff, will you listen?&rdquo; broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the other
+      man's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of
+      themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that
+      dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of
+      bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of death
+      he felt it then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure this 's your game, Aiken,&rdquo; said Sibert. &ldquo;But hear me a minute.
+      Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck Duane. He seen the
+      placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shirley. He says he's Buck
+      Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff Aiken. That's all clear enough. You know
+      how these gunfighters go lookin' for trouble. But here's what stumps me.
+      Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe Strickland grab his
+      gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives me some strange talk
+      about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's innocent, he'd better be
+      dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't drunk or crazy or locoed. He
+      doesn't strike me as a man who rode in here huntin' blood. So I reckon
+      you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his gaze
+      upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to passion.
+      Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have judge him in
+      a critical moment like this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's, &ldquo;I'm Buck
+      Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into outlawry.
+      I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed men to save my
+      own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode thirty miles
+      to-day&mdash;deliberately to see what this reward was, who made it, what
+      for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of my soul. So I
+      rode in here to find you&mdash;to tell you this: I never saw Shirley
+      before to-day. It was impossible for me to have&mdash;killed your wife.
+      Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper Nueces.
+      I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't murder a woman.
+      I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my hands. It's just
+      that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons you have for holding
+      me responsible. I only know&mdash;you're wrong. You've been deceived. And
+      see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man. I'm about broken, I
+      guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything. If you can't look me
+      in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I say&mdash;why, by God! you can
+      kill me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken heaved a great breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't matter.
+      You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear. The thing is
+      we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my wife's
+      assailant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody&mdash;you, Sibert&mdash;go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
+      voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he did
+      not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which might
+      be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image of
+      a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
+      Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then
+      he fetched her closer to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?&rdquo; asked Aiken, huskily
+      and low. &ldquo;Is he the one&mdash;who came in the house that day&mdash;struck
+      you down&mdash;and dragged mama&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken's voice failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
+      sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
+      moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence&mdash;of suspense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's ain't him!&rdquo; cried the child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
+      bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,&rdquo; burst out
+      the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. &ldquo;You-all are a lot of wise
+      rangers. Haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like again.
+      And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane's
+      named for&mdash;which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's his
+      hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the horse,
+      which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a lift as he
+      went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say&mdash;hit that road quick!&rdquo; he
+      said, frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they
+      escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn to
+      follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously
+      probably, he still held the gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, a word with you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I believe you're not so black as
+      you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this,
+      anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not,&rdquo; replied Duane, in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,&rdquo; went on Aiken, hurriedly.
+      &ldquo;He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him&mdash;argued
+      with him. We almost had hard words over it. Now&mdash;I'm sorry. The last
+      thing he said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my
+      camp after dark!' He meant something strange. What&mdash;I can't say. But
+      he was right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed
+      you. Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever.
+      Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics.
+      I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you further as he did
+      this day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long, Buck!&rdquo; called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over
+      his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the
+      sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of
+      decision in favor of that direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt up
+      Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain. In
+      Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out
+      of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be
+      Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village
+      limits on the other side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival.
+      Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared to
+      the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern Texas. As
+      Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street, he heard the
+      tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as
+      Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to
+      make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness.
+      Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a
+      grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding
+      darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+      horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who goes there?&rdquo; came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One man&mdash;alone,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm trying to find the ranger camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've struck it. What's your errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to see Captain MacNelly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can
+      see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He
+      saw a dully bright object&mdash;a gun&mdash;before he discovered the man
+      who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail.
+      Here Duane halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,&rdquo; the guard ordered,
+      curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light
+      from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business
+      with the Captain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp&mdash;after
+      dark,&rdquo; finally said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had
+      been alert, and now it became tense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, one of you men, quick,&rdquo; he called, without turning in the
+      least toward the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! What's up, Pickens?&rdquo; came the swift reply. It was followed by a
+      rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
+      the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
+      Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
+      second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peaceful&mdash;friendly
+      if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come here&mdash;after dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the
+      camp-fire heard what he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,&rdquo; replied an authoritative voice.
+      Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
+      camp-fire and hurried out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better be foxy, Cap,&rdquo; shouted a ranger, in warning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up&mdash;all of you,&rdquo; was the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers who
+      were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm MacNelly,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you're my man, don't mention your name&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
+      happened lately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met Jeff Aiken to-day,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;He sent me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've met Aiken!&rdquo; exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. &ldquo;By all that's
+      bully!&rdquo; Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers slowly withdrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane! It's you?&rdquo; he whispered, eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I give my word you'll not be arrested&mdash;you'll be treated fairly&mdash;will
+      you come into camp and consult with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,&rdquo; went on MacNelly; and he extended his
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand
+      and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet
+      you,&rdquo; said Duane, soberly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
+      present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pickers, go back on duty,&rdquo; he ordered, &ldquo;and, Beeson, you look after this
+      horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
+      the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
+      the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small
+      adobe house at one side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk,&rdquo; said
+      MacNelly. &ldquo;I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
+      hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
+      before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way he could
+      account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that MacNelly hoped
+      to get useful information out of him. Still that would hardly have made
+      this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and Duane could scarcely
+      wait for it to be solved. While eating he had bent keen eyes around him.
+      After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no more attention
+      to him. They were all veterans in service&mdash;Duane saw that&mdash;and
+      rugged, powerful men of iron constitution. Despite the occasional joke and
+      sally of the more youthful members, and a general conversation of
+      camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about the fact that his advent
+      had been an unusual and striking one, which had caused an undercurrent of
+      conjecture and even consternation among them. These rangers were too well
+      trained to appear openly curious about their captain's guest. If they had
+      not deliberately attempted to be oblivious of his presence Duane would
+      have concluded they thought him an ordinary visitor, somehow of use to
+      MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense that must have been due to a
+      hint of his identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in and have a chair,&rdquo; said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
+      occupant of the room to rise. &ldquo;Leave us, Russell, and close the door. I'll
+      be through these reports right off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen in
+      the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
+      dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong, yet
+      not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers, fussed
+      with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up he pushed
+      a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to smoke he took a
+      cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then, settling back in
+      his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to hide what must have
+      been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years,&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane smiled a little&mdash;a smile that felt strange on his face. He had
+      never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more than ordinarily
+      difficult.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly must have felt that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
+      changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've lots to say, but where to begin,&rdquo; he mused. &ldquo;Duane, you've had a
+      hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met you before, don't know
+      what you looked like as a boy. But I can see what&mdash;well, even ranger
+      life isn't all roses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?&rdquo; he asked, abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never a word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not one,&rdquo; replied Duane, sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately your
+      mother, sister, uncle&mdash;all your folks, I believe&mdash;were well.
+      I've kept posted. But haven't heard lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his
+      throat, and then said, &ldquo;It's worth what I went through to-day to hear
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war&mdash;but
+      let's get down to the business of this meeting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to see
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three times, I remember,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't you hunt me up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take a
+      dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was natural, I suppose,&rdquo; went on MacNelly. &ldquo;You didn't know me,
+      otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you. But
+      the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious. Duane,
+      you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border.
+      But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his
+      infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also. But I've found hundreds of men
+      in southwest Texas who're your friends, who swear you never committed a
+      crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes. What I want to
+      know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal? Tell me the
+      truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan. And when I say
+      crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable Texan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That way my hands are clean,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when you
+      needed him bad&mdash;never anything like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I'm damn glad!&rdquo; MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. &ldquo;Glad
+      for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
+      Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
+      existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
+      probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what kept me on the dodge all these years,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo; MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and glittered.
+      The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned closer to
+      Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to this,&rdquo; he whispered, hoarsely. &ldquo;If I place a pardon in your
+      hand&mdash;make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
+      infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you&mdash;will you swear
+      yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
+      MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; burst from Duane. &ldquo;What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
+      earnest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
+      do you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
+      outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
+      Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
+      fugitive mounting assurance of victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
+      sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness. He
+      held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men unconsciously
+      give in moments of stress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
+      fumbled for another cigar&mdash;he had bitten the other into shreds&mdash;and,
+      lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He had
+      the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable cost. His
+      next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and extract from
+      it several folded papers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's your pardon from the Governor,&rdquo; he said, quietly. &ldquo;You'll see,
+      when you look it over, that it's conditional. When you sign this paper I
+      have here the condition will be met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along a
+      dotted line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It was
+      with difficulty that he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane&mdash;how
+      strange the name looked!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gunfighter,&rdquo; said
+      MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane's fingers and
+      wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. Then with a smile he
+      handed it to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's it!&rdquo; burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+      bewilderment. &ldquo;You want me for ranger service?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. That's it,&rdquo; replied the Captain, dryly. &ldquo;Now to hear what that
+      service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as you
+      may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you that
+      political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a good
+      deal of friction in the Department of State in regard to whether or not
+      the ranger service is any good&mdash;whether it should be discontinued or
+      not. I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I contend
+      that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce
+      results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break up
+      the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there yet
+      because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant I needed. You, of course,
+      are the man I had in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio Grande and
+      begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw of the times.
+      He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang who are operating on
+      the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's my private opinion, but it's
+      not been backed up by any evidence. Cheseldine doesn't leave evidences.
+      He's intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have seen him&mdash;to know
+      what he looks like. I assume, of course, that you are a stranger to the
+      country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of your ground. There's
+      a little town over there called Fairdale. It's the nest of a rustler gang.
+      They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who the leader is. I want you
+      to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is best you will proceed to act
+      upon. You are your own boss. You know such men and how they can be
+      approached. You will take all the time needed, if it's months. It will be
+      necessary for you to communicate with me, and that will be a difficult
+      matter. For Cheseldine dominates several whole counties. You must find
+      some way to let me know when I and my rangers are needed. The plan is to
+      break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest job on the border. Arresting
+      him alone isn't to be heard of. He couldn't be brought out. Killing him
+      isn't much better, for his select men, the ones he operates with, are as
+      dangerous to the community as he is. We want to kill or jail this choice
+      selection of robbers and break up the rest of the gang. To find them, to
+      get among them somehow, to learn their movements, to lay your trap for us
+      rangers to spring&mdash;that, Duane, is your service to me, and God knows
+      it's a great one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have accepted it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no one
+      except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off the job.
+      You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to acquaint Texas
+      with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's no date on that
+      paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the service. Perhaps we
+      can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry has really been good
+      service to the state. At that, I'll believe it'll turn out so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his
+      brows together in a dark frown, and went on. &ldquo;No man on the border knows
+      so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a thousand to one
+      that you'll be killed. I'd say there was no chance at all for any other
+      man beside you. Your reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe that
+      and your nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping so. But
+      it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's not the point,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;But in case I get killed out there&mdash;what&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave that to me,&rdquo; interrupted Captain MacNelly. &ldquo;Your folks will know at
+      once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you lose your life out there
+      I'll see your name cleared&mdash;the service you render known. You can
+      rest assured of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am satisfied,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;That's so much more than I've dared to
+      hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll start
+      as soon as you like&mdash;the sooner the better. I hope to think of other
+      suggestions, especially about communicating with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased round
+      the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring into the blackness,
+      marveling over the strange events of the day. He was humble, grateful to
+      the depths of his soul. A huge and crushing burden had been lifted from
+      his heart. He welcomed this hazardous service to the man who had saved
+      him. Thought of his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his home, of old
+      friends came rushing over him the first time in years that he had
+      happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them would now be
+      removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life of the past, and its
+      probable tragic end in future service as atonement changed their aspects.
+      And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming the
+      vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated in the
+      blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to
+      breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting and
+      stamping of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out of his blankets
+      and made good use of the soap and towel and razor and brush near by on a
+      bench&mdash;things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The face he
+      saw in the mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so hard to
+      recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the
+      ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fellows,&rdquo; said MacNelly, &ldquo;shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret
+      ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you all hump soon! Mind
+      you, keep mum about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth of which
+      he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their
+      ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain
+      hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in their
+      welcome to show Duane their respect and appreciation, while not forgetting
+      his lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that circle, now one
+      of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike straight
+      for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then go to Valentine.
+      That's near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge of the Rim
+      Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the north is
+      the town Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the rocks. Only
+      after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border towns on his
+      staff, or scared of him, and these places we want to know about,
+      especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin. I don't have
+      to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Ride a hundred, two
+      hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll start at once,&rdquo; he said, extending his hand to the Captain. &ldquo;I wish&mdash;I'd
+      like to thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hell, man! Don't thank me!&rdquo; replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered
+      hand. &ldquo;I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're
+      another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by
+      Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing. No,
+      not good-by&mdash;Adios, Duane! May we meet again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      BOOK II. THE RANGER
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region, barren in the
+      north where the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile in the
+      south along the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course across
+      five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and towns lay on
+      or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western Texas, and
+      despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the pioneers
+      pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; then his
+      neighbors in near and far valleys; then the hamlets; at last the railroad
+      and the towns. And still the pioneers came, spreading deeper into the
+      valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was mesquite-dotted,
+      cactus-covered desert, but rich soil upon which water acted like magic.
+      There was little grass to an acre, but there were millions of acres. The
+      climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and ranchers prospered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a
+      thousand miles, and then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north, to
+      make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut across
+      this bend, and all that country bounded on the north by the railroad and
+      on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains. It contained
+      not one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as if to isolate it,
+      stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount Ord, Cathedral Mount, and
+      Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks above their fellows. In the valleys of
+      the foothills and out across the plains were ranches, and farther north
+      villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas was a
+      world in itself&mdash;a world where the riches of the rancher were ever
+      enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this
+      outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the dark
+      peak that loomed some miles to the south. It had been settled originally
+      by Mexicans&mdash;there were still the ruins of adobe missions&mdash;but
+      with the advent of the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants were shot or
+      driven away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and evil sway there
+      were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their choice between
+      holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or furnishing target practice for
+      that wild element.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in a
+      community where all men were remarkable for one reason or another he
+      excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and most engaging
+      attention&mdash;horses in that region being apparently more important than
+      men. This particular horse did not attract with beauty. At first glance he
+      seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough despite the care
+      manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body, ponderous of limb, huge in
+      every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand head. True, if only
+      his head had been seen he would have been a beautiful horse. Like men,
+      horses show what they are in the shape, the size, the line, the character
+      of the head. This one denoted fire, speed, blood, loyalty, and his eyes
+      were as soft and dark as a woman's. His face was solid black, except in
+      the middle of his forehead, where there was a round spot of white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?&rdquo; asked a ragged urchin, with born
+      love of a horse in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bullet,&rdquo; replied the rider.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?&rdquo; whispered the youngster to
+      another. &ldquo;Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican make, a
+      lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a tarpaulin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his horse. His
+      apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without vanity, and it was
+      torn and travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an intimate
+      acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, this man was a giant in stature,
+      but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking thing about
+      him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair white over the
+      temples. He packed two guns, both low down&mdash;but that was too common a
+      thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer, however, would
+      have noted a singular fact&mdash;this rider's right hand was more bronzed,
+      more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove on that right
+      hand!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide,
+      high-boarded front the sign, &ldquo;Hotel.&rdquo; There were horsemen coming and going
+      down the wide street between its rows of old stores, saloons, and houses.
+      Ord certainly did not look enterprising. Americans had manifestly
+      assimilated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel had a wide
+      platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk. Upon it, and
+      leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages, most of them
+      slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were booted, belted,
+      and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all wore vests. The guns in
+      that group would have outnumbered the men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature did not
+      appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and boisterous kind natural
+      to the cowboy or rancher in town for a day. These men were idlers; what
+      else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this arriving
+      stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an atmosphere never
+      associated with work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely detached
+      himself from the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, stranger,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and
+      nodded. Then: &ldquo;I'm thirsty!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting. One
+      and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark,
+      ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head. A
+      bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Line up, gents,&rdquo; said the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and oaths
+      and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear so
+      thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the
+      motions, he did not drink at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Jim Fletcher,&rdquo; said the tall man with the drooping, sandy
+      mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that showed
+      he expected to be known. Something went with that name. The stranger did
+      not appear to be impressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name might be Blazes, but it ain't,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;What do you call
+      this burg?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes, clear as
+      crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded
+      close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise,
+      according to how the tall interrogator marked the new-comer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it?
+      Funny trails hereabouts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How fur was you goin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I was goin' as far as I could,&rdquo; replied the stranger, with a
+      hard laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the men
+      exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed
+      thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place,&rdquo; he said, presently. &ldquo;Sure you've heerd
+      of the Big Bend country?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it,&rdquo; replied the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. &ldquo;Knell, come
+      in heah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than a
+      boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless
+      face, thin and sharp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell, this heah's&mdash;&rdquo; Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. &ldquo;What'd you
+      call yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless,
+      indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present knew, that this show
+      of Fletcher's, this pretense of introduction, was merely talk while he was
+      looked over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+      relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than he had
+      appeared upon the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any business here?&rdquo; he queried, curtly. When he spoke his expressionless
+      face was in strange contrast with the ring, the quality, the cruelty of
+      his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of friendliness, of
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; replied the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Know anybody hereabouts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nary one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jest ridin' through?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slopin' fer back country, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and
+      drew himself up disdainfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down here in
+      this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes&mdash;I am in on the
+      dodge,&rdquo; he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From west of Ord&mdash;out El Paso way, mebbe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A-huh! Thet so?&rdquo; Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. &ldquo;You're
+      from way down the river. Thet's what they say down there&mdash;'on the
+      dodge.'... Stranger, you're a liar!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving Knell
+      and the stranger in the center.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve.
+      Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger
+      suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before
+      manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him.
+      His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a compass-needle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I lied,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;so I ain't takin' offense at the way you called
+      me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one
+      of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are&mdash;go
+      ahead an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers
+      till they go fer theirs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the
+      least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here was metal which
+      rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight or
+      withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner
+      characteristic of only the genuine gunman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, I pass,&rdquo; he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the
+      incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger, and
+      now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again&mdash;an' if you can't be
+      friendly, be careful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El Paso he
+      bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise outfitted
+      to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely he rode from town
+      to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk and his
+      occupation to the impression he wanted to make upon different people whom
+      he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman, a stock-buyer, a
+      boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the wild and
+      inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting into new
+      territory. He passed on leisurely because he wanted to learn the lay of
+      the country, the location of villages and ranches, the work, habit,
+      gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he came in contact.
+      The one subject most impelling to him&mdash;outlaws&mdash;he never
+      mentioned; but by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and cattle
+      story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In this game
+      time was of no moment; if necessary he would take years to accomplish his
+      task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it showed in the slow, wary
+      preparation. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced Knell he knew he had
+      reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on the fringe of the grazing
+      country, of doubtful honesty, from which, surely, winding trails led down
+      into that free and never-disturbed paradise of outlaws&mdash;the Big Bend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and several
+      other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and then, after having a
+      care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to a grove he
+      had marked, and there, well hidden, he prepared to spend the night. This
+      proceeding served a double purpose&mdash;he was safer, and the habit would
+      look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to see in him
+      the lone-wolf fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned
+      victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been; but
+      the inner life had tremendously changed. He could never become a happy
+      man, he could never shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had once
+      been his despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible for any
+      man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow strangely and
+      wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness of how
+      passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his former
+      infamy. The iron fetters no more threatened his hands; the iron door no
+      more haunted his dreams. He never forgot that he was free. Strangely, too,
+      along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force of
+      imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms. He never
+      called them outlaws&mdash;but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers,
+      criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, and
+      sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in
+      this ranger service, it was the old, terrible inherited killing instinct
+      lifting its hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure. He
+      dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving, yet
+      not improbably even more potent of new significance to life, was the
+      imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him from
+      place to place, to beat and spur and goad mercilessly in flight; now this
+      giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend, a brother,
+      a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden with an
+      intense appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years the
+      daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the ruddy
+      close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or willow brake
+      or deserted hut, had been hated because it augmented danger of pursuit,
+      because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding; now the dawn was
+      a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan, to remember, and
+      sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky&mdash;all were joys to him, somehow speaking
+      his freedom. For years the night had been a black space, during which he
+      had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to peer with cat-eyes through
+      gloom for the moving shape that ever pursued him; now the twilight and the
+      dusk and the shadows of grove and canyon darkened into night with its train
+      of stars, and brought him calm reflection of the day's happenings, of the
+      morrow's possibilities, perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old
+      phantoms, then sleep. For years canyons and valleys and mountains had been
+      looked at as retreats that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an
+      outlaw; now he saw these features of the great desert with something of
+      the eyes of the boy who had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against
+      the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared
+      itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder that
+      Duane gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in its corrugated
+      sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret stronghold of the
+      master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane had
+      heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, his
+      widely separated raids, of his flitting here and there like a
+      Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his
+      appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north,
+      riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been used
+      occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west, this
+      northern direction led him into totally unfamiliar country. While he
+      passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the future
+      he would know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced that way
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills gradually
+      leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing country, upon which till
+      noon of that day Duane did not see a herd of cattle or a ranch. About that
+      time he made out smoke from the railroad, and after a couple of hours'
+      riding he entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford. It was
+      the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated must have a
+      thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including Mexicans. He
+      decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for a while, being
+      the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he hitched his horse in
+      front of a store and leisurely set about studying Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions concerning
+      Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one long row of
+      saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane visited them
+      all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to that of the
+      old river camp of Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was forced upon
+      him that the farther west one traveled along the river the sparser the
+      respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard characters, and in
+      consequence the greater the element of lawlessness. Duane returned to his
+      lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's task of cleaning up the
+      Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he reflected, a company of
+      intrepid and quick-shooting rangers could have soon cleaned up this
+      Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and
+      wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had
+      penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning toward
+      companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel
+      Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no
+      comment about himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, it's all one to me,&rdquo; he said, blandly, waving his hand. &ldquo;I have
+      traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier and
+      just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion. You
+      might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El
+      Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not
+      have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was a
+      good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out
+      to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had
+      been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,&rdquo; said Colonel Webb. &ldquo;And
+      I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't want to
+      expiate my sins there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Colonel swore lustily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was
+      wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun, and
+      he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work to
+      offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws
+      alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs,
+      sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know anything about the service?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of men,
+      sir, and the salvation of Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice for
+      a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a while, and
+      of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit
+      from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that here was just the
+      kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen that he had been trying
+      to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to be agreeable and interesting;
+      and he saw presently that here was an opportunity to make a valuable
+      acquaintance, if not a friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a stranger in these parts,&rdquo; said Duane, finally. &ldquo;What is this outlaw
+      situation you speak of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just
+      wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
+      honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know, the
+      rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to get
+      rid of big bunches&mdash;that's the hard job. The gang operating between
+      here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where the
+      stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of it goes to
+      several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New Orleans, also
+      to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and Marfa and
+      Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray cattle out
+      in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and stragglers are
+      not rounded up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wholesale business, eh?&rdquo; remarked Duane. &ldquo;Who are these&mdash;er&mdash;big
+      stock-buyers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
+      penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
+      accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
+      freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
+      subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that any
+      man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
+      Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
+      person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine, and
+      those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in descriptions
+      of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to the outlaw only
+      further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as there was no one
+      who could identify him, so there was no one who could prove he had
+      actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the Big Bend country,
+      and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact remained there were no
+      eye-witnesses to connect any individual called Cheseldine with these deeds
+      of violence. But in striking contrast to this mystery was the person,
+      character, and cold-blooded action of Poggin and Knell, the chief's
+      lieutenants. They were familiar figures in all the towns within two
+      hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record, but as gunman with an
+      incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme. If Poggin had a friend no
+      one ever heard of him. There were a hundred stories of his nerve, his
+      wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for gambling, his love of a horse&mdash;his
+      cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out of his path any man that crossed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name,&rdquo; said Colonel Webb. &ldquo;Sometimes I
+      wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where does the brains of this
+      gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this border
+      pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and Knell. Of
+      all the thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the last twenty
+      years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down between the
+      Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many bad men. But I
+      doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane, ever equaled
+      Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, a little,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly. &ldquo;I'm from southern Texas. Buck
+      Duane then is known out here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, man, where isn't his name known?&rdquo; returned Colonel Webb. &ldquo;I've kept
+      track of his record as I have all the others. Of course, Duane, being a
+      lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like Cheseldine. Out
+      here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible some of them. But
+      despite them a sort of romance clings to that Nueces outlaw. He's killed
+      three great outlaw leaders, I believe&mdash;Bland, Hardin, and the other I
+      forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had friends there. Bland had a
+      hard name at Del Rio.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?&rdquo;
+       inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men. I
+      understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties swear by him&mdash;secretly,
+      of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his head. His fame in
+      this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play and his enmity
+      toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I wish to God that
+      Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred pesos to see him and
+      Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how jealous these great
+      outlaws are of each other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed, all about them is singular,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Has
+      Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's
+      unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock that's being
+      shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,
+      too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not heard
+      of at all for a spell. These lulls are pretty surely indicative of a big
+      storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer and
+      farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some people
+      who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the bank-robberies and
+      train-holdups during the last few years in this country. But that's poor
+      reasoning. The jobs have been too well done, too surely covered, to be the
+      work of greasers or ordinary outlaws.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will
+      the outlaw ever be driven out?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All the armies
+      in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that fifteen hundred miles
+      of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is enjoyed by these great
+      leaders, will sooner or later be past. The criminal element flock to the
+      Southwest. But not so thick and fast as the pioneers. Besides, the outlaws
+      kill themselves, and the ranchers are slowly rising in wrath, if not in
+      action. That will come soon. If they only had a leader to start the fight!
+      But that will come. There's talk of Vigilantes, the same hat were
+      organized in California and are now in force in Idaho. So far it's only
+      talk. But the time will come. And the days of Cheseldine and Poggin are
+      numbered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long trail was
+      growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new ideas. It came to
+      Duane in surprise that he was famous along the upper Rio Grande. Assuredly
+      he would not long be able to conceal his identity. He had no doubt that he
+      would soon meet the chiefs of this clever and bold rustling gang. He could
+      not decide whether he would be safer unknown or known. In the latter case
+      his one chance lay in the fatality connected with his name, in his power
+      to look it and act it. Duane had never dreamed of any sleuth-hound
+      tendency in his nature, but now he felt something like one. Above all
+      others his mind fixed on Poggin&mdash;Poggin the brute, the executor of
+      Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the gunman. This in itself was a
+      warning to Duane. He felt terrible forces at work within him. There was
+      the stern and indomitable resolve to make MacNelly's boast good to the
+      governor of the state&mdash;to break up Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was
+      not in Duane's mind before a strange grim and deadly instinct&mdash;which
+      he had to drive away for fear he would find in it a passion to kill
+      Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word to MacNelly, but for himself.
+      Had his father's blood and the hard years made Duane the kind of man who
+      instinctively wanted to meet Poggin? He was sworn to MacNelly's service,
+      and he fought himself to keep that, and that only, in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from Bradford
+      toward the north. There was a stage which made the journey twice a week.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale. He rode
+      leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the country. There
+      were few ranches. The farther he traveled the better grazing he
+      encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer herds of cattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that marked
+      the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had learned,
+      was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number of
+      loungers greeted him laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beat the stage in, hey?&rdquo; remarked one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There she comes now,&rdquo; said another. &ldquo;Joel shore is drivin' to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a lumbering
+      coach. When he had looked after the needs of his horse he returned to the
+      group before the inn. They awaited the stage with that interest common to
+      isolated people. Presently it rolled up, a large mud-bespattered and dusty
+      vehicle, littered with baggage on top and tied on behind. A number of
+      passengers alighted, three of whom excited Duane's interest. One was a
+      tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the other two were ladies, wearing
+      long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard the proprietor of the inn address
+      the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as the party entered the inn Duane's
+      quick ears caught a few words which acquainted him with the fact that
+      Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready. At
+      table he found himself opposite the three who had attracted his attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,&rdquo; Longstreth was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm crazy to ride bronchos,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other girl's deep
+      voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had beauty as
+      he had never seen it in another woman. She was slender, but the
+      development of her figure gave Duane the impression she was twenty years
+      old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen. She did
+      not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She looked tired,
+      quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face; clear, olive-tinted
+      skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal, beautiful to look into;
+      a slender, straight nose that had something nervous and delicate about it
+      which made Duane think of a thoroughbred; and a mouth by no means small,
+      but perfectly curved; and hair like jet&mdash;all these features
+      proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed her a descendant of one of
+      the old French families of eastern Texas. He was sure of it when she
+      looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent gaze. There were pride,
+      fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt himself blushing in confusion.
+      His stare at her had been rude, perhaps, but unconscious. How many years
+      had passed since he had seen a girl like her! Thereafter he kept his eyes
+      upon his plate, yet he seemed to be aware that he had aroused the interest
+      of both girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open fire
+      place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow. Duane
+      took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper, began to read.
+      Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced men, strangers who had
+      not appeared before, and were peering in from a doorway. When they saw
+      Duane had observed them they stepped back out of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas in
+      the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded. Duane
+      pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men. The
+      doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
+      dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks to
+      the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
+      whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
+      outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect, it
+      was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on the
+      border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character, or at
+      least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these strangers
+      were dishonest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey somethin'?&rdquo; one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thanks, I don't drink,&rdquo; Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
+      with interest. &ldquo;How's tricks in the Big Bend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to recognize a
+      type of ruffian most frequently met along the river. These strangers had
+      that stamp, and their surprise proved he was right. Here the innkeeper
+      showed signs of uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his customers. No
+      more was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, boss, do you know those fellows?&rdquo; Duane asked the innkeeper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which way did they come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today,&rdquo; he
+      replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked at Duane. &ldquo;They
+      nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the
+      stage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was absent,
+      also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had
+      vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss Longstreth. Duane went
+      directly to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; said Duane, addressing them. &ldquo;I want to tell you there are a
+      couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen them. They mean evil.
+      Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors&mdash;bar your windows
+      to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Ruth, very low. &ldquo;Ray, do you hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; we'll be careful,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The rich
+      color had faded in her cheek. &ldquo;I saw those men watching you from that
+      door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really danger&mdash;here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so,&rdquo; was Duane's reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His
+      hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into her
+      chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls were
+      staring at some one behind Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn around!&rdquo; ordered the harsh voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade
+      in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked
+      gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him,
+      and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out his
+      roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and took
+      it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another weapon.
+      That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish satisfaction
+      that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of
+      game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who
+      stood there frightened, speechless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git a move on, Bill,&rdquo; called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance
+      backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had
+      horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with
+      brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to
+      search them. The robber in the doorway called &ldquo;Rustle!&rdquo; and disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the
+      other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his
+      searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well
+      remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle,
+      stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his
+      bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched,
+      but the little girl appeared about to faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't yap, there!&rdquo; he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to
+      Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a
+      plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold
+      glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in his
+      pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any money, jewelry, diamonds!&rdquo; ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with her
+      hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to mean that
+      she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had instinctively
+      pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come out with it!&rdquo; he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't dare touch me!&rdquo; she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She
+      had nerve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had
+      been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted, and
+      that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped Duane,
+      yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man made at
+      her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull ripped it
+      asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not shaken
+      Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half her waist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself he
+      could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held
+      dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow
+      made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a
+      magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He
+      bellowed something again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It was a kind
+      of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot Longstreth.
+      Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth's torn waist loosened its
+      hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped till it pointed
+      to the floor. That was Duane's chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and he
+      could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into the
+      ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood
+      spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small
+      bullet had glanced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported her.
+      It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half carried
+      her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through the bar to
+      the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled
+      horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot. His comrade
+      had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a condition
+      approaching pandemonium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out at
+      the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel, the
+      stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The woman,
+      wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The girls were
+      still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and Duane
+      guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing that
+      struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such passion.
+      Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a quieter
+      moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear
+      to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them fellers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ought to kill you anyhow!&rdquo; replied Longstreth. And his voice now
+      astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber's
+      temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed,
+      had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of
+      returning consciousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drag him out of here!&rdquo; ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and
+      gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other men.
+      Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay
+      Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane did
+      not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very still,
+      with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, now that
+      he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and kind. He
+      talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, said she must
+      learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I be of any service?&rdquo; asked Duane, solicitously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened
+      girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,&rdquo; he
+      replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he went
+      out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the
+      other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange
+      thrill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved my life,&rdquo; she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; Duane exclaimed. &ldquo;He might have struck you, hurt you, but no
+      more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I
+      couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was in
+      peril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you kill him?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no. He's not badly hurt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm very glad he's alive,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My intention was bad enough,&rdquo; Duane went on. &ldquo;It was a ticklish place for
+      me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go off.
+      Fool careless he was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you say you didn't save me,&rdquo; Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let it go at that,&rdquo; Duane responded. &ldquo;I saved you something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me all about it?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of
+      view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of nothing&mdash;watching
+      for nothing except a little moment when you might draw your gun?&rdquo; asked
+      Miss Ruth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess that's about it,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, &ldquo;it was fortunate for us
+      that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts&mdash;laughs at
+      danger. He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it
+      came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go with us all the way to Fairdale&mdash;please?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth,
+      sweetly offering her hand. &ldquo;I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray
+      Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm traveling that way,&rdquo; replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not
+      know how to meet the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night,
+      which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls, he
+      led them away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured
+      robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he was
+      gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said that he
+      left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had he come to?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. He asked for whisky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say anything else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Colonel Longstreth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame
+      fer that two-bit of a hold-up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you make of the old gent's rage?&rdquo; asked Duane, watching the
+      innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane
+      believed in his honesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's either
+      crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More nerve, maybe,&rdquo; Duane replied. &ldquo;Show me a bed now, innkeeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the several
+      events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup and
+      carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under circumstances
+      where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put
+      it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on the action of the
+      robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian,
+      as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encountered, had, from some
+      cause or other, been startled. From whatever point Duane viewed the man's
+      strange indecision he could come to only one conclusion&mdash;his start,
+      his check, his fear had been that of recognition. Duane compared this
+      effect with the suddenly acquired sense he had gotten of Colonel
+      Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that desperate robber lowered
+      his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fairdale?
+      This was not answerable. There might have been a number of reasons, all to
+      Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane could not understand. Longstreth
+      had not appeared to see danger for his daughter, even though she had been
+      roughly handled, and had advanced in front of a cocked gun. Duane probed
+      deep into this singular fact, and he brought to bear on the thing all his
+      knowledge and experience of violent Texas life. And he found that the
+      instant Colonel Longstreth had appeared on the scene there was no further
+      danger threatening his daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not
+      answer. Then his rage, Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS
+      daughter being assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a
+      thought-disturber, but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more
+      careful consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It was
+      larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street and
+      back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and
+      dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane
+      heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake hands
+      with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he spoke with
+      force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The fellow laughed,
+      yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly he espied Miss
+      Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his sombrero. Duane went
+      closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, did you come with the teams?&rdquo; asked Longstreth, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,&rdquo; was the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later.&rdquo; Then Longstreth turned to
+      his daughter. &ldquo;Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to
+      play with him ten years ago&mdash;Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter&mdash;and
+      my niece, Ruth Herbert.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game
+      to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant
+      personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples&mdash;dark, smooth-shaven,
+      with lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
+      strong and bitter, and a square chin&mdash;a reckless, careless, handsome,
+      sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace of a
+      gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice. Duane
+      doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to the
+      frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not quite
+      effaced the mark of good family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter
+      and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this
+      meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready
+      for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a
+      wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To
+      the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday, and
+      to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. The
+      driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered ground
+      rapidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the
+      horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to cowboys
+      who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster of adobe and
+      stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named
+      after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few
+      ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
+      patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
+      sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization
+      than its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast
+      western third of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to
+      settle there and establish places like Fairdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's ranch.
+      The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and it was
+      not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the town. It
+      was a low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and covered
+      what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about it,
+      except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed gray
+      and red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the town
+      with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The street
+      he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was a solid
+      row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched all along
+      the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here and there
+      breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other frontier
+      towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the afternoon
+      was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his horse.
+      Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject
+      most in mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he has,&rdquo; replied the lad. &ldquo;Doan know how many cowboys. They're
+      always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much movement of stock these days?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stock's always movin',&rdquo; he replied, with a queer look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rustlers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lively place, I hear&mdash;Fairdale is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who
+      were arrested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins&mdash;they
+      belong heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk into
+      other channels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
+      darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
+      watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
+      rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
+      ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going&mdash;a
+      dusty-booted crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a
+      while, with wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most
+      of the guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted
+      by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up by
+      tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
+      southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
+      some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for a
+      while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+      conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
+      conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, what's the stranger's name?&rdquo; asked one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He didn't say,&rdquo; replied the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
+      cattleman, him. How'd you size him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a
+      man for years&mdash;to kill him when he found him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin' for
+      Long&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'S&mdash;sh!&rdquo; interrupted Laramie. &ldquo;You must be half drunk, to go talkie'
+      that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and
+      presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself
+      agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not
+      communicative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's
+      visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane
+      inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong
+      about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was
+      a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper
+      Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that
+      night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of her&mdash;how
+      strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him remember that
+      long-past time when girls had been a part of his life. What a sad and dark
+      and endless void lay between that past and the present! He had no right
+      even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray Longstreth. That conviction,
+      however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed perversely to make her grow
+      more fascinating. Duane grew conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger,
+      a something that was like a pang in his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to the
+      taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented himself
+      with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he decided
+      Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the
+      track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much the same
+      way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. The
+      innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that. He would
+      answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn that
+      Laramie had seen better days&mdash;that he was now broken, bitter, and
+      hard. Some one had wronged him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to
+      Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the stores
+      unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to find out
+      that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling, drinking, and
+      fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town
+      full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in any place Duane
+      had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon that spoke forcibly of
+      easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided that Sanderson, Bradford, and
+      Ord were but notorious outposts to this Fairdale, which was a secret
+      center of rustlers and outlaws. And what struck Duane strangest of all was
+      the fact that Longstreth was mayor here and held court daily. Duane knew
+      intuitively, before a chance remark gave him proof, that this court was a
+      sham, a farce. And he wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his
+      was equivalent to suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached
+      himself. Then he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter.
+      Inquiry had brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live
+      with her father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana,
+      where his family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich
+      rancher; he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large
+      scale. Floyd Lawson was his lieutenant and associate in deals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he returned
+      to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed to have a
+      rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside Laramie was
+      lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to
+      be dangerously hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,&rdquo; said Laramie,
+      laboring to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you hurt much?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before
+      without that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll take a look after Bo,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of the town. He
+      did not see any one he could take for the innkeeper's assailant. Then he
+      looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow about a block away,
+      hurrying along and gazing back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him. Snecker broke
+      into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him. There were two motives in
+      Duane's action&mdash;one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend
+      of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained rapidly
+      upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get out of sight.
+      Then he took to the open country and ran straight for the green hill where
+      Longstreth's house stood. Duane had almost caught Snecker when he reached
+      the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him. But Duane kept him in sight,
+      in the shade, on the paths, and up the road into the courtyard, and he saw
+      Snecker go straight for Longstreth's house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He did not
+      stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate had directed him to
+      the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane entered the first open door on
+      that side of the court. It opened into a corridor which led into a plaza.
+      It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in the
+      center. Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+      Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was giving a little
+      party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the porch
+      roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably, expressing amazement,
+      consternation, then fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her dress. The
+      young women present stared in astonishment, if they were not equally
+      perturbed. There were cowboys present who suddenly grew intent and still.
+      By these things Duane gathered that his appearance must be disconcerting.
+      He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His big gun-sheath showed plainly
+      at his hip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was
+      plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no one but her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth&mdash;I came&mdash;to search&mdash;your house,&rdquo; panted
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he realized
+      that that should have been the last thing for him to say. He had
+      blundered. But he was not used to women, and this dark-eyed girl made him
+      thrill and his heart beat thickly and his wits go scattering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Search my house!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the white
+      in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry. &ldquo;What for? Why, how dare
+      you! This is unwarrantable!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man&mdash;Bo Snecker&mdash;assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane, hurriedly. &ldquo;I chased Snecker here&mdash;saw him run into the
+      house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the absence
+      of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you to search.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray, don't be bothered now,&rdquo; he said, to his cousin. &ldquo;This fellow's
+      making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you clear out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him,&rdquo; replied Duane,
+      quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah! That's all a bluff,&rdquo; sneered Lawson. &ldquo;I'm on to your game. You just
+      wanted an excuse to break in here&mdash;to see my cousin again. When you
+      saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the
+      worse for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he felt that he
+      was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable to put this Ray
+      Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her eyes now. And
+      somehow that checked his embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;I regret to say&mdash;I'll do so without your permission.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll not dare!&rdquo; she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, yes, I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; she demanded, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a Texas Ranger,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A TEXAS RANGER!&rdquo; she echoed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses,&rdquo; said Duane.
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your permission. A ruffian has
+      taken refuge here&mdash;in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere. May
+      I look for him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are indeed a ranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better
+      place for women and children. I don't wonder at your resentment. But to
+      doubt me&mdash;insult me. Some day you may be sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys
+      and go with this&mdash;this Texas Ranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. &ldquo;Perhaps you'll be able
+      to find Snecker quicker than I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he
+      was a man of fierce quick passions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't quarrel,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth. &ldquo;Floyd, you go with him. Please
+      hurry. I'll be nervous till&mdash;the man's found or you're sure there's
+      not one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They started with several cowboys to search the house. They went through
+      the rooms searching, calling out, peering into dark places. It struck
+      Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the calling. He was hurried,
+      too, tried to keep in the lead. Duane wondered if he knew his voice would
+      be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was Duane who
+      peered into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said &ldquo;Come out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He came forth into the flare&mdash;a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing
+      sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him before any of the others
+      could move and held the gun close enough to make him shrink. But he did
+      not impress Duane as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a
+      clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a shock. He
+      peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to him, then
+      into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld relief it was then.
+      That was all Duane needed to know, but he meant to find out more if he
+      could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who're you?&rdquo; asked Duane, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo Snecker,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you hide here for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He appeared to grow sullen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ranger, what'll you do with him?&rdquo; Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
+      the capture was made.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see to that,&rdquo; replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him
+      out into the court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
+      Longstreth in the court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men
+      there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane
+      had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near him sat
+      a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford Owens,
+      county judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with
+      a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a huge silver
+      shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs. There were four
+      other men whom Duane knew by sight, several whose faces were familiar, and
+      half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was
+      unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided,
+      and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored Duane gathered
+      that he had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you break in here for,&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?&rdquo; interrogated
+      Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his
+      intense interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've arrested a criminal,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arrested a criminal!&rdquo; ejaculated Longstreth. &ldquo;You? Who're you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a ranger,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A significant silence ensued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery&mdash;if
+      not murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it
+      keeps a record.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,&rdquo; said
+      Longstreth, gruffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had shuffled
+      forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but not the
+      boldness even of a rustler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It ain't so, Longstreth,&rdquo; he began, loudly. &ldquo;I went in Laramie's place
+      fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit
+      Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger
+      chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's
+      hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy
+      nodded his great bushy head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo, you're discharged,&rdquo; said Longstreth, bluntly. &ldquo;Now the rest of you
+      clear out of here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duane&mdash;his
+      slap in the face to an interfering ranger service. If Longstreth was
+      crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost decided he was
+      above suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his
+      authoritative assurance&mdash;these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes
+      were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his
+      mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin. In that momentary lull Duane's
+      scrutiny of Longstreth gathered an impression of the man's intense
+      curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of silence,
+      shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on!&rdquo; called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a
+      bullet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,&rdquo; said Duane, his voice still
+      ringing. &ldquo;What has the court to say to that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger
+      service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a lie, Longstreth,&rdquo; retorted Duane. &ldquo;I've letters from Fairdale
+      citizens all begging for ranger service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared
+      about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed black and
+      thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable
+      outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should
+      reasonably have had for anger. Longstreth shoved him back with a curse and
+      a warning glare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?&rdquo; shouted Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of the
+      power of Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had been
+      waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to force Longstreth's
+      hand and show the town his stand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane backed clear of everybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men! I call on you all!&rdquo; cried Duane, piercingly. &ldquo;I call on you to
+      witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by Longstreth, Mayor of
+      Fairdale. It will be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General at
+      Austin. Longstreth, you'll never prevent another arrest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, you've shown your hand,&rdquo; said Duane, in a voice that carried
+      far and held those who heard. &ldquo;Any honest citizen of Fairdale can now see
+      what's plain&mdash;yours is a damn poor hand! You're going to hear me call
+      a spade a spade. In the two years you've been Mayor you've never arrested
+      one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for rustlers! You've never
+      sent a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to Austin. You have no jail. There
+      have been nine murders during your office&mdash;innumerable street-fights
+      and holdups. Not one arrest! But you have ordered arrests for trivial
+      offenses, and have punished these out of all proportion. There have been
+      lawsuits in your court-suits over water-rights, cattle deals, property
+      lines. Strange how in these lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to
+      you were always involved! Strange how it seems the law was stretched to
+      favor your interest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both outside and
+      inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men.
+      Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he betray anything but rage at this
+      interloper?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale,&rdquo; went on Duane. &ldquo;I
+      don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say STRANGE! Law here has
+      been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to me&mdash;yet.
+      But I call your hand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down the
+      street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen
+      ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot
+      trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely that
+      Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting
+      eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of Ray
+      Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended. He
+      might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young woman.
+      The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him, and then he
+      was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the disgrace he
+      might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked inside Duane's
+      heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the
+      worse for his injury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Laramie?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected,&rdquo; replied Laramie. His
+      head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had
+      been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was a good crack Snecker gave you,&rdquo; remarked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't accusin' Bo,&rdquo; remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane
+      thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I accuse him. I caught him&mdash;took him to Longstreth's court.
+      But they let him go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Laramie,&rdquo; went on Duane, &ldquo;in some parts of Texas it's policy to
+      be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I want
+      you to know I lean on your side of the fence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his
+      gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but
+      even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out
+      of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough.
+      Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day.
+      It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale. I
+      was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
+      Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore&mdash;ha,
+      ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So
+      joint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He owns considerable property hereabouts,&rdquo; replied Laramie,
+      constrainedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town, you're
+      afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight, Laramie. I
+      don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause I'd throw a
+      gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk's cheap,&rdquo; replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red
+      was deeper in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I know that,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;And usually I don't talk. Then it's not
+      well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't
+      connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that we
+      don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them. But
+      Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope So
+      place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. &ldquo;Didn't
+      you hear I used to run it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Did you?&rdquo; Duane said, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
+      years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll be doggoned.&rdquo; It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised, and
+      with the surprise came a glimmering. &ldquo;I'm sorry you're not there now. Did
+      you sell out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Just lost the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie was bursting for relief now&mdash;to talk, to tell. Sympathy had
+      made him soft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was two years ago-two years last March,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I was in a big
+      cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock&mdash;an' my share, eighteen
+      hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come
+      to a lawsuit&mdash;an' I&mdash;was ruined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down his
+      cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. He had
+      failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had been swindled. All
+      that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had the man's spirit
+      not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now the secret of his
+      bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse Longstreth, the secret
+      of his reticence and fear&mdash;these Duane thought best to try to learn
+      at some later time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hard luck! It certainly was tough,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;But you're a good loser.
+      And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need your advice. I've
+      got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest some. Buy some
+      stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I want you to steer
+      me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of ranchers, if there
+      happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with ranchers who ride in
+      the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is full of them. Now,
+      Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must know a couple of men
+      above suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God I do,&rdquo; he replied, feelingly. &ldquo;Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my
+      friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You can
+      gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me&mdash;don't invest
+      money in stock now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker 'n
+      he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen&mdash;these are
+      easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy enough
+      pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't know
+      anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd fight
+      if they&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; Duane put in, as he paused. &ldquo;If they knew who was rustling the
+      stock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they had the nerve?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not thet so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then? What'd make them fight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A leader!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy thar, Jim,&rdquo; boomed a big voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Morton,&rdquo; replied Laramie. &ldquo;I'd introduce you to my guest here, but
+      I don't know his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Morton,&rdquo; put in Duane, &ldquo;Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good man
+      to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like to
+      invest it in stock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton smiled broadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm on the square,&rdquo; Duane said, bluntly. &ldquo;If you fellows never size up
+      your neighbors any better than you have sized me&mdash;well, you won't get
+      any richer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant with
+      meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith held
+      aloof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you
+      start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle
+      now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go back
+      across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had more'n
+      twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang
+      on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton,&rdquo; replied Duane, with
+      impatience. &ldquo;You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county.
+      Who heads the gang, anyway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his big
+      jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these
+      rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly
+      honest men&mdash;they CAN'T last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single steer
+      left,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one of
+      the rustlers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his
+      whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,
+      something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not so funny,&rdquo; Duane went on. &ldquo;If you're going to pretend a yellow
+      streak, what else will I think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretend?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different from those
+      in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand it's all
+      bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men around Fairdale
+      who're afraid of their shadows&mdash;afraid to be out after dark&mdash;afraid
+      to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you claim these
+      rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to help the
+      popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out here is some
+      new blood. Savvy what I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon I do,&rdquo; he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
+      him. &ldquo;Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I come to town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze fixed
+      again on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; he replied, speaking low. &ldquo;You've picked the right men. Now, who in
+      the hell are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the
+      lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object flashed as he shoved it,
+      pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;RANGER!&rdquo; he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. &ldquo;You sure rung
+      true to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers
+      hereabouts?&rdquo; asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him to come
+      sharp to the point. His voice&mdash;something deep, easy, cool about him&mdash;seemed
+      to steady Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does anybody know?&rdquo; went on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you have your suspicions?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons&mdash;the
+      regulars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jest a bad lot,&rdquo; replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of knowledge.
+      &ldquo;Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in. Some of them
+      work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob, anythin' for a
+      little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with
+      this gang here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever
+      seen Cheseldine&mdash;an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle
+      Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggin
+      doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around all
+      over west of the Pecos.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I'm puzzled over this,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Why do men&mdash;apparently
+      honest men&mdash;seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only
+      my impression?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a sure fact,&rdquo; replied Laramie, darkly. &ldquo;Men have lost cattle an'
+      property in Fairdale&mdash;lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been
+      proved. An' in some cases when they talked&mdash;hinted a little&mdash;they
+      was found dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't
+      talk! Thet's why we're close mouthed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not intolerable.
+      Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of the hordes of
+      rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret, murderous hold on
+      a little struggling community was something too strange, too terrible for
+      men to stand long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs interrupted
+      him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got down. Floyd Lawson
+      entered. He called for tobacco.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence. But Lawson
+      showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from the
+      eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leaned
+      easily against the counter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, that was a bad break of yours,&rdquo; Lawson said. &ldquo;If you come fooling
+      round the ranch again there'll be hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten years
+      could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk. It
+      certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldom
+      intolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmen
+      of the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost
+      gentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of French
+      extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in anything, and
+      who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the face of a
+      situation like this made him simply a fool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
+      Longstreth,&rdquo; Lawson sneered. &ldquo;Mind you, if you come up there again
+      there'll be hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're right. But not the kind you think,&rdquo; Duane retorted, his voice
+      sharp and cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,&rdquo;
+       said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention to
+      rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. &ldquo;I'll call you right.
+      You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering, conceited
+      ranger!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
+      beautiful cousin,&rdquo; replied Duane, in slow speech. &ldquo;But let me return your
+      compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush&mdash;damned,
+      bull-headed RUSTLER!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
+      working passion-blackened face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
+      His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
+      chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't draw!&rdquo; warned Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, git away from your gun!&rdquo; yelled Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
+      with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
+      hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you wing him for?&rdquo; he wailed. &ldquo;He was drawin' on you. Kickin' men
+      like him won't do out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right
+      into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides, shooting
+      him would have been murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo; exclaimed Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, for me,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may be true&mdash;whoever you are&mdash;but if Lawson's the man you
+      think he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't
+      sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, what are your eyes for?&rdquo; demanded Duane. &ldquo;Watch out. And now
+      here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
+      approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
+      need your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
+      watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and
+      speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he
+      stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were open;
+      and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's
+      big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up
+      and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in the bushes,
+      so well screened that he could get but a fleeting glimpse of Longstreth as
+      he went in. For all Duane could see, he appeared to be a calm and quiet
+      man, intense beneath the surface, with an air of dignity under insult.
+      Duane's chance to observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house
+      without speaking and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset between
+      step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane waited there in
+      the darkness with patience born of many hours of hiding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something's happened surely, Ruth,&rdquo; he heard Miss Longstreth say,
+      anxiously. &ldquo;Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed pale,
+      worried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,&rdquo; said Ruth. &ldquo;For once he didn't
+      try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a bad day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life
+      miserable for me. And he teases you unmer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,&rdquo; declared Ruth,
+      emphatically. &ldquo;He'd run after any woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,&rdquo; laughed Ray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care,&rdquo; replied Ruth, stubbornly, &ldquo;it's so. He's mushy. And when
+      he's been drinking and tries to kiss me&mdash;I hate him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were steps on the hall floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, girls!&rdquo; sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, what's the matter?&rdquo; asked Ray, presently. &ldquo;I never saw papa as he
+      is to-night, nor you so&mdash;so worried. Tell me, what has happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,&rdquo; replied Lawson, with a blunt, expressive
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jar?&rdquo; echoed both the girls, curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had to submit to a damnable outrage,&rdquo; added Lawson, passionately, as
+      if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. &ldquo;Listen, girls; I'll tell
+      you-all about it.&rdquo; He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed
+      he had been drinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his
+      muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all
+      acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently
+      uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his
+      clue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It happened at the town hall,&rdquo; began Lawson, rapidly. &ldquo;Your father and
+      Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from out
+      of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow
+      who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on
+      a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously innocent, he
+      was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his insults. Law was a
+      farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There was no law. Your father's
+      office as mayor should be impeached. He made arrests only for petty
+      offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was
+      afraid or&mdash;he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat
+      ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled for every
+      one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father, Ray, insulted in his own
+      court by a rowdy ranger!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger service wants to rule western Texas,&rdquo; went on Lawson. &ldquo;These
+      rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they hunt.
+      Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became rangers.
+      This is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent, smooth, and
+      that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He wanted to
+      kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he would have
+      shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil&mdash;the born gunman. My God, any
+      instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!&rdquo; cried Ray Longstreth, passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety. He made
+      that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He
+      tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was the
+      worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?&rdquo; said Ray
+      Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. &ldquo;After a moment's
+      thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell papa
+      not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
+      reputation by&mdash;by an adventurer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he can be injured,&rdquo; replied Floyd, quickly. &ldquo;The frontier is a queer
+      place. There are many bitter men here&mdash;men who have failed at
+      ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger has
+      dropped poison, and it'll spread.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, new to
+      Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waiting
+      atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.
+      Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by
+      rowdies carousing in the streets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain
+      the opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be a target
+      for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they did happen so, it
+      was more accident than design. But at night he was not idle. He met
+      Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; a secret club had
+      been formed; and all the members were ready for action. Duane spent hours
+      at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed when he was not up
+      at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least the house was, by
+      strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious&mdash;all that kindly
+      disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane had not been able
+      to recognize any of these night visitors; and he did not think the time
+      was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them. Nevertheless, he was sure
+      such an event would discover Lawson, or some one in that house, to be in
+      touch with crooked men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,
+      in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar of
+      his restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
+      found who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon the
+      bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: &ldquo;All
+      friends of rangers look for the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. None of
+      Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or the
+      unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were held
+      in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband's death
+      was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with five
+      children. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and
+      moved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse
+      and friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meant
+      business. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly glad
+      of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great
+      speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the
+      wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he was
+      a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He had
+      killed thirty men&mdash;wildest rumor of all&mdash;it was actually said of
+      him he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious
+      element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action
+      calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at the
+      bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: &ldquo;Who's thet ranger
+      after? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin' to
+      draw on him fust&mdash;an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be
+      found somewheres full of lead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest
+      stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,
+      then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot at in
+      the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the gunman,
+      was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise up in a mass
+      to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemies of the law
+      awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to the frontier. The
+      ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if formidable. He would
+      have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to play and drink with the
+      men who knew they were under suspicion. There was a rude kind of good
+      humor even in their open hostility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held the
+      undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and quarrels
+      except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were rife in
+      them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usual run of
+      strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone or was
+      under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of Poggin, yet
+      he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the habitues of
+      the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble were unusually
+      mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull, however, did not
+      deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so
+      long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon while
+      he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the door. They
+      carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's trouble.
+      Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room rather than
+      meet them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little room was not very light, there being only one window and the
+      doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,
+      hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been a woman
+      of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there to read in
+      her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter lines that
+      had characterized her husband's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.
+      Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?&rdquo; queried the woman, with her bright,
+      black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Miss Longstreth, simply. &ldquo;This is my cousin, Ruth Herbert.
+      We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in any way
+      you'll let us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you look a little like Longstreth,&rdquo; finally said Mrs. Laramie, &ldquo;but
+      you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. Miss
+      Longstreth, I don't know if I can&mdash;if I ought accept anything from
+      you. Your father ruined my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; replied the girl, sadly. &ldquo;That's all the more reason you
+      should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will&mdash;mean so much to
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in the
+      warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's idea was that
+      the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftly succeeded by
+      that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had started well
+      with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk to the children
+      than both they and the mother were won. The opening of that big basket was
+      an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings seemed too easily
+      roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim Laramie's slayer if he
+      could have laid eyes on him then. However, Miss Longstreth and Ruth, after
+      the nature of tender and practical girls, did not appear to take the sad
+      situation to heart. The havoc was wrought in that household.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action&mdash;and these
+      the girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?&rdquo; presently asked Miss Longstreth.
+      Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight, if
+      any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of Ray
+      Longstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he's taken care of us all since&mdash;since&mdash;&rdquo; Mrs. Laramie
+      choked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! So you've had no help but his,&rdquo; replied Miss Longstreth, hastily. &ldquo;No
+      women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll come myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be good of you,&rdquo; went on the older woman. &ldquo;You see, Jim had few
+      friends&mdash;that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to help us&mdash;afraid
+      they'd get what poor Jim&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's awful!&rdquo; burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. &ldquo;A brave lot of
+      friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.
+      Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's on hind side before,&rdquo; declared Ruth. &ldquo;I guess Mr. Ranger hasn't
+      dressed many babies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did the best he could,&rdquo; said Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;Lord only knows what would
+      have become of us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is&mdash;is something more than a ranger?&rdquo; queried Miss
+      Longstreth, with a little break in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's more than I can tell,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;He buried Jim. He paid
+      our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for us and
+      fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first two
+      nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so kind, so
+      gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near. Sometimes I'd
+      wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how false were all these
+      tales Jim heard about him and believed at first. Why, he plays with the
+      children just&mdash;just like any good man might. When he has the baby up
+      I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they say. He's good, but he
+      isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far off sometimes when the
+      children climb round him. They love him. His life is sad. Nobody need tell
+      me&mdash;he sees the good in things. Once he said somebody had to be a
+      ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like him!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was thoughtful of you,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;Womankind are needed here. I
+      could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad. And
+      here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying to puzzle
+      out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I tell you&mdash;friends
+      would come? So will the brighter side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've more faith than I had,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;Granger
+      Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's death
+      I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of my
+      little ones? But I'm gaining courage to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth.
+      &ldquo;I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, that's fine!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane. &ldquo;It's what I'd have&mdash;expected
+      of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
+      burned out in a beautiful blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come,&rdquo; added Duane. &ldquo;Let me
+      thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
+      task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
+      ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's risk.
+      And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again to-night.
+      Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Ranger, wait!&rdquo; called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was white
+      and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have wronged you,&rdquo; she said, impulsively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?&rdquo; he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see&mdash;I
+      wronged you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
+      wronging me. I have been a&mdash;a gunman, I am a ranger&mdash;and much
+      said of me is true. My duty is hard on others&mdash;sometimes on those who
+      are innocent, alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an honor.
+      I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please&mdash;please don't, Miss Longstreth,&rdquo; interrupted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, sir, my conscience flays me,&rdquo; she went on. There was no other sound
+      like her voice. &ldquo;Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
+      Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
+      sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied or
+      real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could have
+      resisted her then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman,&rdquo; she said, and
+      now her speech came swiftly. &ldquo;When she was all alone and helpless you were
+      her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't the only
+      unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how I may soon
+      need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm terribly worried.
+      I fear&mdash;I fear&mdash;Oh, surely I'll need a friend soon&mdash;soon.
+      Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. I want to help
+      you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone&mdash;all alone?
+      Will you&mdash;will you be&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to
+      suspect&mdash;that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers they
+      pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook him
+      deeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. And
+      with the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there came
+      realization of a dangerous situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must be true to my duty,&rdquo; he said, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;I'll do anything for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied&mdash;he
+      lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me to go
+      back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, I know
+      something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if&mdash;if&mdash;Will
+      you help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying. The night was
+      dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane bent
+      his steps toward the Longstreth's ranchhouse. He had so much to think
+      about that he never knew where the time went. This night when he reached
+      the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps and saw
+      Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the darkness.
+      Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was dark again
+      outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be interesting
+      to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but could hear only a
+      murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. He went round the
+      corner of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the
+      back and larger part. There was a narrow passage between the houses,
+      leading from the outside through to the patio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to avail
+      himself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on very
+      stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage. In
+      the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack in
+      the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he
+      entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew a
+      very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the
+      thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best by
+      working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in
+      reaching a vantage-point. When he did get there the crack he had marked
+      was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in
+      the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+      other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care what risk
+      he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his
+      brow was clouded. Lawson's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted by
+      some indomitable resolve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll settle both deals to-night,&rdquo; Lawson was saying. &ldquo;That's what I came
+      for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But suppose I don't choose to talk here?&rdquo; protested Longstreth,
+      impatiently. &ldquo;I never before made my house a place to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your
+      nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why, she's a woman,
+      and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. I told you I was
+      willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Ray hasn't any
+      use for you now. She liked you at first. But now she doesn't. So what can
+      I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can make her marry me,&rdquo; replied Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be done even if I
+      tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't the highest opinion of you
+      as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray loved you I would consent.
+      We'd all go away together before this damned miserable business is out.
+      Then she'd never know. And maybe you might be more like you used to be
+      before the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your own game
+      with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you want to let her come out here for?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, hotly.
+      &ldquo;It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over her. I'll have her or die.
+      Don't you think if she was my wife I'd soon pull myself together? Since
+      she came we've none of us been right. And the gang has put up a holler.
+      No, Longstreth, we've got to settle things to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,&rdquo; replied
+      Longstreth, rising. &ldquo;Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself
+      and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But he
+      could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had thought
+      him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he was worse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have
+      been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally he
+      heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leaden-faced, humiliated.
+      Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode the room; he
+      cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now appreciably calmer. Duane could not
+      but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection of Lawson's
+      proposal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't fuss about it, Floyd,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You see I can't help it. We're
+      pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter and give her to you as
+      I would an unruly steer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me,&rdquo; declared Lawson, thickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know the hold I got on you&mdash;the deal that made you boss of this
+      rustler gang?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't likely I'd forget,&rdquo; replied Longstreth, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it broadcast&mdash;tell
+      this ranger&mdash;unless she'd marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had no
+      shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Longstreth gazed with dark,
+      controlled fury at this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong,
+      unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed
+      Lawson to be the wild and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also
+      how during all the years of association this strong man had upheld the
+      weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on Longstreth's
+      part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great majority of evil and
+      unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where influence was
+      futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a
+      rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border,&rdquo;
+       replied Longstreth, impressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred to
+      him. But he was not long at a loss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now
+      there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes. Mark what I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's a
+      boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor. Also
+      I think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to certain
+      property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+      mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared himself as if
+      this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed an
+      absence of his usual nervous excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, that may well be true,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No doubt all you say is
+      true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her&mdash;I
+      reckon we'll all go to hell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly had
+      something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely
+      perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head
+      down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long
+      experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means to
+      vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right then
+      and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson. For Duane's
+      part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a conclusion before.
+      Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put Longstreth in conflict
+      with himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to talk.
+      He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking to
+      smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the fateful
+      significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided than if
+      he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself. How, Duane
+      wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so far among
+      the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was, perhaps, that
+      Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The coming of Ray
+      Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're too impatient,&rdquo; concluded Longstreth. &ldquo;You'll ruin any chance of
+      happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am
+      she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate
+      you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her. Cut
+      out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out here&mdash;stock,
+      ranch, property&mdash;and leave the country. Then you'd have a show with
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you we've got to stick,&rdquo; growled Lawson. &ldquo;The gang won't stand for
+      our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them here
+      to face whatever comes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean just that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm bad enough, but not that bad,&rdquo; returned Longstreth. &ldquo;If I can't get
+      the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same,
+      Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years
+      have been YOURS?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had
+      cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached our
+      limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle&mdash;at a time when
+      rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then
+      came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before
+      we knew it&mdash;before I knew it&mdash;we had shady deals, holdups, and
+      MURDERS on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all
+      think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing can
+      be proved. We're too strong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's where you're dead wrong,&rdquo; rejoined Longstreth, emphatically. &ldquo;I
+      imagined that once, not long ago. I was bullheaded. Who would ever connect
+      Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? I've changed my mind. I've begun
+      to think. I've reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we can't last. It's
+      the nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow better. The wise
+      deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the country, all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you and I have all the stock&mdash;all the gain,&rdquo; protested Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll split mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't&mdash;that settles that,&rdquo; added Lawson, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince
+      this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more
+      than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your stock and property will last a long time&mdash;do you lots of good
+      when this ranger&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to
+      powder. &ldquo;Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon&mdash;any time&mdash;same as
+      Laramie is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you mentioned the&mdash;the supposition,&rdquo; replied Longstreth,
+      sarcastically. &ldquo;I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to
+      be brought about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gang will lay him out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've
+      packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they
+      killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in all
+      that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough to see
+      him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only way to
+      get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he's
+      going to drop some of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did drop
+      some of them,&rdquo; declared Lawson; and now he was sarcastic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To tell you the truth, I wouldn't,&rdquo; returned the other, bluntly. &ldquo;I'm
+      pretty sick of this mess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to his
+      intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen a
+      vainer or more arrogant man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I don't like your talk,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do,&rdquo; replied
+      Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of eyes
+      and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, after all, that's neither here nor there,&rdquo; went on Lawson,
+      unconsciously cowed by the other. &ldquo;The thing is, do I get the girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not by any means except her consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll not make her marry me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. No,&rdquo; replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Then I'll make her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that he wasted
+      no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that was that
+      Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use it. Then
+      heavy footsteps sounded outside tramping upon the porch. Duane might have
+      been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps saved Lawson's life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There they are,&rdquo; said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big man
+      with burly shoulders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others stood
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a
+      nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man&mdash;a stranger
+      to Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from this band,
+      of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of
+      these men. There was power here, and he was bound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others
+      gathered around him close to the table. There were evidently some signs of
+      membership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads were bent over the
+      table. Low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. By straining his ears
+      Duane caught a word here and there. They were planning, and they were
+      brief. Duane gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present convention,
+      got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had come, and was followed by
+      his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet smoke. Lawson seemed
+      uncommunicative and unsociable. He smoked fiercely and drank continually.
+      All at once he straightened up as if listening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he called, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must be a rat,&rdquo; replied Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rustle became a rattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,&rdquo; said Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the
+      adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. But
+      the rattle inside Longstreth's room was mingling with little dull thuds of
+      falling dirt. The adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane
+      distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+      his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in the hell!&rdquo; exclaimed Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I smell dust,&rdquo; said Lawson, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite his
+      care he made a noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear a step?&rdquo; queried Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud.
+      Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's somebody between the walls!&rdquo; thundered Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to
+      squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hear him!&rdquo; yelled Lawson. &ldquo;This side!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he's going that way,&rdquo; yelled Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of desperation. He was
+      not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was another
+      matter. He almost tore his clothes off in that passage. The dust nearly
+      stifled him. When he burst into the patio it was not a single instant too
+      soon. But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up, gun in hand,
+      running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps turned him back.
+      While there was a chance to get away he did not want to fight. He thought
+      he heard someone running into the patio from the other end. He stole
+      along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it might lead, he
+      softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth sitting
+      on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her to be
+      silent he turned to close the door. It was a heavy door without bolt or
+      bar, and when Duane had shut it he felt safe only for the moment. Then he
+      gazed around the room. There was one window with blind closely drawn. He
+      listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating, dying away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the bed, half to
+      her knees, and was holding out trembling hands. She was as white as the
+      pillow on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with warning hand
+      commanding silence, Duane stepped softly forward, meaning to reassure her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to faint.
+      When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood the strange, dark
+      expression in them. She was terrified because she believed he meant to
+      kill her, or do worse, probably worse. Duane realized he must have looked
+      pretty hard and fierce bursting into her room with that big gun in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get away&mdash;to
+      save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on&mdash;on your father and his
+      men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was listening.
+      They're after me now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening
+      windows of thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a
+      woman in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me now. You were spying on my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not
+      omitting a terse word as to the character of the men he had watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong here&mdash;with
+      him&mdash;with the place&mdash;the people. And right off I hated Floyd
+      Lawson. Oh, it'll kill me if&mdash;if&mdash;It's so much worse than I
+      dreamed. What shall I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's attention,
+      reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted more with him, made clear
+      the probability of being discovered in her room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have to get out of here,&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Didn't you say they were hunting for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They sure are,&rdquo; he returned, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got away. Stay.
+      If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the light. I'll meet them at
+      the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets down, if we have to wait
+      till morning. Then you can slip out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to&mdash;I won't,&rdquo; Duane replied,
+      perplexed and stubborn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every room
+      and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't start a
+      fight. You might be hurt. Then&mdash;the fact of my being here&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the
+      door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him.
+      She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been
+      either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make
+      Duane weak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up yet, Ray?&rdquo; came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to
+      be natural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I'm in bed reading. Good night,&rdquo; instantly replied Miss Longstreth,
+      so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between man
+      and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He slipped
+      in, but the door would not close altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you alone?&rdquo; went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Ruth went to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half
+      entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and
+      indistinctly another man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as
+      well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced
+      around he went out and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent once more.
+      Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard her quick breathing. How
+      long did she mean to let him stay hidden there? Hard and perilous as his
+      life had been, this was a new kind of adventure. He had divined the
+      strange softness of his feeling as something due to the magnetism of this
+      beautiful woman. It hardly seemed possible that he, who had been outside
+      the pale for so many years, could have fallen in love. Yet that must be
+      the secret of his agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss
+      Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared to be in
+      distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I can go now&mdash;safely,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me&mdash;this
+      finding out&mdash;and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't understand
+      myself well. But I want you to know&mdash;if I were not an outlaw&mdash;a
+      ranger&mdash;I'd lay my life at your feet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! You have seen so&mdash;so little of me,&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my coming
+      caused you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not fight my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you spied upon him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And oh! I am a rustler's daughter,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;That's so much more
+      terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he was
+      engaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions aroused.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How? Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange a meeting
+      for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to go. Floyd
+      taunted him with a name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What name?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was Cheseldine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What difference does that make?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same,&rdquo; whispered Duane,
+      hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gathered so much myself,&rdquo; she replied, miserably. &ldquo;But Longstreth is
+      father's real name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part
+      in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she betrayed the secret
+      Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a
+      great flood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable,&rdquo; he whispered.
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here to get. He's only a
+      name. Your father is the real man. I've sworn to get him. I'm bound by
+      more than law or oaths. I can't break what binds me. And I must disgrace
+      you&mdash;wreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I&mdash;I love
+      you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How fatal&mdash;terrible&mdash;this
+      is! How things work out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't kill him?&rdquo; she implored. &ldquo;If you care for me&mdash;you won't
+      kill him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. That I promise you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to the
+      court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
+      his relief equaled his other feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
+      soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
+      But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
+      throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
+      Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have a
+      vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he could
+      save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try to
+      find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men Duane
+      wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine, was the
+      brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who needed to
+      be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane experienced a
+      strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more than thought of
+      success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over this emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
+      for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
+      in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let his
+      mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
+      Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
+      express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
+      messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
+      away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and engineer
+      and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men and
+      citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up before
+      the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane had the
+      sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to find; and,
+      acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford unobserved.
+      As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the direction of Ord,
+      he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope that he might be
+      taken for a train-robber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak of Ord
+      Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and slept
+      until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his time cooking
+      breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and, leaving the
+      trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put his horse to the
+      rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough, roundabout, and
+      difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill of a long-hunted
+      fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded and covered with lather.
+      It added considerable to his arrival that the man Duane remembered as
+      Fletcher and several others saw him come in the back way through the lots
+      and jump a fence into the road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard. He
+      was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morning drink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Dodge,&rdquo; said Fletcher, laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as
+      might happen to ride up curious-like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haw! haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in the
+      'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev to rustle
+      water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and left
+      him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the group of men
+      had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before. Without
+      comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever one of the
+      tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This procedure was
+      attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Dodge,&rdquo; remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, &ldquo;thet's safer 'n
+      prayin' fer rain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect that
+      a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They all joined
+      him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most assuredly
+      not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it
+      probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at that time these men had
+      nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern. Evidently they were
+      poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed they could borrow a peso
+      occasionally from the bartender. Duane set out to make himself agreeable
+      and succeeded. There was card-playing for small stakes, idle jests of
+      coarse nature, much bantering among the younger fellows, and occasionally
+      a mild quarrel. All morning men came and went, until, all told, Duane
+      calculated he had seen at least fifty. Toward the middle of the afternoon
+      a young fellow burst into the saloon and yelled one word:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Posse!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing
+      action was rare in Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the hell!&rdquo; muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,
+      compact bunch of horses and riders. &ldquo;Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!
+      We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was here
+      or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted in a
+      bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men, all
+      heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbed cowboy.
+      Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence of the sheriff
+      who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was out in another
+      direction with a different force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Jim Fletcher,&rdquo; called the cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy,&rdquo; replied Fletcher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before the
+      posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The outlaw
+      was different now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.
+      Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit into
+      the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us. Think he
+      went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the rest of the
+      way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last night or
+      early this mornin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; replied Fletcher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently
+      the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the
+      posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference of
+      opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?&rdquo;
+       protested an old hawk-faced rancher. &ldquo;Them hoss tracks we follored ain't
+      like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so sure of that,&rdquo; replied the leader.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life&mdash;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent fer
+      election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this
+      road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through
+      town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some greasers
+      has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the
+      greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no
+      ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine
+      an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his
+      gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did
+      the killin'&mdash;he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old
+      cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons
+      Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me&mdash;I tell you what&mdash;I'd
+      take a chance an' clean up this hole!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,&rdquo; he said. The menace
+      was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can&mdash;an' be damned to you, Fletcher!&rdquo; called Guthrie, as the
+      horses started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the
+      posse out of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here,&rdquo; he said, as they disappeared.
+      Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away
+      from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it was
+      somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal, seein'
+      I staved off Guthrie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it. First
+      he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledge whatever of
+      the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself. Then at
+      Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show of friendliness
+      he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swell with pride, though
+      still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent will-power and seemed
+      to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and grew silent, then surly.
+      Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory, desisted for the time being;
+      however, in his solicitous regard and close companionship for the rest of
+      that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse and
+      make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.
+      Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I
+      hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now. I
+      tell you, Dodge, it ain't square.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll square it. I pay my debts,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;But I can't put up here
+      all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What gang?&rdquo; asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cheseldine's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane laughed. &ldquo;I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,
+      he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I had
+      for bein' on earth or some such like&mdash;why, I up an' told him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher appeared staggered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white.
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine&mdash;Longstreth!&rdquo; he whispered, hoarsely. &ldquo;Gord Almighty! You
+      braced the&mdash;&rdquo; Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw.
+      He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he
+      could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this
+      rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement, the
+      proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a master
+      of men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHO AIR YOU?&rdquo; queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore it
+      hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin' in
+      need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he
+      returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness&mdash;all
+      without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and mesquite
+      to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night. His mind was
+      so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing his game. He
+      sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end, always haunting,
+      had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the approach that needed
+      all his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail
+      and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
+      disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
+      expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
+      Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently well
+      known and liked by his fellows, and Duane heard him say, before he could
+      possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss of
+      money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of this
+      report. He pretended not to have heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
+      and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to a
+      log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took out
+      a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
+      handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through the
+      roll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five hundred!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
+      considerin' the job wasn't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Considerin' nothin',&rdquo; interrupted Duane. &ldquo;I'm makin' no reference to a
+      job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If thet
+      doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher was won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
+      history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
+      laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
+      that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
+      then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
+      boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a stroke
+      with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any influence on
+      Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all the rest he was
+      bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved anything else. He
+      could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by
+      Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed to
+      know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory! Cheseldine's
+      hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep, high-walled
+      valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job, where he met
+      and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed he basked in
+      the sunshine before one or another of the public places he owned. He was
+      there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the biggest job yet. It
+      was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as yet been advised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details
+      pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering a
+      period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith was
+      unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in its
+      brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and grasp
+      of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was stunned. Compared
+      to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher, stock-buyer,
+      cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane had ever known
+      sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned Duane; the strange
+      fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate inside working of his
+      great system was equally stunning. But when Duane recovered from that the
+      old terrible passion to kill consumed him, and it raged fiercely and it
+      could not be checked. If that red-handed Poggin, if that cold-eyed,
+      dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But they were not, and Duane with
+      help of time got what he hoped was the upper hand of himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a leashed
+      hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he was
+      bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold, wild brow
+      of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for Knell and
+      Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A
+      messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do with
+      Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful moods
+      and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a striking
+      contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+      communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw.
+      Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few words
+      whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger or
+      fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger, a lean,
+      dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy Guthrie, left
+      the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the west. This west
+      mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south beyond Mount Ord.
+      Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not at present with the
+      leader on the mountain. After the messenger left Fletcher grew silent and
+      surly. He had presented a variety of moods to Duane's observation, and
+      this latest one was provocative of thought. Fletcher was dangerous. It
+      became clear now that the other outlaws of the camp feared him, kept out
+      of his way. Duane let him alone, yet closely watched him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher
+      manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then he
+      went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape both
+      to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep close
+      until he returned. Then he mounted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Dodge,&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher walked
+      his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log bridge, when
+      he halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;An' it 'pears I'm the cause of
+      friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but
+      Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, an' here
+      it's been held up because of this scrap. He's waitin' over there on the
+      mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's showin' up.
+      I've got to stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the prospects.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the trouble about, Jim?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge,&rdquo; said Fletcher, dryly. &ldquo;Knell
+      hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer a man onless he
+      can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with my
+      say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethin' about you
+      that'll make both the boss an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But he's
+      keepin' quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better go back
+      to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, I'll light a
+      fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you don't see
+      it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks
+      to his pals. So long, Dodge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he rode away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been working
+      out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not know which
+      way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to Bradford.
+      Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open hostility
+      between one of them and another of the chief's right-hand men! Among
+      outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such matters were
+      settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from disaster.
+      Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band had already begun.
+      But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around the idea with doubts
+      and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this stranger in Ord, this
+      new partner of Fletcher's, was no less than Buck Duane. Well, it was about
+      time, thought Duane, that he made use of his name if it were to help him
+      at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope. He had anchored all his scheme
+      to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to ride off after Fletcher and stay
+      with him. This, however, would hardly be fair to an outlaw who had been
+      fair to him. Duane concluded to await developments and when the gang rode
+      in to Ord, probably from their various hiding-places, he would be there
+      ready to be denounced by Knell. Duane could not see any other culmination
+      of this series of events than a meeting between Knell and himself. If that
+      terminated fatally for Knell there was all probability of Duane's being in
+      no worse situation than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here
+      Duane accused himself again&mdash;tried in vain to revolt from a judgment
+      that he was only reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his mountain
+      retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than he was hurrying for his
+      horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of sight, he turned
+      off the road, circled through the brush, and several miles south of town
+      he struck a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told him led to
+      Cheseldine's camp. The horse tracks along this trail were not less than a
+      week old, and very likely much more. It wound between low, brush-covered
+      foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with mesquite, cottonwood,
+      and scrub-oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he got a
+      view of the rolling, black-spotted country, partly desert, partly fertile,
+      with long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away to grow dim in the
+      distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the open,
+      downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to find the
+      trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress. Finally he climbed
+      into a region of all rock benches, rough here, smooth there, with only an
+      occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide him. Many times he had to go
+      ahead and then work to right or left till he found his way again. It was
+      slow work; it took all day; and night found him half-way up the mountain.
+      He halted at a little side-canyon with grass and water, and here he made
+      camp. The night was clear and cool at that height, with a dark-blue sky
+      and a streak of stars blinking across. With this day of action behind him
+      he felt better satisfied than he had been for some time. Here, on this
+      venture, he was answering to a call that had so often directed his
+      movements, perhaps his life, and it was one that logic or intelligence
+      could take little stock of. And on this night, lonely like the ones he
+      used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and memorable of them because of a
+      likeness to that old hiding-place, he felt the pressing return of old
+      haunting things&mdash;the past so long ago, wild flights, dead faces&mdash;and
+      the places of these were taken by one quiveringly alive, white, tragic,
+      with its dark, intent, speaking eyes&mdash;Ray Longstreth's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than he had
+      followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the head of the canyon,
+      there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar fenced him
+      in. Then he went back and took up the trail on foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts,
+      wide canyons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along precipices&mdash;a
+      long, hard climb&mdash;till he reached what he concluded was a divide.
+      Going down was easier, though the farther he followed this dim and winding
+      trail the wider the broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black
+      fringe of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow, like
+      a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great escarpments, he
+      saw the lower country beyond the range, and beyond this, vast and clear as
+      it lay in his sight, was the great river that made the Big Bend. He went
+      down and down, wondering how a horse could follow that broken trail,
+      believing there must be another better one somewhere into Cheseldine's
+      hiding-place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and presently
+      came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen
+      through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two sides he could
+      see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet below him; and, plain as all the other
+      features of that wild environment, there shone out a big red stone or
+      adobe cabin, white water shining away between great borders, and horses
+      and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful scene. Duane
+      could not help grinding his teeth at the thought of rustlers living there
+      in quiet and ease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a niche, he
+      settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He made note of the
+      position of the sun and saw that if anything developed or if he decided to
+      descend any farther there was small likelihood of his getting back to his
+      camp before dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would be vain
+      effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
+      structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been built by outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting for the
+      rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with mud, the valley was
+      as wild, probably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to have been
+      watching for a long time before he saw any sign of man, and this one
+      apparently went to the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the darker
+      places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer to that cabin.
+      What had he taken this arduous climb for? He held back, however, trying to
+      evolve further plans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he
+      was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And
+      suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the
+      valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment of
+      rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and stopped
+      at the stream for a long drink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as fast as he
+      could without making noise. It did not take him long to reach the valley
+      floor. It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and there clumps of
+      bushes. Twilight was already thick down there. Duane marked the location
+      of the trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through the grass and
+      from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he made out the dark
+      outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry whistle, a coarse
+      song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He smelled fragrant
+      wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light. Evidently there
+      was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus was
+      able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward the
+      back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make no
+      noise, and he could scarcely be seen&mdash;if only there was no watch-dog!
+      But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life at
+      stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an Indian.
+      He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their shadows,
+      for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their tops. From
+      there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He saw
+      a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He saw an
+      open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the fire. Voices
+      came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther along&mdash;all
+      the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only the flare of
+      light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he paused at the crack
+      again, saw that no man was in the room, and then he went on round that end
+      of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There were bushes, an old shed, a
+      wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that corner. He did not even need to
+      crawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
+      close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from that
+      he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no dread.
+      There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the same. Then
+      he looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while he
+      handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against the wall,
+      with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second glance, not
+      so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men, three in the
+      shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one right
+      over the mountain,&rdquo; one outlaw was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's eatin' you, Panhandle?&rdquo; ejaculated another. &ldquo;Blossom an' me rode
+      from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said
+      nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well,&rdquo;
+       spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth's voice&mdash;Cheseldine's voice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here they were&mdash;Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle
+      Smith, Boldt&mdash;how well Duane remembered the names!&mdash;all here,
+      the big men of Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest&mdash;Poggin. Duane
+      had holed them, and his sensations of the moment deadened sight and sound
+      of what was before him. He sank down, controlled himself, silenced a
+      mounting exultation, then from a less-strained position he peered forth
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might have been
+      that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane listened with eager
+      ears, waiting for the business talk that he felt would come. All the time
+      he watched with the eyes of a wolf upon its quarry. Blossom Kane was the
+      lean-limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt was a giant in
+      stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the red-faced cook,
+      merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling many rustlers Duane had
+      known, particularly Luke Stevens. And Knell, who sat there, tall, slim,
+      like a boy in build, like a boy in years, with his pale, smooth,
+      expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And Longstreth, who leaned
+      against the wall, handsome, with his dark face and beard like an
+      aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana planter Duane had met. The
+      sixth man sat so much in the shadow that he could not be plainly
+      discerned, and, though addressed, his name was not mentioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully
+      called out: &ldquo;If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed
+      you with a spoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to
+      their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept round to the
+      other side of the cabin. After he became used to the dark again he
+      ventured to steal along the wall to the window and peeped in. The outlaws
+      were in the first room and could not be seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded. Longstreth
+      entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of cigars from the table,
+      he carried it out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Knell, come on in
+      now. Let's get it over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his booted
+      feet on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished. There
+      must have been a good trail, he thought, else how could all that stuff
+      have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come over the
+      trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside, and their
+      voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated himself without
+      any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as always, cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?&rdquo; queried Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway,
+      an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept him, I reckon, more
+      than anythin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago&mdash;weeks&mdash;a
+      stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he owned the place. He
+      seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I left,
+      tryin' to place him in my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd he look like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard face, eyes
+      like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he walked an' stood an'
+      swung his right hand showed me what he was. You can't fool me on the
+      gun-sharp. An' he had a grand horse, a big black.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've met your man,&rdquo; said Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise expressed by this
+      man that did not in the least show it in his strange physiognomy. Knell
+      laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. &ldquo;Boss, this here big gent drifts into
+      Ord again an' makes up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is easy led. He
+      likes men. An' when a posse come along trailin' a blind lead, huntin' the
+      wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim&mdash;he up an' takes
+      this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to him. Got money out
+      of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more. What's this man's game? I
+      happen to know, boss, that he couldn't have held up No. 6.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I did the job myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break
+      like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to
+      kill me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake. I got the
+      country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I just couldn't help it.
+      You know what idleness means to one of us. You know also that this very
+      life breeds fatality. It's wrong&mdash;that's why. I was born of good
+      parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the end,
+      that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine wise talk from you, Knell,&rdquo; said Longstreth, scornfully. &ldquo;Go on with
+      your story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're
+      together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he knew an' then some.
+      A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over from
+      Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new man
+      for the gang. Poggin, you know, is always ready for any new man. He says
+      if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather liked the
+      way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always hit it up
+      together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was already in the gang,
+      without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin' hard. Just
+      where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never had seen him,
+      which accounts for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget any man I'd seen. I
+      dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over them. Letters,
+      pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty good notion what
+      I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of. At last I found it.
+      An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin. Oh no! I want to have
+      some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be wilder than a trapped
+      wolf. I sent Blossom over to Ord to get word from Jim, an' when he
+      verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a message calculated to
+      make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for Jim, an' I could come
+      over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet me in Ord.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale
+      eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell to a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed
+      Bland, Alloway&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' Hardin.&rdquo; Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the
+      apparent circumstance demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows&mdash;Buck Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache seemed
+      outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood each
+      other without more words. It was enough that Buck Duane was there in the
+      Big Bend. Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from which he
+      drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell,&rdquo; began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, &ldquo;I gathered you
+      have some grudge against this Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men
+      would&mdash;don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a
+      Texas Ranger now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The hell you say!&rdquo; exclaimed Knell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and
+      they'll fix even Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't run into him!&rdquo; Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of its
+      passion and command. He wiped his face, drank again from the flask, sat
+      down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket he
+      began to study it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm glad that's settled,&rdquo; he said, evidently referring to the Duane
+      matter. &ldquo;Now for the new job. This is October the eighteenth. On or before
+      the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of gold reach the Rancher's Bank
+      of Val Verde. After you return to Ord give Poggin these orders. Keep the
+      gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle Smith, and Boldt to be
+      in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll leave Ord on the
+      twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till you get within sight
+      of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from Bradford to Val Verde&mdash;about the
+      same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val Verde on the morning
+      of the twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than trot your horses. At two
+      o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town and up to the Rancher's
+      Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been any holdups there. Town
+      feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job. That's all. Have you got
+      the details?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never can tell what'll come off,&rdquo; continued Knell. &ldquo;I'll do my best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I say
+      again&mdash;look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry
+      the job through. But I want both of you in it. Break for the hills, and
+      when you get up in the rocks where you can hide your tracks head for Mount
+      Ord. When all's quiet again I'll join you here. That's all. Call in the
+      boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the level toward
+      the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung wire. For a little while
+      his mind was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, from which,
+      like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The
+      game was now in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat was
+      improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford, forty miles
+      from the foothills before eight o'clock next morning. He must telegraph
+      MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty-fifth. He must ride back to Ord,
+      to intercept Knell, face him be denounced, kill him, and while the iron
+      was hot strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as he had wholly won
+      Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws alone to bide their
+      time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job in Val Verde. In the
+      mean time he must plan to arrest Longstreth. It was a magnificent outline,
+      incredible, alluring, unfathomable in its nameless certainty. He felt like
+      fate. He seemed to be the iron consequences falling upon these doomed
+      outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags
+      showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was merely a grayness
+      between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not seem
+      steep. His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and, looking
+      down into the ebony gulf pierced by one point of light, he lifted a
+      menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter till he
+      reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there was none;
+      but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches of rock above.
+      Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of broken
+      walls the moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the
+      mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to magic silver light. It
+      seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a transparent
+      sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes, and, like a
+      goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew his way and lost no
+      time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then had all downhill
+      before him. Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of his memory of the
+      landmarks. He did not remember having studied them in the ascent, yet here
+      they were, even in changed light, familiar to his sight. What he had once
+      seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as a deer striking for home, he
+      reached the canyon where he had left his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle and pack,
+      cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The worst was now to come.
+      Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weathered slopes, narrow black
+      gullies, a thousand openings in a maze of broken stone&mdash;these Duane
+      had to descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked
+      the loose fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+      down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great opportunity. But he
+      could not quell that self in him which reached back over the lapse of
+      lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He who had been worse than
+      dead was now grasping at the skirts of life&mdash;which meant victory,
+      honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind.
+      Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,
+      his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true
+      course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time a
+      spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had left
+      her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with the trap
+      to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not dispel
+      memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and the dark
+      eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and toil were
+      nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to the
+      other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks, with
+      the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work of the
+      long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down to Ord. The
+      little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of houses, lay
+      silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on the lower trail,
+      headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He watched the dying
+      moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time to spare, so he saved
+      the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous about the time Duane
+      turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset they would meet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west. The
+      stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the world,
+      thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it lightened,
+      until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the
+      tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard the
+      clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An operator sat
+      inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked up with startled
+      glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message he
+      had carefully composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send this&mdash;repeat it to make sure&mdash;then keep mum. I'll see you
+      again. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse a
+      couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day. The
+      east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord he
+      saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew what
+      that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he could
+      ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make his power
+      felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That would be
+      fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a presence
+      he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities held them.
+      He knew what to exaggerate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance
+      that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the
+      tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed two
+      guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the right
+      side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and
+      stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's
+      pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom
+      Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were
+      familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or
+      heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+      great and evil deeds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table
+      upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a
+      huge gold-mounted gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you gents lookin' for me?&rdquo; asked Duane. He gave his voice all the
+      ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back, free
+      of anything, with the outlaws all before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other
+      outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?&rdquo; he said, plaintively, and
+      slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He
+      meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, Fletcher!&rdquo; called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody,&rdquo; said Fletcher. &ldquo;Let me talk,
+      seein' I'm in wrong here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead. Talk,&rdquo; said Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher turned to Duane. &ldquo;Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet
+      enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my fault. I'll stand by
+      you if you let me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Jim,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what'd you come fer without the signal?&rdquo; burst out Fletcher, in
+      distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a
+      rude dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd make
+      him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer him than fer me. Now,
+      what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life. Here's my
+      pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to be hell if
+      you don't. An' us with a big job on hand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his gaze
+      riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He was
+      tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But looked at
+      closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that thing which
+      shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that swelled and
+      rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and face of the
+      cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal and
+      hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward quaking
+      fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within him and
+      numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed, but did
+      not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper than
+      thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I ante up,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big
+      hand&mdash;why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set in the game.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one
+      hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an
+      assurance which made him master of the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, you're a gambler, you are&mdash;the ace-high, straight-flush hand
+      of the Big Bend,&rdquo; he said, with stinging scorn. &ldquo;I'll bet you my roll to a
+      greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil, you're talkin' wild,&rdquo; growled Poggin, with both advice and menace
+      in his tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody else
+      when he's not. Thet so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Jim's new pard&mdash;this man Dodge&mdash;he's not who he seems.
+      Oh-ho! He's a hell of a lot different. But <i>I</i> know him. An' when I
+      spring his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get
+      me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be lightnin'&mdash;All
+      because you'll realize you've been standin' there five minutes&mdash;five
+      minutes ALIVE before him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested itself
+      in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust before
+      Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could be
+      plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either
+      way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center of the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spring his name, then, you&mdash;&rdquo; said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce. He
+      leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat
+      expressive of what his face disguised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo; he yelled, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's
+      passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought to
+      bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's manner,
+      the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held
+      Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly was
+      surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin, had been about
+      to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated and feared by all
+      outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility in
+      an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the great
+      Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE! Yes,&rdquo; he broke out, hotly. &ldquo;The Nueces gunman! That two-shot,
+      ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I&mdash;we've heard a thousand times of
+      him&mdash;talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you! Poggin, you
+      were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd fooled you both but
+      for me. But <i>I</i> know him. An' I know why he drifted in here. To flash
+      a gun on Cheseldine&mdash;on you&mdash;on me! Bah! Don't tell me he wanted
+      to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself. Don't you
+      always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to meet a real
+      man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I know it.
+      Well, Duane faced you&mdash;called you! An' when I sprung his name, what
+      ought you have done? What would the boss&mdash;anybody&mdash;have expected
+      of Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
+      froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love to
+      have. Because he's great&mdash;meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+      he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
+      damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
+      we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
+      Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
+      lesser man&mdash;me&mdash;who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once
+      to every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm
+      glad! Here's once I show you up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he
+      hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?&rdquo; he asked, in scarcely audible voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's attitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You met him&mdash;forced him to draw&mdash;killed him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hardin was the best pard I ever had.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words had passed.
+      In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually stiffened, and at
+      last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a soul-piercing fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought&mdash;the breaking of
+      Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's
+      bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild thing
+      in agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a
+      stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!&rdquo; he yelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+      twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he could think
+      of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was slowly
+      but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what love was and
+      also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode like one possessed down the
+      rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through the brush, with a
+      sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the wind. Something dragged
+      at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other was
+      a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of sensations.
+      He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily, he hurried
+      faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive; it eased the
+      weight. But the farther he went on the harder it was to continue. Had he
+      turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life itself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of
+      himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed
+      haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under
+      which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed up,
+      then stopped, only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a low ridge,
+      Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the sight was a
+      conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and Duane sought the
+      shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot, glary sun and no wind.
+      Here Duane had to have out his fight. Duane was utterly unlike himself; he
+      could not bring the old self back; he was not the same man he once had
+      been. But he could understand why. It was because of Ray Longstreth.
+      Temptation assailed him. To have her his wife! It was impossible. The
+      thought was insidiously alluring. Duane pictured a home. He saw himself
+      riding through the cotton and rice and cane, home to a stately old
+      mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed him welcome, and a woman looked for
+      him and met him with happy and beautiful smile. There might&mdash;there
+      would be children. And something new, strange, confounding with its
+      emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There would be children! Ray
+      their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast always yearned for and
+      never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was then
+      there was something cold and death-like in Duane's soul. For he knew,
+      whatever happened, of one thing he was sure&mdash;he would have to kill
+      either Longstreth or Lawson. Longstreth might be trapped into arrest; but
+      Lawson had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a panther
+      and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+      consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore&mdash;in the most
+      fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. He had
+      fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams, now rendered poignant by
+      reason of love. He drove away those dreams. In their places came the
+      images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the dark,
+      evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister
+      the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for
+      the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
+      He found them at length, restless, somber, anxious, but unaware of the
+      part he had played at Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was
+      possible that Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might need
+      them, and then with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth's ranch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch he
+      heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were quarreling
+      again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of action, but
+      his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions. He meant to
+      take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men were out on the
+      porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery and crouched low
+      to watch for his opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he
+      had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid on a table near the
+      wall. He wore no belt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink,
+      though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate man
+      in his last stand. It was his last stand, though he was ignorant of that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings,&rdquo; said Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,&rdquo; replied Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the rush
+      of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane awaited his
+      chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should your daughter meet this ranger?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's in love with him, and he's in love with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the
+      force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was his game?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You damned selfish fool!&rdquo; cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. &ldquo;All
+      you think of is yourself&mdash;your loss of the girl. Think once of ME&mdash;my
+      home&mdash;my life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently dawned upon
+      the other. Somehow through this girl her father and cousin were to be
+      betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he could not tell how true it
+      was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To hell with you!&rdquo; burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied. &ldquo;I'll
+      have her, or nobody else will!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never will,&rdquo; returned Longstreth, stridently. &ldquo;So help me God I'd
+      rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of hate
+      and menace in his mien.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, you made me what I am,&rdquo; continued Longstreth. &ldquo;I backed you&mdash;shielded
+      you. YOU'RE Cheseldine&mdash;if the truth is told! Now it's ended. I quit
+      you. I'm done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;GENTLEMEN!&rdquo; Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out. &ldquo;YOU'RE
+      BOTH DONE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They wheeled to confront Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!&rdquo; he warned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned from
+      gray to ashen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'ye mean?&rdquo; yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
+      obey a command, to see impending death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his left
+      hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed
+      brightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer
+      impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke
+      his action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped
+      behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the gun
+      from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself with
+      the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke; he heard
+      quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like wind, light
+      of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him. The hot rend
+      of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode, yet his mind
+      kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the
+      hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the loads
+      in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane waited, cool
+      and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer
+      toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering the peril of
+      exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent peering at Duane
+      under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side. Longstreth's eyes
+      were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was never any mistaking
+      the strange and terrible light of eyes like those. More than once Duane
+      had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Longstreth's head, at a strip
+      of his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before
+      Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered
+      him, called piercingly to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane
+      saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced
+      Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that gun.
+      He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, listen,&rdquo; cried Duane, swiftly. &ldquo;The game's up. You're done.
+      But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life&mdash;I'll try to get you
+      freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed&mdash;all the
+      proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid.
+      Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+      persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for
+      Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man!
+      Your answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I refuse?&rdquo; he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
+      death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second
+      now&mdash;I'll kill you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,&rdquo; he said, and deliberately walked
+      to the chair and fell into it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There come the girls!&rdquo; he suddenly exclaimed. &ldquo;Can you help me drag
+      Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss
+      Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently
+      alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the house before the
+      girls saw him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, you're not hard hit?&rdquo; said Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon not,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him!
+      Always I've split over him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the last time, Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked me
+      out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be
+      harder than facing a gun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, will you do me a favor?&rdquo; he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter.
+      Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll be
+      here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change places
+      with Lawson if I could!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad you&mdash;said that, Longstreth,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;And sure&mdash;Lawson
+      plugged me. It's our secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so
+      different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She
+      lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and
+      mute, she gazed from that to her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't give way,&rdquo; he replied, huskily. &ldquo;Both you girls will need your
+      nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is&mdash;is dead. Listen. Let me
+      tell it quick. There's been a fight. It&mdash;it was Lawson&mdash;it was
+      Lawson's gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me.
+      I'm to divide my property&mdash;return so far as possible what I've stolen&mdash;leave
+      Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly,
+      the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory
+      of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must rise above this,&rdquo; said Duane to her. &ldquo;I expected this to ruin
+      you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can
+      promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor
+      will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in
+      San Antonio and Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line
+      between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days.
+      Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher say
+      that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father drifted out
+      here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's perhaps just as
+      well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and morality of a
+      civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with bad men. Maybe a
+      deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This matter of land, water, a
+      few stray head of stock had to be decided out of court. I'm sure in his
+      case he never realized where he was drifting. Then one thing led to
+      another, until he was face to face with dealing that took on crooked form.
+      To protect himself he bound men to him. And so the gang developed. Many
+      powerful gangs have developed that way out here. He could not control
+      them. He became involved with them. And eventually their dealings became
+      deliberately and boldly dishonest. That meant the inevitable spilling of
+      blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the leader because he was the
+      strongest. Whatever he is to be judged for, I think he could have been
+      infinitely worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to
+      catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him.
+      Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not be
+      left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had
+      turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it as
+      he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party
+      by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and reached
+      Bradford as he had planned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in a
+      tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be there
+      with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of that
+      tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and
+      weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the outlaw, but
+      now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him leap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car, changed
+      his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken. Longstreth
+      sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a seat near by and
+      were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted briefly at a
+      station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed a wagon-road
+      running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right alongside, at others
+      near or far away. When the train was about twenty miles from Val Verde
+      Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting eastward. His blood beat
+      like a hammer at his temples. The gang! He thought he recognized the tawny
+      Poggin and felt a strange inward contraction. He thought he recognized the
+      clean-cut Blossom Kane, the black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced
+      Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. There was another man strange to him. Was
+      that Knell? No! it could not have been Knell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
+      Verde.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
+      travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
+      there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
+      train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
+      familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but was
+      waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him&mdash;MacNelly,
+      clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
+      hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
+      yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from Duane
+      to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not
+      look the part of an outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you,&rdquo; was the Captain's greeting. Then at
+      closer look into Duane's face his warmth fled&mdash;something he saw there
+      checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,&rdquo; said Duane, low-voiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's instant
+      action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any of your men down here?&rdquo; queried Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They're up-town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come
+      behind with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on the
+      way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a
+      trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street.
+      There was a big sign, &ldquo;Rancher's Bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's the hotel,&rdquo; said MacNelly. &ldquo;Some of my men are there. We've
+      scattered around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane
+      asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the Captain
+      complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and, drawing a
+      deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable
+      now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And don't be distressed.&rdquo; Then he turned to his captain.
+      &ldquo;MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I've brought to you, and
+      this one is his niece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not
+      spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I went after Longstreth,&rdquo; concluded Duane, &ldquo;it was either to kill
+      him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his
+      daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe
+      he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return. The
+      name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it'll fade.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a hall,
+      and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them&mdash;rangers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boys, here he is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many men have you?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fifteen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the
+      dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed, he
+      sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside himself. And
+      his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to run. They all
+      talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent in their speech
+      was &ldquo;outlaws.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the
+      Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how'd you ever
+      do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The gang's
+      coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They'll ride into town on
+      the dot&mdash;two-thirty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many?&rdquo; asked MacNelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another
+      man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll bet
+      they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin&mdash;that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since
+      I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and
+      blazes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell's dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and of
+      harder aspect. &ldquo;Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm only a ranger under
+      orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make
+      your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who're not here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and
+      that lot?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't understand that,&rdquo; replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them
+      they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no
+      equal with a gun&mdash;unless&mdash;He's got to be killed quick. They'll
+      all have to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are
+      lightning in action.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The boys
+      are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let him
+      hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we might
+      fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It's well situated
+      for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the bank&mdash;four
+      men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game begins. They
+      want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise before they're
+      down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your men put inside
+      behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to the bank, spring
+      the thing on the bank officials, and don't let them shut up the bank. You
+      want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold. But the clerks and
+      cashier ought to be at their desks or window when Poggin rides up. He'll
+      glance in before he gets down. They make no mistakes, these fellows. We
+      must be slicker than they are, or lose. When you get the bank people wise,
+      send your men over one by one. No hurry, no excitement, no unusual thing
+      to attract notice in the bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had
+      seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he was confronted by
+      the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with
+      lowered head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where'll you wait, Duane?&rdquo; insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes speculating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll wait in front, just inside the door,&rdquo; replied Duane, with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; demanded the Captain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; began Duane, slowly, &ldquo;Poggin will get down first and start in. But
+      the others won't be far behind. They'll not get swift till inside. The
+      thing is&mdash;they MUSTN'T get clear inside, because the instant they do
+      they'll pull guns. That means death to somebody. If we can we want to stop
+      them just at the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But will you hide?&rdquo; asked MacNelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hide!&rdquo; The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a vestibule, with
+      steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in the vestibule, too. It
+      leads somewhere. We can put men in there. You can be there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Duane,&rdquo; began MacNelly, nervously. &ldquo;You shan't take any undue
+      risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; The word was wrenched from Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit
+      over his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I can give you no orders to-day,&rdquo; he said, distinctly. &ldquo;I'm only
+      offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've done a grand job for
+      the service&mdash;already. You've paid me a thousand times for that
+      pardon. You've redeemed yourself.&mdash;The Governor, the adjutant-general&mdash;the
+      whole state will rise up and honor you. The game's almost up. We'll kill
+      these outlaws, or enough of them to break for ever their power. I say, as
+      a ranger, need you take more risk than your captain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces. And one, a
+      tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him.
+      Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the weaker, found a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain, you want this job to be sure?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met. Just WHAT
+      I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings like this the moment
+      decides. But I'll be there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and
+      sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you've done your work&mdash;laid the trap&mdash;is this strange move
+      of yours going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?&rdquo; asked MacNelly, in
+      significant low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked
+      up as if he had seen a ghost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: &ldquo;You can win her, Duane! Oh, you
+      can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover&mdash;then
+      go back to her. You will have served the Texas Rangers as no other man
+      has. I'll accept your resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That
+      girl loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She's&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet,
+      and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still there
+      was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough. I'm done,&rdquo; he said, somberly. &ldquo;I've planned. Do we agree&mdash;or
+      shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled
+      chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they rested upon Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+      understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses
+      of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him
+      before any one else had a chance&mdash;Poggin first&mdash;and then the
+      others! He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its
+      acceptance he had become stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared nothing for
+      the state. He had no thought of freeing the community of a dangerous
+      outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle to its progress and
+      prosperity. He wanted to kill Poggin. It was significant now that he
+      forgot the other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the
+      gun-fighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+      fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit of
+      the surviving pioneer&mdash;these had been in him; and the killings, one
+      after another, the wild and haunted years, had made him, absolutely in
+      spite of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly.
+      The thing he had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+      shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the gunman.
+      Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kind&mdash;the
+      need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last
+      victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still there in his mind,
+      and now it stalked out, worse, more powerful, magnified by its rest,
+      augmented by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to that strange,
+      wild product of the Texas frontier&mdash;the gun-fighter. And those
+      passions were so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought
+      to have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record! Actual
+      vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any rival!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice. What he
+      had feared for years had become a monstrous reality. Respect for himself,
+      blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to while in outlawry&mdash;all,
+      like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood stripped bare, his
+      soul naked&mdash;the soul of Cain. Always since the first brand had been
+      forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now with conscience
+      flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this tiger instinct, he
+      was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the utter abasement the soul
+      he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with the thought of Ray
+      Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal
+      meeting&mdash;as all his swift and deadly genius must be occupied with
+      Poggin, perhaps in vain&mdash;as hard-shooting men whom he could not watch
+      would be close behind, this almost certainly must be the end of Buck
+      Duane. That did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All her
+      sweetness, her fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane,&rdquo; she said, softly. &ldquo;Captain MacNelly sent me to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you shouldn't have come,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not. You
+      left me&mdash;all of us&mdash;stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I
+      do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't
+      expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and
+      here I'm selfishly using time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, then&mdash;and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a
+      desperate game to finish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Need it be desperate?&rdquo; she whispered, coming close to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; it can't be else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt
+      that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful, and
+      they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to take some mad risk,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Let me persuade you not
+      to. You said&mdash;you cared for me&mdash;and I&mdash;oh, Duane&mdash;don't
+      you&mdash;know&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of
+      thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in a
+      flood of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! You can't care for me?&rdquo; he cried, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do-I do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood
+      holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing breast and the
+      clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear.
+      He felt her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all the
+      demons that possessed him. And he held her as if she had been his soul,
+      his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there rushed
+      over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and full, strong like an
+      intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and terrible as
+      the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become an outcast, a
+      wanderer, a gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost and suffered
+      worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the endless bloody trail,
+      a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly and inevitably closed to all
+      except the instinct to survive and a black despair; and now, with this
+      woman in his arms, her swelling breast against his, in this moment almost
+      of resurrection, he bent under the storm of passion and joy possible only
+      to him who had endured so much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you care&mdash;a little?&rdquo; he whispered, unsteadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped up to his
+      neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A littler Oh, Duane&mdash;Duane&mdash;a great deal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth
+      seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry
+      heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats. He felt the outcast's need of
+      love. And he gave up to the enthralling moment. She met him half-way,
+      returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes
+      closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she
+      had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not even her life, in
+      that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of regret at his
+      unrestraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and leaned upon him
+      with her face upturned. He felt her hands on his, and they were soft,
+      clinging, strong, like steel under velvet. He felt the rise and fall, the
+      warmth of her breast. A tremor ran over him. He tried to draw back, and if
+      he succeeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing closer. She held
+      her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was wonderful now: white,
+      yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark eyes alluring. But that
+      was not all. There was passion, unquenchable spirit, woman's resolve deep
+      and mighty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love you, Duane!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;For my sake don't go out to meet this
+      outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you. Conquer it if you love
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his arms again
+      he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed more
+      than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She was throbbing, palpitating,
+      quivering, with hot wet cheeks and arms that clung to him like vines. She
+      lifted her mouth to his, whispering, &ldquo;Kiss me!&rdquo; She meant to change him,
+      hold him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him close. With
+      his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss closed his eyes, and
+      he could not lift his head. He sat motionless holding her, blind and
+      helpless, wrapped in a sweet dark glory. She kissed him&mdash;one long
+      endless kiss&mdash;or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks, her
+      hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her arms,
+      the swell of her breast&mdash;all these seemed to inclose him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and arms,
+      watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure now of her
+      intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost lost. This
+      was what it was to be loved by a woman. His years of outlawry had blotted
+      out any boyish love he might have known. This was what he had to give up&mdash;all
+      this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he feared yet loved,
+      this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never until that moment
+      had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That meaning was physical
+      inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what marvel in the touch of
+      quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he saw there might have
+      been for him, under happier circumstances, a life of noble deeds lived for
+      such a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go! Don't go!&rdquo; she cried, as he started violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray, dearest&mdash;I believe&mdash;I'll come back!&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These last words were falsehood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever in
+      memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
+      Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar, with his
+      rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's wonderful
+      presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the
+      cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated life so? Poggin
+      was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous instinct, now deep
+      as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild and fatal issue.
+      There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance that Poggin likewise
+      had been taunted in fear of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
+      fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
+      as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
+      clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
+      vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
+      were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
+      cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men&mdash;the rangers&mdash;crouching
+      down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
+      iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money in
+      sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
+      to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into the
+      country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no person
+      near him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
+      appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot&mdash;a
+      group that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They came
+      a little faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they were
+      four blocks away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle of the
+      vestibule, up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
+      ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the
+      street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There
+      was a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted quickly.
+      They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to conduct some
+      business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the bank door,
+      quickening step a little. The others, close together, came behind him.
+      Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the
+      curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
+      other, a little in his rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he strode in he saw Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HELL'S FIRE!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
+      fear?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo; echoed Kane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his
+      arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The guns boomed almost together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
+      like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in his
+      hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his breast. He
+      pulled&mdash;pulled&mdash;at random. Thunder of booming shots all about
+      him! Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end;
+      yes, the end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+      supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's,
+      back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns spouting red!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
+      There it drifted&mdash;Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark,
+      tragic eyes, fading from his sight... fading.. . fading...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Light shone before Duane's eyes&mdash;thick, strange light that came and
+      went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all. It
+      was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden;
+      darkness, light, sound, movement; and vague, obscure sense of time&mdash;time
+      that was very long. There was fire&mdash;creeping, consuming fire. A dark
+      cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
+      over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
+      clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full of
+      those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like
+      a stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his bound
+      body racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
+      old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent over
+      him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a distance:
+      &ldquo;Duane&mdash;Duane! Ah, he knew me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light
+      came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him.
+      It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin!&rdquo; he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
+      Ruling passion&mdash;eternal instinct!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces,&rdquo; replied MacNelly, solemnly. &ldquo;What
+      a fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he was a
+      tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who-got&mdash;away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
+      job's done&mdash;it's done! Why, man, you're&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of&mdash;of&mdash;HER?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped
+      the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when you
+      sank low&mdash;so low&mdash;I think it was her spirit that held yours
+      back. Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her
+      nerve for a moment. Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go with
+      us. Colonel Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I advised
+      it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I&mdash;a&mdash;chance&mdash;to recover?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chance? Why, man,&rdquo; exclaimed the Captain, &ldquo;you'll get well! You'll pack a
+      sight of lead all your life. But you can stand that. Duane, the whole
+      Southwest knows your story. You need never again be ashamed of the name
+      Buck Duane. The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes you've been a
+      secret ranger all the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your
+      mother, of this noble girl&mdash;of your future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had
+      grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was
+      carried from the train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he remembered&mdash;schoolmates,
+      friends, old neighbors. There was an upflinging of many hands. Duane was
+      being welcomed home to the town from which he had fled. A deadness within
+      him broke. This welcome hurt him somehow, quickened him; and through his
+      cold being, his weary mind, passed a change. His sight dimmed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real! His
+      heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet strange it
+      was, and all seemed magnified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and lifted
+      his head upon pillows. The house was still, though full of people. Duane's
+      gaze sought the open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one entered&mdash;a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a
+      light upon her face. She was leading an old lady, gray-haired,
+      austere-faced, somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked
+      erect. She was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His
+      mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where
+      is my son? My son&mdash;oh, my son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west window and
+      watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his talk. The old man was
+      broken now. He told many interesting things about people Duane had known&mdash;people
+      who had grown up and married, failed, succeeded, gone away, and died. But
+      it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of guns, outlaws, fights. He
+      could not seem to divine how mention of these things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim
+      was childish now, and he had a great pride in his nephew. He wanted to
+      hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there was one thing more than another
+      that pleased him it was to talk about the bullets which Duane carried in
+      his body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five bullets, ain't it?&rdquo; he asked, for the hundredth time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, uncle,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all that
+      lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards, right
+      here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem to mind
+      them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad man in his
+      day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger than you&mdash;got
+      more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the doctor only bein' able to
+      cut one bullet out of you&mdash;that one in your breastbone? It was a
+      forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it, and I wanted it, but
+      Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there was a bullet left in
+      one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same kind as the one cut out
+      of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if it'd stayed there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would indeed, uncle,&rdquo; replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
+      mood returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping Uncle
+      Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine Duane's
+      gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all suggestion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came for
+      him. They read it together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MACNELLEY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak
+      then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter
+      now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes were still
+      intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a
+      little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The pain&mdash;Is it any worse to-day?&rdquo; she asked, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you
+      know. But I don't mind a little pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;it's the old mood&mdash;the fear?&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon&mdash;able to go out. Then that&mdash;that
+      hell will come back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; she said, with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every
+      town, wherever I go,&rdquo; he went on, miserably. &ldquo;Buck Duane! To kill Buck
+      Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde, when I
+      came to you&mdash;plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a
+      terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle
+      between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved you
+      then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that&mdash;that thing
+      which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have
+      to kill another man, thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not
+      voice his passionate query.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She put tender arms round his neck. &ldquo;Because you'll have me with you
+      always,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Because always I shall be between you and that&mdash;that
+      terrible thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came to
+      her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger woman
+      that she who had plead with him that fatal day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll&mdash;we'll be married and leave Texas,&rdquo; she said, softly, with the
+      red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear&mdash;suppose,&rdquo; he replied, huskily, &ldquo;suppose there might be&mdash;be
+      children&mdash;a boy. A boy with his father's blood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even so&mdash;he'll
+      be half my blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of joy
+      quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made him
+      weak as a child. How could she love him&mdash;how could she so bravely
+      face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her hands
+      round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and beauty&mdash;these
+      she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past. They were her
+      power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think of accepting her
+      sacrifice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Ray&mdash;you dear, noble girl&mdash;I'm poor. I have nothing. And
+      I'm a cripple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you'll be well some day,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;And listen. I have money. My
+      mother left me well off. All she had was her father's&mdash;Do you
+      understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to Louisiana&mdash;to
+      my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to work. There are
+      horses and cattle&mdash;a great cypress forest to cut. Oh, you'll have
+      much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my home. It's a
+      beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss blows all day
+      and the nightingales sing all night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling!&rdquo; cried Duane, brokenly. &ldquo;No, no, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not
+      resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll be happy,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Oh, I know. Come!&mdash;come!-come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous,
+      waiting lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed to
+      him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills in the
+      west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the Nueces
+      and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness and
+      faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be stronger than
+      the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It would come back&mdash;that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that
+      driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those
+      pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his
+      life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be the
+      faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+  <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1027 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #1027 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1027)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lone Star Ranger
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Posting Date: July 27, 2008 [EBook #1027]
+Release Date: August 1997
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE STAR RANGER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ken Smidge
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE STAR RANGER
+
+By Zane Grey
+
+
+
+          To
+          CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
+          and his Texas Rangers
+
+
+It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard on the
+Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane--outlaw and
+gunman.
+
+But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes has haunted
+me, and I have given full rein to imagination and have retold it in my
+own way. It deals with the old law--the old border days--therefore it is
+better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing of
+the border of to-day, which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, “Shore is
+'most as bad an' wild as ever!”
+
+In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier of the
+West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in stories. As I
+think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he made that remark, while
+he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet wound. And I remember the giant
+Vaughn, that typical son of stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with
+bandaged head, his thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had
+ambushed him. Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
+memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time, Russell and
+Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
+
+Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and the
+hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the truth about a
+strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men--the Texas Rangers--who
+made the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest
+and sleep, who are passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will
+some day come into their own.
+
+ZANE GREY
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I. THE OUTLAW
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
+intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting
+stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the pleading
+of his soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle who stood
+before him now, had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of
+the dark passionate strain in his blood. It was the recurrence, a
+hundred-fold increased in power, of a strange emotion that for the last
+three years had arisen in him.
+
+“Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,”
+ repeated the elder man, gravely.
+
+“It's the second time,” muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+
+“Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up. He ain't
+got it in for you when he's not drinkin'.”
+
+“But what's he want me for?” demanded Duane. “To insult me again? I
+won't stand that twice.”
+
+“He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants
+gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you.”
+
+Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a
+wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding to leave him
+strangely chilled.
+
+“Kill me! What for?” he asked.
+
+“Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with most of
+the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to Everall's kill
+one another dead all because they got to jerkin' at a quirt among
+themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you. His girl was sweet on
+you.”
+
+“I quit when I found out she was his girl.”
+
+“I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's here,
+just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody. He's one of
+them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot
+of wild cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how
+quick they are on the draw. They ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin
+an' all the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along
+the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd
+fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only
+keep out of his way.”
+
+“You mean for me to run?” asked Duane, in scorn.
+
+“I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not
+afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your
+father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of is
+that you'll kill Bain.”
+
+Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to
+realize their significance.
+
+“If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws,
+why, a young man will have a lookout,” went on the uncle. “You're
+twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your
+temper. You've a chance in life. But if you go gun-fightin', if you kill
+a man, you're ruined. Then you'll kill another. It'll be the same old
+story. An' the rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law
+an' order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with them. If
+you resist arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to arrest, then you go
+to jail, an' mebbe you hang.”
+
+“I'd never hang,” muttered Duane, darkly.
+
+“I reckon you wouldn't,” replied the old man. “You'd be like your
+father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times like these, with
+the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad would have been driven to
+the river. An', son, I'm afraid you're a chip off the old block. Can't
+you hold in--keep your temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only
+result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed
+in a street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
+bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible nature of a
+man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give
+it a chance.”
+
+“What you say is all very well, uncle,” returned Duane, “but the only
+way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain and his outfit
+have already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out
+and face him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides,
+Cal would shoot me in the back some day if I didn't face him.”
+
+“Well, then, what're you goin' to do?” inquired the elder man.
+
+“I haven't decided--yet.”
+
+“No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin'
+in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you used to be moody an'
+lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was much afraid of you then. But
+now you're gettin' cool an' quiet, an' you think deep, an' I don't like
+the light in your eye. It reminds me of your father.”
+
+“I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,”
+ said Duane.
+
+“What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a
+glove on his right hand for twenty years?”
+
+“Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have
+done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me.”
+
+Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with downcast eyes,
+and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of the future. Presently he
+turned to Duane with an expression that denoted resignation, and yet a
+spirit which showed wherein they were of the same blood.
+
+“You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this country. After
+you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a saddle-bag packed for you and
+the horse ready.”
+
+With that he turned on his heel and went into the house, leaving Duane
+to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if
+he shared his uncle's opinion of the result of a meeting between himself
+and Bain. His thoughts were vague. But on the instant of final decision,
+when he had settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm
+of passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken with
+ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his hand was like
+a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle about him quivered. He
+had no fear of Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of
+this strange force in him, made him ponder and shake his head. It was as
+if he had not all to say in this matter. There appeared to have been in
+him a reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a
+distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled him.
+That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living, and in it he
+became a thoughtful man.
+
+He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a
+Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it,
+on and off, for five years. Before that it had been used by his father.
+There were a number of notches filed in the bulge of the ivory handle.
+This gun was the one his father had fired twice after being shot
+through the heart, and his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in
+the death-grip that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been
+drawn upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
+cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used. Duane
+could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty feet he could
+split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
+
+Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought,
+she was away from home. He went out and down the path toward the gate.
+The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds.
+Outside in the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a
+wagon; they spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began
+to stride down the road toward the town.
+
+Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
+great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles
+of territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings,
+some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by
+far the most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into
+this street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and
+saddled horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down
+the street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
+leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his
+stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's place, which was the
+first saloon, he was walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and
+turned to look back after they had passed. He paused at the door of
+White's saloon, took a sharp survey of the interior, then stepped
+inside.
+
+The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The
+noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke
+to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who
+was behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without
+speaking, he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the
+Mexican gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
+speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble;
+they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do?
+Several of the cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had
+been weighed by unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The
+boy was the son of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned
+to their drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
+upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed
+to sharp points.
+
+“Howdy, Buck,” was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and
+averted his dark gaze for an instant.
+
+“Howdy, Sol,” replied Duane, slowly. “Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
+town looking for me bad.”
+
+“Reckon there is, Buck,” replied White. “He came in heah aboot an
+hour ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me
+confidential a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he
+was hell-bent on wearin' it home spotted red.”
+
+“Anybody with him?” queried Duane.
+
+“Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
+They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looked on the flowin'
+glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps.”
+
+“Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?”
+
+“Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
+ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open.”
+
+Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
+length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers, ranchers,
+clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
+that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
+had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
+deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
+street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
+instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
+with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could
+not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on
+the street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet
+his enemy.
+
+Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he
+swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment,
+then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the
+length of the block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.
+
+“Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off,” he said, quick and low-voiced. “Cal
+Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll
+show there.”
+
+Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
+statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened,
+and he traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a
+person. Everall's place was on the corner.
+
+Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange
+fury that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this
+encounter more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his
+sensations, he felt as if in a dream.
+
+Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was
+raised high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a
+vigorous hand. A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon
+the sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he
+uttered a savage roar.
+
+Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
+dozen rods from Everall's door.
+
+If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered
+forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty, disheveled, and
+hatless, his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent,
+he was a wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this
+showed in his demeanor. His hands were extended before him, the right
+hand a little lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor
+in speech mostly curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A
+good twenty-five paces separated the men.
+
+“Won't nothin' make you draw, you--!” he shouted, fiercely.
+
+“I'm waitin' on you, Cal,” replied Duane.
+
+Bain's right hand stiffened--moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy throws
+a ball underhand--a draw his father had taught him. He pulled twice,
+his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was pointed
+downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel at
+Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion.
+
+In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun
+ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon
+his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely
+the red had left his face--and also the distortion! The devil that had
+showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to
+speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+changed--rolled--set blankly.
+
+Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool,
+glad the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. “The
+fool!”
+
+When he looked up there were men around him.
+
+“Plumb center,” said one.
+
+Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned
+down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand.
+He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered
+the two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart.
+
+Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+
+“Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like
+father like son!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have
+spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to
+kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a
+drunken, bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.
+
+When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a
+mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place,
+a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind--the
+consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle
+recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
+anger took hold of him.
+
+“The d--d fool!” he exclaimed, hotly. “Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle
+Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on the
+dodge.”
+
+“Son, you killed him--then?” asked the uncle, huskily.
+
+“Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done
+by.”
+
+“I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
+spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country.”
+
+“Mother!” exclaimed Duane.
+
+“She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her--what she
+always feared.”
+
+Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+
+“My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His broad shoulders shook.
+
+“Listen, son, an' remember what I say,” replied the elder man,
+earnestly. “Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see
+you take it this way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous.
+You're not to blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are
+wild times. The law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change
+life all in a minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has
+had her share in making you what you are this moment. For she was one of
+the pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild
+times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save
+her life, her children, an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It
+will be many years before it dies out of the boys born in Texas.”
+
+“I'm a murderer,” said Duane, shuddering.
+
+“No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
+outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home.”
+
+“An outlaw?”
+
+“I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
+neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley
+Duane. Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever
+you do-be a man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as
+honest as you can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become
+bad. There are outlaws who 're not all bad--many who have been driven to
+the river by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men
+avoid brawls. Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do
+if it comes to gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When
+this thing is lived down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into
+the unsettled country. It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember,
+be a man. Goodby.”
+
+Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's
+hand and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the black
+and rode out of town.
+
+As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
+distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed
+up, and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He
+passed several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and
+he took an old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor
+growth of mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught
+a glimpse of low hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that
+section, and knew where to find grass and water. When he reached
+this higher ground he did not, however, halt at the first favorable
+camping-spot, but went on and on. Once he came out upon the brow of a
+hill and saw a considerable stretch of country beneath him. It had the
+gray sameness characterizing all that he had traversed. He seemed to
+want to see wide spaces--to get a glimpse of the great wilderness lying
+somewhere beyond to the southwest. It was sunset when he decided to camp
+at a likely spot he came across. He led the horse to water, and then
+began searching through the shallow valley for a suitable place to camp.
+He passed by old camp-sites that he well remembered. These, however, did
+not strike his fancy this time, and the significance of the change in
+him did not occur at the moment. At last he found a secluded spot, under
+cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from the old
+trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse. He looked among his
+effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had failed to put one
+in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, and never on
+this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso and used that.
+The horse, unused to such hampering of his free movements, had to be
+driven out upon the grass.
+
+Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This done, ending
+the work of that day, he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had
+waned into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show and brighten.
+Above the low continuous hum of insects sounded the evening carol of
+robins. Presently the birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet
+was more noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more
+isolated and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+
+It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful, sleepless.
+The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think back, to take note
+of his late actions and their motives. The change one day had wrought
+amazed him. He who had always been free, easy, happy, especially when
+out alone in the open, had become in a few short hours bound, serious,
+preoccupied. The silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing
+to him except a medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds
+of pursuit. The loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always been
+beautiful to him, now only conveyed a sense of safety for the present.
+He watched, he listened, he thought. He felt tired, yet had no
+inclination to rest. He intended to be off by dawn, heading toward the
+southwest. Had he a destination? It was vague as his knowledge of that
+great waste of mesquite and rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out
+there was a refuge. For he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+
+This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no
+sleep, no content, no life worth the living! He must be a lone wolf
+or he must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest
+living he still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If
+he did not work on some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? The
+idea of stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber
+enough. And he was twenty-three years old.
+
+Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+
+The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that stole
+along his veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the few sticks of
+mesquite into a last flickering blaze. He was cold, and for some reason
+he wanted some light. The black circle of darkness weighed down upon
+him, closed in around him. Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze
+in that position. He had heard a step. It was behind him--no--on the
+side. Some one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the
+touch of cold steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But all
+was silent--silent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low
+murmuring of wind in the mesquite. Had he heard a step? He began to
+breathe again.
+
+But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had taken
+on a strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer
+shadows. Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was
+another present at that camp-fire vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in
+the middle of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal
+Bain! His features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo,
+more sharply outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard face
+softening at the threshold of eternity. The red tan of sun, the coarse
+signs of drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so characteristic of Bain
+were no longer there. This face represented a different Bain, showed all
+that was human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white.
+The lips wanted to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony
+of thought. They revealed what might have been possible for this man
+if he lived--that he saw his mistake too late. Then they rolled, set
+blankly, and closed in death.
+
+That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a
+remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him.
+He divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. He
+remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of
+accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep
+those men he had killed.
+
+The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams
+troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so early that in the
+gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his horse. Day had just broken
+when he struck the old trail again.
+
+He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and graze
+his horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an easy trot. The
+country grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the level of the
+monotonous horizon. About three in the afternoon he came to a little
+river which marked the boundary line of his hunting territory.
+
+The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing to two
+facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt
+reluctant to cross into that region where his presence alone meant that
+he was a marked man. The bottom-lands through which the river wound to
+the southwest were more inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The
+rest or that day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated
+the brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed to
+him that in this lonely cover he would feel easy and content. But he
+did not. Every feeling, every imagining he had experienced the previous
+night returned somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of
+the same intensity and color.
+
+In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during
+which he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle--stolen
+cattle, probably--had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
+of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
+quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
+enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
+rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+assuredly would be his lot.
+
+Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It
+was distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
+throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was
+this reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide
+berth. Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he
+concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of
+provisions.
+
+The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which
+he believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
+horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless,
+he followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far
+when the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his
+rear. In the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back
+along the road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever
+they were, had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the
+road was not to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the
+mesquites and halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was
+now a fugitive, it seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
+
+The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of
+Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the
+clink of spurs.
+
+“Shore he crossed the river below,” said one man.
+
+“I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us,” replied another.
+
+Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
+gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
+him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what
+it would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held
+his breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his
+horse. Suddenly he became aware that these horsemen had halted. They
+were whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed.
+What had made them halt so suspiciously?
+
+“You're wrong, Bill,” said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+
+“The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
+hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat.”
+
+“Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand,” replied the man called Bill.
+
+Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
+the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
+breathed exclamation.
+
+Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
+straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
+from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close
+by his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound.
+These shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a
+quick, hot resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable.
+He must escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or
+not. Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these
+men. After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over
+the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried
+to guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods
+he was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so
+well and made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his
+pursuers. The sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died
+away. Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they
+would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on
+again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he
+might take advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long
+while until he came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when,
+striking the willow brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the
+river, he picketed his horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep.
+His mind bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made
+efforts to think of other things, but in vain.
+
+Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet
+was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and
+shades of the night--these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
+Doggedly Duane fought against the insidious phantom. He kept telling
+himself that it was just imagination, that it would wear off in time.
+Still in his heart he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not
+give up; he would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+
+Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river. Half an
+hour of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and willow thickets.
+These he threaded to come at length to the ford. It was a gravel bottom,
+and therefore an easy crossing. Once upon the opposite shore he
+reined in his horse and looked darkly back. This action marked his
+acknowledgment of his situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge
+of the outlaws; he was beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse
+passed his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien
+shore.
+
+He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether
+or not he left a plain trail.
+
+“Let them hunt me!” he muttered.
+
+When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and thirst
+made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him for a place to
+halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which was hard packed
+and smooth from the tracks of cattle. He doubted not that he had come
+across one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed into it, and
+had scarcely traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank
+upon a single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their
+mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more than a
+hundred paces separated them. They stood then for a moment watching each
+other.
+
+“Mawnin', stranger,” called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
+
+“Howdy,” replied Duane, shortly.
+
+They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted
+again.
+
+“I seen you ain't no ranger,” called the rider, “an' shore I ain't
+none.”
+
+He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+
+“How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?” asked Duane, curiously. Somehow
+he had instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a
+rancher trailing stolen stock.
+
+“Wal,” said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, “a
+ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man.”
+
+He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to
+the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing brown
+eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he
+was a good-natured ruffian.
+
+Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his
+mind how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a hunted man.
+
+“My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?” said
+this stranger.
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+“I reckon you're Buck Duane,” went on Stevens. “I heerd you was a damn
+bad man with a gun.”
+
+This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the
+idea that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was proof of how
+swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border.
+
+“Wal, Buck,” said Stevens, in a friendly manner, “I ain't presumin' on
+your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the river. But will you
+stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?”
+
+“I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,” admitted Duane.
+
+“Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up
+before you hit thet stretch of country.”
+
+He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and
+there was that in his action which seemed significant of a vast and
+barren region.
+
+“Stock up?” queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+“Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along without whisky,
+but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so embarrassin' travelin'
+these parts dodgin' your shadow. Now, I'm on my way to Mercer. It's
+a little two-bit town up the river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some
+grub.”
+
+Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept silence,
+however, and then Stevens went on.
+
+“Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. I never was
+much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it of necessity. It
+takes a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. Why, I've been
+thet sick I was jest achin' fer some ranger to come along an' plug me.
+Give me a pardner any day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a
+feller, an' I'm shore not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself
+sufficient.”
+
+“You mean you'd like me to go with you?” asked Duane.
+
+Stevens grinned. “Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be
+braced with a man of your reputation.”
+
+“See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense,” declared Duane, in some
+haste.
+
+“Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster,” replied Stevens. “I
+hate a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're
+always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play. Buck, I don't know much
+about you. But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a
+lot about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your
+rep was established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you
+was lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the
+figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes.
+Thet's the word thet's gone down the border. It's the kind of reputation
+most sure to fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the
+safest, too; I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now
+you're only a boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now,
+Buck, I'm not a spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe
+a little of my society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the
+country.”
+
+There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+
+“I dare say you're right,” replied Duane, quietly. “And I'll go to
+Mercer with you.”
+
+Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never
+been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his
+companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow,
+probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened,
+and sometimes he thought with a pang of the distinction of name and
+heritage of blood his father had left to him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens,
+having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town
+of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
+
+“Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
+hang up out here,” Stevens was saying, as he mounted. “You see, towns
+an' sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad.
+They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb
+bad. Now, nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been
+a thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
+truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin'
+sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case
+there'll be--”
+
+His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
+kind of wild humor.
+
+“Stevens, have you got any money?” asked Duane.
+
+“Money!” exclaimed Luke, blankly. “Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
+since--wal, fer some time.”
+
+“I'll furnish money for grub,” returned Duane. “And for whisky, too,
+providing you hurry back here--without making trouble.”
+
+“Shore you're a downright good pard,” declared Stevens, in admiration,
+as he took the money. “I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never
+broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick.”
+
+With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the
+town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be
+a cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures
+of alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder
+driving in a meager flock.
+
+Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping
+the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour
+had elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle,
+the clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean
+danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the
+mesquites.
+
+He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast.
+Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had
+a steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck
+Duane as admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept
+looking back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw
+several men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and
+got into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the
+outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no
+fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face
+seemed a shade paler.
+
+“Was jest comin' out of the store,” yelled Stevens. “Run plumb into a
+rancher--who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll chase
+us.”
+
+They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and
+when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his
+companion steadily drew farther away.
+
+“No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,” called out Stevens.
+
+Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode
+somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of
+hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the
+willow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed with
+sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished
+that Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low,
+sandy bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise
+Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+
+Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of
+his shirt was soaked with blood.
+
+“You're shot!” cried Duane.
+
+“Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift--on
+this here pack?”
+
+Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.
+The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
+
+“Oh, why didn't you say so!” cried Duane. “I never thought. You seemed
+all right.”
+
+“Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he
+doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good.”
+
+Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from
+his breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low
+down, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding
+himself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short
+of marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no
+hope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+
+“Feller's name was Brown,” Stevens said. “Me an' him fell out over a
+hoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then.
+Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown,
+an' seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't
+breakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he
+did--an' fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?”
+
+“It's pretty bad,” replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful
+outlaw in the eyes.
+
+“I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe
+I can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave
+me some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out.”
+
+“Leave you here alone?” asked Duane, sharply.
+
+“Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will
+foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in
+this game.”
+
+“What would you do in my case?” asked Duane, curiously.
+
+“Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide,” replied Stevens.
+
+Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he
+decided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,
+filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his own
+horse. That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him in
+the saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard or
+grassy ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran
+across a trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild
+country.
+
+“Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark--till I drop,” concluded
+Stevens, with a laugh.
+
+All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded
+outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tired
+then and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still
+spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but
+asked for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
+
+“Buck, will you take off my boots?” he asked, with a faint smile on his
+pallid face.
+
+Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did
+not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
+
+“Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I
+wasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak.”
+
+“You've a chance to-to get over this,” said Duane.
+
+“Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say, pard, if I do
+go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness.”
+
+Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+
+Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance
+of dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done he
+prepared himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when he
+lay down to sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens
+was still alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All
+was quiet except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
+then rose and went for the horses.
+
+When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerful
+as usual, and apparently stronger.
+
+“Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride,” he
+said. “Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help
+me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood this
+evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was in me.”
+
+While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,
+and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a
+hurry to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would put
+them beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande
+and the hiding-places of the outlaws.
+
+When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, “Reckon you
+can pull on my boots once more.” In spite of the laugh accompanying the
+words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
+
+On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was
+broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while
+upholding Stevens in the saddle.
+
+The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
+were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.
+The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while;
+darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars
+brightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his
+saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore
+away. Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that
+there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
+grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite and
+cactus.
+
+Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
+little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one
+look at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last
+ride. He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
+
+“Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots,” he said, and
+seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
+
+This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
+Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
+the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
+the night before.
+
+“This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads
+to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like yourself--some like
+me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's easy
+livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
+never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if
+a man can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
+lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in
+here will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
+they'll kill you.”
+
+Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not
+want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+
+“Be quiet,” said Duane. “Talking uses up your strength.”
+
+“Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done,” he replied, doggedly. “See here, pard,
+you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From this
+camp we'll--you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will be honest
+men. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along the river
+fer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you
+know him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
+folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with him ant his
+gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock way up
+the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed once
+right in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty well
+hid. But Bland--I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him.
+Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
+sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore there's
+some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the time.
+Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers.”
+
+Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+
+“You ain't likely to get on with Bland,” he resumed, presently. “You're
+too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's got
+women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with a
+gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' he
+loves his hide. I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer you
+when you ain't goin' it alone.”
+
+Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens had
+been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.
+Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birds
+came down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable
+seat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but
+with a changed tone.
+
+“Feller's name--was Brown,” he rambled. “We fell out--over a hoss I
+stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one of them
+sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends to be honest. Say,
+Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You an' me are pards now.”
+
+“I'll remember, if I ever meet him,” said Duane.
+
+That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his
+head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across the
+bronzed rough face.
+
+“My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?”
+
+Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them.
+The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fell
+asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duane
+watching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed
+clearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wanted
+anything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duane
+realized what it meant.
+
+“Pard, you--stuck--to me!” the outlaw whispered.
+
+Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise
+in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
+
+To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he
+could not understand.
+
+Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones
+to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the
+weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the
+trail in the gathering twilight.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged the
+two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and found
+himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at his
+feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great,
+wild, mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
+
+Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he had
+not the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably the
+inclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
+
+No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent the
+last two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had ever
+seen. From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of his
+travel was yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down to
+the river. The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood,
+and nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight and
+a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find a
+place to rest, Duane began the descent.
+
+The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. He
+kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a short
+time he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A stream
+of clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran into
+irrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that
+fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet
+water. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would be
+his reception.
+
+The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.
+Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good
+hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle were
+everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.
+Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to and
+fro. Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porch
+attached. A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door.
+No one else appeared to notice him.
+
+Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of square
+lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure.
+Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women with
+children, and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. His
+advent created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who were
+lolling in the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and
+saloon, and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+
+As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a
+loud exclamation:
+
+“Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!”
+
+The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance
+toward Duane.
+
+“How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?” queried the first man.
+
+“Plain as your nose,” replied the fellow called Euchre.
+
+“There ain't no doubt about thet, then,” laughed another, “fer Bosomer's
+nose is shore plain on the landscape.”
+
+These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he
+thought they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The
+man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which
+showed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with
+a thatch of sandy hair.
+
+“Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?”
+ he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons
+hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward
+to Duane.
+
+Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and he
+remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curious
+interest in regard to something that leaped inside him and made his
+breast feel tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which had
+shot through him often of late, and which had decided him to go out to
+the meeting with Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
+
+“Stranger, who are you?” asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
+
+“My name's Duane,” replied Duane, curtly.
+
+“An' how'd you come by the hoss?”
+
+Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,
+during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of
+his beard.
+
+“Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,”
+ presently said Euchre.
+
+“Mister Duane,” began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, “I happen to be
+Luke Stevens's side-pardner.”
+
+Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy
+sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+
+“An' I want the hoss an' them guns,” he shouted.
+
+“You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them
+in. But the pack is mine,” replied Duane. “And say, I befriended your
+pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it.”
+
+“Civil? Haw, haw!” rejoined the outlaw. “I don't know you. How do we
+know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened to
+stumble down here?”
+
+“You'll have to take my word, that's all,” replied Duane, sharply.
+
+“I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!”
+
+With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped
+into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+
+Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+
+“Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,” said the man Euchre. He did not
+appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+
+At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, and
+the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His manner
+proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, and
+clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He was
+not a Texan; in truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws as
+native to his state.
+
+“I'm Bland,” said the tall man, authoritatively. “Who're you and what're
+you doing here?”
+
+Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief
+appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story
+again, this time a little more in detail.
+
+“I believe you,” replied Bland, at once. “Think I know when a fellow is
+lying.”
+
+“I reckon you're on the right trail,” put in Euchre. “Thet about Luke
+wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dread
+of dyin' with his boots on.”
+
+At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+
+“You said Duane--Buck Duane?” queried Bland. “Are you a son of that
+Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane.
+
+“Never met him, and glad I didn't,” said Bland, with a grim humor. “So
+you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?”
+
+“Had a fight.”
+
+“Fight? Do you mean gun-play?” questioned Bland. He seemed eager,
+curious, speculative.
+
+“Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,” answered Duane.
+
+“Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,” went on
+Bland, ironically. “Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in my
+camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce.”
+
+“Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?” asked Duane, quietly.
+
+“Not exactly that,” said Bland, as if irritated. “If this isn't a free
+place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want to
+join my band?”
+
+“No, I don't.”
+
+“Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an
+ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to kill
+somebody all the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer
+is all one color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you
+to hit the trail.”
+
+“Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay,” returned Duane. Even as he spoke
+he felt that he did not know himself.
+
+Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and
+as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like an
+angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had
+been devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and
+the other outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When
+Bosomer saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change
+passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the
+men who had followed him out piled over one another in their hurry to
+get to one side.
+
+Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, and
+in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he had
+expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew he
+was neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran through
+him. It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar to
+him. Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had
+come out to kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of
+a stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his
+ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane
+divined that no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his
+chance. In that moment murder would have been joy to him. Very likely
+he had forgotten his pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties
+were absorbed in conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+
+But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment,
+his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+
+That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thought
+that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man.
+Still he would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. When
+Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only--both
+from Duane's gun--and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.
+Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the
+gun with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane would
+not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any further
+madness on his part.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to
+lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane and the horses away
+to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed
+their saddles. Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his
+visitor to enter the house.
+
+It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One room
+contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the other a stone
+fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and various
+blackened utensils.
+
+“Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay,” said Euchre. “I
+ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's here, an' you're
+welcome.”
+
+“Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out,” replied
+Duane.
+
+Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+
+“Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass.” Euchre left Duane
+alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and mechanically he wiped the
+sweat from his face. He was laboring under some kind of a spell or shock
+which did not pass off quickly. When it had worn away he took off his
+coat and belt and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it make on the
+morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future.
+He felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for the first time he
+took notice of the outlaw.
+
+Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face
+clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut from long
+gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his thin frame denoted
+strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+
+“Hey a drink or a smoke?” he asked.
+
+Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he
+had used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he
+felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly
+what he felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood,
+something that made him fear himself.
+
+Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. “Reckon you feel a little
+sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?”
+
+“I'm twenty-three,” replied Duane.
+
+Euchre showed surprise. “You're only a boy! I thought you thirty
+anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin' thet with my
+own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet. Throwin' a gun in
+self-defense--thet ain't no crime!”
+
+Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+
+“Huh,” replied the old man. “I've been on this river fer years, an' I've
+seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of them, though, was no
+good. An' thet kind don't last long. This river country has been an' is
+the refuge fer criminals from all over the states. I've bunked with
+bank cashiers, forgers, plain thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all
+of which had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are
+exceptions. He's no Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come
+from all over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
+fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves they'd
+shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent
+feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't join his gang. Thet'll not
+make him take a likin' to you. Have you any money?”
+
+“Not much,” replied Duane.
+
+“Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work
+a decent feller could do. You can't herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men
+would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?”
+
+“God knows,” replied Duane, hopelessly. “I'll make my money last as long
+as possible--then starve.”
+
+“Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'.”
+
+Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and eager
+which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked
+this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the
+outside world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming
+feature.
+
+“I'm much obliged to you, Euchre,” replied Duane. “But of course I won't
+live with any one unless I can pay my share.”
+
+“Have it any way you like, my son,” said Euchre, good-humoredly. “You
+make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck.
+Thet man doesn't live who can beat my bread.”
+
+“How do you ever pack supplies in here?” asked Duane, thinking of the
+almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+
+“Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river. Thet river
+trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to any supply point.
+Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in
+from down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An'
+all this stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships.”
+
+“Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?” asked Duane.
+
+“Thet's not my secret,” replied Euchre, shortly. “Fact is, I don't know.
+I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock
+with them.”
+
+Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest
+had been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and
+glad to have something to think about. For every once in a while he had
+a sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the
+next hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and
+eating of the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several
+utensils, put on his hat and turned to go out.
+
+“Come along or stay here, as you want,” he said to Duane.
+
+“I'll stay,” rejoined Duane, slowly.
+
+The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
+
+Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but
+all the printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on
+cartridge-boxes and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch.
+There seemed to be nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want
+to lie down any more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the
+room to the other. And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired
+habit of brooding over his misfortune.
+
+Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his
+gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked
+at it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty
+he traced his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was
+accountable for his act. He discovered, however, that he had a
+remarkable tendency to drop his hand to his gun. That might have come
+from the habit long practice in drawing had given him. Likewise, it
+might have come from a subtle sense, scarcely thought of at all, of the
+late, close, and inevitable relation between that weapon and himself. He
+was amazed to find that, bitter as he had grown at fate, the desire to
+live burned strong in him. If he had been as unfortunately situated, but
+with the difference that no man wanted to put him in jail or take his
+life, he felt that this burning passion to be free, to save himself,
+might not have been so powerful. Life certainly held no bright prospects
+for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever getting back to his
+home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let himself be
+handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging cowboy, or be
+shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to add another
+notch to his gun--these things were impossible for Duane because there
+was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only to fate and
+the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living part
+of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+discontinued--the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business with
+him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had
+become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and
+he set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He
+stood still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down,
+put himself in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced
+throwing his gun--practiced it till he was hot and tired and his arm
+ached and his hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every
+day. It was one thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
+
+Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From
+this point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different
+circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful
+spot. Euchre's shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the
+wall, and Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley.
+Assuredly it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans,
+who, of course, were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous
+flat-boats, crude of structure, moored along the banks of the river. The
+Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in
+the middle, was stretched over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow,
+evidently used as a ferry, lay anchored on the far shore.
+
+The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big
+scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim
+Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost
+any number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and
+quick. What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river,
+and he wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by
+use of boats.
+
+Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he
+returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
+
+“Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was,” he
+said, by way of greeting. “Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready.
+There's shore one consolin' fact round this here camp.”
+
+“What's that?” asked Duane.
+
+“Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.”
+
+“But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too,
+doesn't it?”
+
+“I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none.
+An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.”
+
+“Who is Bland?” asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. “What do you
+know about him?”
+
+“We don't know who he is or where he hails from,” replied Euchre.
+“Thet's always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been
+a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how
+years ago he was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is
+now. Bland ain't likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor
+you, an' he's shore a knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet
+rules men. Outlaws are always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if
+it hadn't been fer the gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men
+around him.”
+
+“How many in his gang now?”
+
+“I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland
+has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on
+the cattle-ranges.”
+
+“How does he control such a big force?” asked Duane. “Especially when
+his band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for
+Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.”
+
+“Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper,
+never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess
+Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an'
+some fer nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is
+because he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich.
+They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of
+gold. But he's free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a
+shipment of cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is there's
+always plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty,
+bloody money!”
+
+“It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!”
+ exclaimed Duane.
+
+“Wal,” replied Euchre, dryly, “he's been quicker on the draw than the
+other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all.”
+
+Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
+remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
+
+“Speakin' of this here swift wrist game,” went on Euchre, “there's been
+considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
+thet among us fellers--us hunted men--there ain't anythin' calculated
+to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this
+afternoon--an' he said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd
+never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just
+couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you
+meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
+any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself.
+Chess is the captain with a Colt--or he was. An' he shore didn't like
+the references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin'
+it, but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your
+draw might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different.
+An' they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears
+to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago.
+Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails
+you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin'
+out, blood in his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an'
+weren't his eyes readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw--can't
+you-all see thet's a family gift?'”
+
+Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a
+slap with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself
+a champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could
+feel in a young one whom he admired.
+
+“Wal,” he resumed, presently, “thet's your introduction to the border,
+Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let severely alone by
+real gun-fighters an' men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of
+the other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, an' onless
+you cross them they're no more likely to interfere with you than you
+are with them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river
+country. They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride into will
+scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired four-flush
+gunman or a sheriff--an' these men will be playin' to the crowd an'
+yellin' for your blood. Thet's the Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer
+ever in the brakes or you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this
+ain't cheerful news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you
+because I've taken a likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet you ain't
+border-wise. Let's eat now, an' afterward we'll go out so the gang can
+see you're not hidin'.”
+
+When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range
+of mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to
+the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house
+near at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little
+Mexican boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The
+sweet, happy voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boy--these seemed
+utterly out of place here.
+
+Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane
+remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where
+Bosomer had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should
+be affected strangely by the sight of it.
+
+“Let's have a look in here,” said Euchre.
+
+Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very
+large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of
+rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels
+lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on
+posts that sustained the log rafters of the roof.
+
+“The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is Benson,”
+ said Euchre. “He runs the place an' sells drinks. The gang calls him
+Jackrabbit Benson, because he's always got his eye peeled an' his ear
+cocked. Don't notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to
+death of every new-comer who rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason,
+I take it, is because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from
+a sheriff or ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like Jackrabbit
+Benson. He's hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him to kill him. Wal,
+I'm always expectin' to see some feller ride in here an' throw a gun on
+Benson. Can't say I'd be grieved.”
+
+Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare,
+gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and
+dark skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black
+mustache hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the
+brow; deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had
+a restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that
+served as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's glance he
+turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+
+“What have you got against him?” inquired Duane, as he sat down beside
+Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What
+did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?
+
+“Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained,” replied Euchre, apologetically. “Shore
+an outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I never stole
+nothin' but cattle from some rancher who never missed 'em anyway. Thet
+sneak Benson--he was the means of puttin' a little girl in Bland's way.”
+
+“Girl?” queried Duane, now with real attention.
+
+“Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we
+get out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be sociable, an' I can't
+talk about the chief.”
+
+During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and
+Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all
+gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly
+and agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all
+invitations to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a
+way, as one of their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his
+affair with Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One
+outlaw borrowed money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+
+By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans,
+most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the
+Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the
+drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts--some of the
+famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
+license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
+him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
+perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
+piles of silver--Mexican pesos--as large and high as the crown of his
+hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States coin.
+Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and that
+heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an
+intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly,
+as befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
+winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
+grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
+drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
+gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
+steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
+was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
+his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
+his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
+contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That
+seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent
+heads, from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights,
+but these served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked
+unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something
+at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
+
+“Bland's not here to-night,” Euchre was saying. “He left today on one of
+his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
+here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
+Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off.
+He's one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn
+me! there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as
+Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin'
+he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see
+Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser
+there--the one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a
+Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin.
+Next to him is Bill Marr--the feller with the bandana round his head.
+Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot
+more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because
+Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But
+he's the best rustler Bland's got--a grand rider, an' a wonder with
+cattle. An' see the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of
+Bland's gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year
+out on the border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of
+Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland.
+Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut.”
+
+Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he
+happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked
+man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less
+distinction, according to the record of his past wild prowess and his
+present possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there,
+received in careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts,
+experienced a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror.
+Was his being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such
+ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proof--he was a
+criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+
+For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
+heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
+outside things.
+
+The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased.
+There was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or
+action sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and
+the scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
+
+“You stacked the cards, you--!”
+
+“Say that twice,” another voice replied, so different in its cool,
+ominous tone from the other.
+
+“I'll say it twice,” returned the first gamester, in hot haste. “I'll
+say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered
+gent! You stacked the cards!”
+
+Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
+Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
+was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
+
+“Run or duck!” yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed
+for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob.
+Heavy gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with
+pell-mell out into the darkness. There they all halted, and several
+peeped in at the door.
+
+“Who was the Kid callin'?” asked one outlaw.
+
+“Bud Marsh,” replied another.
+
+“I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,”
+ went on yet another.
+
+“How many shots?”
+
+“Three or four, I counted.”
+
+“Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's.38. Listen!
+There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway.”
+
+At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room.
+Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night
+and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with
+him.
+
+“Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange,” he said. “The Kid--young
+Fuller thet I was tellin' you about--he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost
+his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as
+any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's
+arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened
+on him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading
+round the river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out
+that the trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself
+to his fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store
+for him. He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared
+beyond his power to tell.
+
+Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril--the
+danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which
+threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he
+considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was
+bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps
+years inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright
+light of day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at
+twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day these visitations became
+to him what they really were--phantoms of his conscience. He could
+dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe
+that this strange feat of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained
+him, made him sleepless and sick.
+
+That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
+unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
+interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
+possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's
+life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
+clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
+possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out
+upon his uncertain way.
+
+When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+
+“Say, Buck, I've news for you,” he said; and his tone conveyed either
+pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. “Feller named
+Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
+ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain
+you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles
+south of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?”
+
+“No, I certainly did not,” replied Duane.
+
+“Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled
+with gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as
+seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an
+outlaw an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more
+news. You're goin' to be popular.”
+
+“Popular? What do you mean?”
+
+“I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you
+rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women
+in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come
+in. It's lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the
+towns.”
+
+“Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
+women,” rejoined Duane.
+
+“I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
+hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.”
+
+“What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise.
+
+“Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin' here--the one
+Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?”
+
+“You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,” replied Duane,
+abruptly.
+
+“Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
+years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
+drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
+across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but
+I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson
+fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out
+she was only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed.
+I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said,
+was to use her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never
+went much on Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took
+her--bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from
+notions of chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was
+better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept
+Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has
+growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of
+her. I can see hell brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why
+I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's
+invited you. Shore, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on--Wal, thet
+'d complicate matters. But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could
+help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her
+in your way. You're a man an' can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl
+once, an' if she'd lived she be as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I
+wouldn't want her here in Bland's camp.”
+
+“I'll go, Euchre. Take me over,” replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes
+upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
+
+In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached
+Bland's cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the
+pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked
+like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the
+valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a
+grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences
+of a woman's hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of
+bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
+
+Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+
+“Is that you, Euchre?” asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone
+of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered
+what she would be like.
+
+“Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?” answered Euchre.
+
+“She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,” replied the girl.
+
+Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the
+outlaw's eyes was added significance to Duane.
+
+“Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
+you about,” Euchre said.
+
+“Oh, I can't! I look so--so--”
+
+“Never mind how you look,” interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. “It
+ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no
+rustler, no thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll--”
+
+Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance
+shifting from side to side.
+
+But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared
+in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek.
+She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+
+“Don't be bashful, Jennie,” said Euchre. “You an' Duane have a chance to
+talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'.”
+
+With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+
+“I'm glad to meet you, Miss--Miss Jennie,” said Duane. “Euchre didn't
+mention your last name. He asked me to come over to--”
+
+Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes
+to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes
+were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He
+seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her
+piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence.
+It was no ordinary moment.
+
+“What did you come here for?” she asked, at last.
+
+“To see you,” replied Duane, glad to speak.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Well--Euchre thought--he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit,”
+ replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.
+
+“Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good
+to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are
+you?”
+
+Duane told her.
+
+“You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to
+hide?”
+
+“No, I'm not,” replied Duane, trying to smile.
+
+“Then why are you here?”
+
+“I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape
+at home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back.”
+
+“But you can't be honest here?”
+
+“Yes, I can.”
+
+“Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different.” She kept the
+strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her
+youthful face were softening.
+
+Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the
+unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+
+“O God! Maybe you're the man to save me--to take me away before it's too
+late.”
+
+Duane's spirit leaped.
+
+“Maybe I am,” he replied, instantly.
+
+She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek
+flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress.
+Then the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.
+
+“It can't be. You're only--after me, too, like Bland--like all of them.”
+
+Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook
+her.
+
+“Look at me--straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a
+father--a brother?”
+
+“They're dead--killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was
+carried away,” Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand
+to him. “Forgive me. I believe--I know you're good. It was only--I live
+so much in fear--I'm half crazy--I've almost forgotten what good men are
+like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?”
+
+“Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?”
+
+“Oh no. But take me away.”
+
+“I'll try,” said Duane, simply. “That won't be easy, though. I must
+have time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider.
+Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are
+you watched--kept prisoner?”
+
+“No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have
+fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me,
+half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other
+dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it
+for love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing
+jealous. There was' a man came here by the name of Spence--so he called
+himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him. She was
+in love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and
+that ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with
+Bland about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland
+laughs in her face. Then I've heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland
+to give me to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before
+Bland went away things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished
+Mrs. Bland would kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me.
+Duane, you must be quick if you'd save me.”
+
+“I realize that,” replied he, thoughtfully. “I think my difficulty will
+be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she'd have the whole gang of
+outlaws on me at once.”
+
+“She would that. You've got to be careful--and quick.”
+
+“What kind of woman is she?” inquired Duane.
+
+“She's--she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk
+sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain.
+She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower
+yourself to--to--”
+
+“To make love to her?” interrupted Duane.
+
+Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+
+“My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here,” he said,
+bluntly.
+
+“But--Duane,” she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand.
+“Bland will kill you.”
+
+Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange
+tumult in his breast. The old emotion--the rush of an instinct to kill!
+He turned cold all over.
+
+“Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't,” went on Jennie, with her
+tragic eyes on Duane's.
+
+“Maybe he will,” replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a
+smile. But he achieved one.
+
+“Oh, better take me off at once,” she said. “Save me without risking so
+much--without making love to Mrs. Bland!”
+
+“Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.”
+
+“That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you.”
+
+“Wait--a moment,” whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. “We've
+settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps
+through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage. Remember I'll save you
+somehow. We'll try strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't
+think less of me--”
+
+Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
+
+“I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart,” she whispered,
+passionately.
+
+It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame
+and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+
+He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the
+approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to
+make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie.
+When the outlaw's wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall,
+strong, full-bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression than with
+her good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. The
+situation then took on a singular zest.
+
+Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs.
+Bland. She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so
+prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and
+brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she
+had white teeth.
+
+Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to
+meet her.
+
+Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and
+rather musical.
+
+“Mr. Duane--Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?” she asked.
+
+“Buckley,” corrected Duane. “The nickname's not of my choosing.”
+
+“I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane,” she said, as she took
+the seat Duane offered her. “Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying
+over at Deger's. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day.
+When Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it
+sure takes my time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that
+slattern girl of mine?”
+
+She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of
+feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at
+all.
+
+“I've been alone,” replied Duane. “Haven't seen anybody but a
+sick-looking girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me.”
+
+“That was Jen,” said Mrs. Bland. “She's the kid we keep here, and she
+sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?”
+
+“Now that I think of it, he did say something or other.”
+
+“What did he tell you about me?” bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+
+“Wal, Kate,” replied Euchre, speaking for himself, “you needn't worry
+none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments.”
+
+Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested
+with amusement upon him.
+
+“As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day,” went on the woman. “It's
+a common enough story along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted
+old fool, and Jen has taken him in.”
+
+“Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct,” replied Euchre, dryly,
+“I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may.”
+
+“Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend,” said Mrs. Bland,
+amiably. “You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I
+guess.”
+
+When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with
+curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+
+“Bland told me about you.”
+
+“What did he say?” queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+
+“Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind of a
+man. He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp--rode in here on the
+dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. Wish he would.
+Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him
+and Chess meet out there in the road.' Then Bland went on to tell how
+you and Bosomer came together.”
+
+“What did you say?” inquired Duane, as she paused.
+
+“Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,” she replied, gayly.
+
+“Well?” went on Duane.
+
+“Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a
+great blue-eyed sunburned boy!”
+
+“Humph!” exclaimed Duane. “I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth
+seeing.”
+
+“But I'm not disappointed,” she returned, archly. “Duane, are you going
+to stay long here in camp?”
+
+“Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?”
+
+Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and
+flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had lent
+her a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some
+powerful emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent,
+Duane imagined, of deep, violent nature.
+
+“I'll tell you, Duane,” she said, earnestly, “I'm sure glad if you mean
+to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw's wife,
+and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in
+Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married
+me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business.
+But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family
+cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then.
+I've lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear
+anything about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here--buried
+alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being
+glad to see a young fellow--a gentleman--like the boys I used to go
+with? I tell you it makes me feel full--I want to cry. I'm sick for
+somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not
+stay here. I'm sick of this hole. I'm lonely--”
+
+There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine
+emotion checked, then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and
+cried. It seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife--and a woman
+who fitted her consort and the wild nature of their surroundings--should
+have weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+
+“I'm sorry for you,” he said.
+
+“Don't be SORRY for me,” she said. “That only makes me see the--the
+difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these
+outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me.
+You'll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie.
+Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking
+for somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He
+explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing--that it
+is provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know
+is that somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before
+Spence ever saw me.”
+
+“Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?” inquired Duane.
+
+“No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
+comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in
+love with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to
+do that.”
+
+“I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain,” replied Duane.
+
+He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before
+she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
+conversation.
+
+Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
+say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened.
+He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had
+suffered a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter,
+morbid, overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough,
+she was a frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing
+which struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect.
+In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had
+discovered a trait through which he could manage her.
+
+Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
+the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam
+of Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching
+him, listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
+realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance,
+he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her
+face was wonderful.
+
+Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning “Adios--manana,” and
+was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
+the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze
+with hope and gratitude.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
+sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to
+Euchre for having put something worth while into his mind. During
+breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea
+of how much or how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware
+of Euchre's scrutiny.
+
+“Wal,” began the old man, at last, “how'd you make out with the kid?”
+
+“Kid?” inquired Duane, tentatively.
+
+“Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?”
+
+“We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.”
+
+Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane.
+
+“Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you
+done the job too well.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half crazy.
+She was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her eyes hurt me. She
+wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung onto my hands,
+an' showed every way without speakin' how she wanted to thank me fer
+bringin' you over. Buck, it was plain to me thet you'd either gone the
+limit or else you'd been kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to
+think you'd led Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true.”
+
+Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on:
+
+“Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can
+trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there an' puttin' you
+wise to my tryin' to help thet poor kid?”
+
+Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations with
+Jennie and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end
+Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion
+of the story his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat
+stood out thickly on his brow.
+
+“Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!” he ejaculated, blinking at Duane.
+“Young man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to make your mark on
+this river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what
+it means to be a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my
+heart was in the right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you
+know what it'll take to do all you promised Jen?”
+
+“I haven't any idea,” replied Duane, gravely.
+
+“You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even if she
+falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't be easy.
+An' she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't
+mistaken her none, are you?”
+
+“Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.”
+
+“Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe
+some others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl.”
+
+“Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune
+time sneak off without any gun-play?”
+
+“Don't see how on earth,” returned Euchre, earnestly. “When Bland's
+away he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin' the valley trails.
+They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by them. But when the boss is
+home there's a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their
+eyes peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're
+playin' monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to
+pick out a good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a
+couple of hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie
+with you, an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If you had luck you
+might pull thet stunt without throwin' a gun. But I reckon the best
+figgerin' would include dodgin' some lead an' leavin' at least Bland or
+Alloway dead behind you. I'm figgerin', of course, thet when they come
+home an' find out you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally
+look fer results. Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're
+swift on the draw--mebbe swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this
+gun-play business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gunmen
+till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination mebbe you'll learn some
+day. Bland would treat you civil onless there was reason not to, an'
+then I don't believe he'd invite himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set
+Chess or Rugg to put you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if
+you came across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was
+with Bosomer.”
+
+“All right. I'll meet what comes,” said Duane, quickly. “The great point
+is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick
+through.”
+
+“Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone.”
+
+“I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!”
+
+“Wal, I'll take my chances,” replied Euchre, gruffly. “I'm goin' to help
+Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There's only four men in
+this camp who would shoot me--Bland, an' his right-hand pards, an' thet
+rabbit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd
+stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired--what's
+the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck,
+even if I am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the
+right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now let's
+figger all the little details.”
+
+They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned,
+Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and
+his lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the
+other outlaws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness
+to spend a little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland
+every day--Euchre to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie,
+Duane to blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided
+upon, they proceeded to put them into action.
+
+No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than
+theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to their
+lower level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That
+was why life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply.
+There were men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible
+inexplicable wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near
+them. He could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word,
+a deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could no
+longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these men. Because of
+him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could scarcely ever forget
+the reality of things. This was a hidden valley, a robbers' den, a
+rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained red by deeds of wild men.
+And because of that there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest,
+idlest, most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in
+ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate characters it
+could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Duane sensed was this.
+The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in; the
+mountaintops were always blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid
+slowly and majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the
+horses grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love,
+freedom, happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with money and
+speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled,
+talked, laughed, whiled away the idle hours--and all the time life there
+was wrong, and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil
+into the most awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark,
+brooding shadow over the valley.
+
+Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the Bland
+woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never
+troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It
+took no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which
+evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for
+the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always
+with deference. That was his strong point, and it had made his part
+easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without
+involving himself any deeper.
+
+He was playing at a game of love--playing with life and deaths Sometimes
+he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or any other man, but
+at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out of his
+old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he
+been haunted by the phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been
+haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her
+was through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses
+of her every time he went to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to
+pass door or window, to give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane
+discovered with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to
+him than any with Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just
+inside the window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was
+all made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she was
+almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to
+understand that this was Duane's only chance to help keep her mind from
+constant worry, to gather the import of every word which had a double
+meaning.
+
+Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn
+up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference
+Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The
+eyes seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that
+soon it might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a
+light, a strange fire wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash
+gone in an instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in
+any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that
+Jennie's face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him,
+was responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change
+he fancied, was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his
+pale, sickening ghosts.
+
+One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush
+matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire
+which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was
+that while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking.
+Time hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days
+passed by without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours
+of peace than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but
+empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on all the
+trails leading out of the valley; he had a care for the condition of his
+two horses.
+
+Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that
+they go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+
+“Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin',” said Euchre. “River gettin'
+low an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a greaser
+freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the
+freighters. Bland's supposed to be in Mexico.”
+
+Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling
+in the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an
+outlaw offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily
+freighted wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for
+themselves, let alone for the despised Mexicans.
+
+Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre
+lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in
+comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane
+was alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was
+his belief that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him.
+Moreover, these rough men were always interesting.
+
+“Bland's been chased across the river,” said one.
+
+“New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship,” replied another.
+
+“Big deal on, hey?”
+
+“Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand.”
+
+“Say, that order'll take a year to fill.”
+
+“New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders
+bigger 'n thet.”
+
+“Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer.”
+
+Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the
+outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him.
+
+“Kid Fuller's goin' to cash,” said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw.
+
+“So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad.
+But he took the fever,” rejoined a comrade.
+
+“Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.”
+
+“Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't
+got time.”
+
+A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of
+the outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will.
+Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.
+
+“Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before.”
+
+“Shore. Wal, it's happened before.”
+
+This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane.
+He did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+
+“Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's
+name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days.”
+
+He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in
+no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class
+of men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until
+they wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in
+the very deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the
+simplest and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip.
+There was something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It never
+seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an
+awkward position.
+
+There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches
+on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane
+silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
+
+Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a
+familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted
+of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done
+better.
+
+“Orful hot, ain't it?” remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not
+keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been
+anything else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding;
+a wiry little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly
+black from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel
+eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast.
+
+“Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?” he
+asked.
+
+“My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!” exclaimed a comrade.
+
+This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to
+join him in a bath.
+
+“Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,” went on Bill, discontentedly.
+“Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll
+gamble?”
+
+He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless
+crowd.
+
+“Bill, you're too good at cards,” replied a lanky outlaw.
+
+“Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I
+might take it to heart,” replied Black, with a sudden change of tone.
+
+Here it was again--that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply
+would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance.
+
+“No offense, Bill,” said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+
+Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
+Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was
+out of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land.
+
+“Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?” he
+asked, in disgust.
+
+“Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.” replied one.
+
+Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game
+obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest
+with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried
+their luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their
+supply of two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he
+offered to bet on anything.
+
+“See thet turtle-dove there?” he said, pointing. “I'll bet he'll scare
+at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some
+one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?”
+
+That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws
+could withstand.
+
+“Take thet. Easy money,” said one.
+
+“Who's goin' to chuck the stone?” asked another.
+
+“Anybody,” replied Bill.
+
+“Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,” said the first
+outlaw.
+
+“We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,” chimed in the others.
+
+The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to
+the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+
+“I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,”
+ he offered, imperturbably.
+
+Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to
+cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and
+they all sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the
+tree. The minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular
+remarks anent a fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes
+had passed a turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an
+impressive silence while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars.
+
+“But it hadn't the same dove!” exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. “This
+'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple.”
+
+Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+
+“Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, pard? Now
+I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with
+one stone.”
+
+No one offered to take his wager.
+
+“Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with
+one stone.”
+
+Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise
+disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their banding together.
+The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to
+that bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind
+of wager.
+
+He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he
+appeared at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a
+little ragged Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly
+starved and poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him
+a handful of silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging
+the money.
+
+“I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,” declared Bill.
+“I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.”
+
+Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became
+sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the
+fact that he had won considerable.
+
+Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered
+what was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as
+unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+
+“Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet
+peon's packin',” said the outlaw called Jim.
+
+Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+
+Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon
+carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted
+Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had
+met him often.
+
+“Jim, I'll take you up,” replied Black.
+
+Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
+caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+
+“Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot,” said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
+on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the
+peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit
+a moving object so small as a bucket.
+
+Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that
+Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark
+with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming
+at the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his
+hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
+
+Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the
+same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant and formidable
+front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the
+state of his soul!
+
+The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains;
+twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet;
+the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only
+sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley.
+
+Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate
+man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it
+threatened so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him
+to die rather than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate,
+savage men. But the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed
+reason, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt something dying in
+him. He suffered. Hope seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and
+was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+
+He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her.
+He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand
+between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheered off his morbid
+introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize
+that! He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had
+been stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in
+the river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, she to
+be the means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking to the level of her
+captors. He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her,
+talk with her.
+
+These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's
+house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time
+to compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his
+destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
+him on the porch.
+
+She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such
+a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
+She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
+embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
+that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+
+“He might have killed you,” she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane
+had ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After
+all, she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in
+her experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her
+advance so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such
+as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain
+charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that,
+whatever her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the
+lie she made him act.
+
+“Buck, you love me?” she whispered.
+
+“Yes--yes,” he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
+he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt
+a shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
+promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
+him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his
+arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes,
+thrilled him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+
+“Listen, dear,” he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the
+girl. “I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill
+Bland, Alloway, Rugg--anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged
+here. You are good--I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere--a
+home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till--”
+
+His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland
+closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart
+beat against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved
+him so much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him
+again, and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no
+more.
+
+“Boy, that's good of you,” she whispered, “but it's too late. I'm done
+for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and
+stop your gun-throwing.”
+
+The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the
+valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered
+against the silver.
+
+Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his
+head and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of
+the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the
+narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects.
+Two horses Duane discerned.
+
+“It's Bland!” whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands.
+“You must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's Bland! I know
+his horse's trot.”
+
+“But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here,” protested Duane.
+“Euchre's with me. It'll be all right.”
+
+“Maybe so,” she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly
+she had a great fear of Bland. “If I could only think!”
+
+Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+
+“Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell
+Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your
+neck.”
+
+The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland was
+herself again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood near the window.
+Neither spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They
+were small, trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to
+convey what he felt--that he would protect her. She leaned against him,
+and they looked out of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself.
+His most pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a
+curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the
+riders dismount down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy led away
+the horses. Euchre, the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable
+ease, considering what he claimed was his natural cowardice.
+
+“--that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war,” he
+was saying. “Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to what it is now. An'
+times is rougher these days. This gun-throwin' has come to be a disease.
+Men have an itch for the draw same as they used to have fer poker. The
+only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I
+presume Bill is burnin' now.”
+
+The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the
+porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to
+express surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband
+warmly and gave welcome to the other man. Duane could not see well
+enough in the shadow to recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it
+was Alloway.
+
+“Dog-tired we are and starved,” said Bland, heavily. “Who's here with
+you?”
+
+“That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,”
+ replied Mrs. Bland.
+
+“Duane!” he exclaimed. Then he whispered low--something Duane could not
+catch.
+
+“Why, I asked him to come,” said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and
+naturally and made no change in tone. “Jen has been ailing. She gets
+thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw
+Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let
+him come.”
+
+Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent
+action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand.
+
+“Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?” queried Bland, incredulously.
+
+“Yes, I did,” replied the wife, stubbornly. “Why not? Jen's in love with
+him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be a decent woman.”
+
+Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh.
+
+“Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?”
+
+“She's lyin' or she's crazy,” replied Alloway, and his voice carried an
+unpleasant ring.
+
+Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to
+keep his mouth shut.
+
+“Ho, ho, ho!” rolled out Bland's laugh.
+
+Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was
+carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench.
+
+“How are you, boss?” asked Euchre.
+
+“Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in.”
+
+Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail.
+He answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there a dark,
+silent figure.
+
+Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease
+the situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably
+successful trip.
+
+Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that Bland and
+Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed,
+and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. “Jennie,” whispered Duane, “that
+was clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be
+ready!”
+
+She pressed close to him, and a barely audible “Hurry!” came breathing
+into his ear.
+
+“Good night, Jennie,” he said, aloud. “Hope you feel better to-morrow.”
+
+Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the
+greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment.
+
+“Met Jasper as I rode in,” said Bland, presently. “He told me you made
+Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off
+the handle about?”
+
+Duane explained the incident. “I'm sorry I happened to be there,” he
+went on. “It wasn't my business.”
+
+“Scurvy trick that 'd been,” muttered Bland. “You did right. All the
+same, Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one
+of us--that'd be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But
+I'm not called on to let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my
+rustlers.”
+
+“I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere,” said Duane.
+
+“Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane, and if I
+know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're
+a born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of
+them have told me that something exploded in their brain, and when sense
+came back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a
+little shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to
+rid myself of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest at night.
+That's the gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new
+man--he's driven to it to forget the last one.”
+
+“But I'm no gun-fighter,” protested Duane. “Circumstances made me--”
+
+“No doubt,” interrupted Bland, with a laugh. “Circumstances made me a
+rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young; you've got a temper;
+your father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't
+see any other career for you. Instead of going it alone--a lone wolf,
+as the Texans say--why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live
+longer.”
+
+Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+
+“Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of talk. Thet's
+why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there
+won't be any more trouble. An' he'd be a grand feller fer the gang. I've
+seen Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an'
+Chess here--all the fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to
+present company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw is
+different. You can't see how he does it.”
+
+Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence.
+Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and
+did not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful.
+
+“That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your
+band,” said Duane, easily.
+
+“It's good enough,” replied Bland, shortly. “Will you consider the
+idea?”
+
+“I'll think it over. Good night.”
+
+He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the
+lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back.
+Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down
+under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and
+quiet, a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life.
+The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony canyons of shadow under the
+mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane
+shudder in the realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of
+these things. Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His
+mind was clouded. His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions
+of nature, but the joy of them had fled.
+
+Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead
+of him there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in
+thought of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in
+his. He did not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his
+feelings. He just had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were
+interspersed in the constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+
+A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the
+moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached
+him Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely
+affected Duane. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+
+“Bland kept you pretty long,” he said.
+
+“Wait till I git my breath,” replied Euchre. He sat silent a little
+while, fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and
+then he went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.
+
+“Fine night,” he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with
+Euchre's quaint humor. “Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!”
+
+“I'd noticed that,” rejoined Duane, dryly.
+
+“Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland choke his
+wife till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in the face.”
+
+“No!” ejaculated Duane.
+
+“Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When I got
+back to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been too fagged out
+to figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the house, where they lit
+up the lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He's
+not the talkin' kind, an' he's damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland
+asked me some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them,
+an' I swore the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always
+trusted me, an' liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black thet
+way. But he's a hard man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an' I'd
+double-cross him any day.
+
+“Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little room,
+an' Bland called her to come out. She said she was undressin'. An' he
+ordered her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was
+some surprisin'. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he
+pointed his big blue Colt right at her, an' he says:
+
+“'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+
+“'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+
+“'You lied to me,' he roars.
+
+“Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made a grab
+fer her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an' he got her by
+the throat. He choked her till I thought she was strangled. Alloway made
+him stop. She flopped down on the bed an' gasped fer a while. When she
+come to them hardshelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give
+herself away. I think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick
+with you an' was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man
+to have--to guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave it up
+after a while. An' then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is
+worth pinnin' in your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't
+need much fer thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'
+
+“Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He
+was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin'
+off one of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist
+her--hurt her--I had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the
+only time in my life I wished I was a gun-fighter.
+
+“Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and
+stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen her show any.
+
+“'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I believe
+she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him, an' I want to
+KNOW. If she's been an' you tell me the truth I'll let you go. I'll send
+you out to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll
+give you money.'
+
+“Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet I seen
+death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her. Thet's the
+strange part of it.
+
+“'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like.
+
+“'No,' said Jennie.
+
+“'He's been after you?'
+
+“'Yes.'
+
+“'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+
+“'I--I'm not--I don't know--he hasn't told me.'
+
+“'But you're in love with him?'
+
+“'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her! She
+thronged up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed
+at sight of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an outlaw cried
+right out. He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. An' the look
+of her then was enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the
+room. I told you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen
+to him. So even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+
+“Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+
+“'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in fear of your
+life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love with Duane? She's let
+him come to see you? There's been nuthin' between them?'
+
+“'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked.
+
+“'Go to bed, you white-faced--' Bland choked on some word or other--a
+bad one, I reckon--an' he positively shook in his chair.
+
+“Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle
+Euchre ducked his nut out of the door an' come home.”
+
+Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long harangue.
+He experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal
+worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie perjuring herself to save
+that abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+
+“Wal, there's where our little deal stands now,” resumed Euchre,
+meditatively. “You know, Buck, as well as me thet if you'd been some
+feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a gun you'd now be full of
+lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as
+safe on this here border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in
+this land of the draw.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead,
+thoughtful of the fact that the time for the long-planned action was at
+hand. It was remarkable that a man as loquacious as Euchre could hold
+his tongue so long; and this was significant of the deadly nature of
+the intended deed. During breakfast he said a few words customary in the
+service of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an
+end of deliberation.
+
+“Buck, the sooner the better now,” he declared, with a glint in his eye.
+“The more time we use up now the less surprised Bland'll be.”
+
+“I'm ready when you are,” replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the
+table.
+
+“Wal, saddle up, then,” went on Euchre, gruffly. “Tie on them two packs
+I made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell--mebbe either hoss will be
+carryin' double. It's good they're both big, strong hosses. Guess thet
+wasn't a wise move of your Uncle Euchre's--bringin' in your hosses an'
+havin' them ready?”
+
+“Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are.
+Let me do the rest now,” said Duane.
+
+The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+
+“Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know, why, I'm in
+bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He's
+gettin' wise pretty quick.”
+
+“Euchre, you're going with me?” queried Duane, suddenly divining the
+truth.
+
+“Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was
+a gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin' a peg at Jackrabbit
+Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin' while I go nosin' round.
+It's pretty early, which 's all the better.”
+
+Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore
+a gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane had ever seen the
+outlaw armed.
+
+Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then carried
+the saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa in the corral
+showed that the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost fat during
+his stay in the valley. He watered them, put on the saddles loosely
+cinched, and then the bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas
+water-bottles. That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+
+At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was
+no more thinking and planning to do. The hour had arrived, and he was
+ready. He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take.
+His thoughts became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and
+goodness in the hardened old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept
+glancing at his watch. He hoped to start the thing and get away before
+the outlaws were out of their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of
+Euchre's boots on the hard path. The sound was quicker than usual.
+
+When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so
+astounded as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat
+dripped from him. He had a wild look.
+
+“Luck ours--so-fur, Buck!” he panted.
+
+“You don't look it,” replied Duane.
+
+“I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!”
+
+“Who?” asked Duane, startled.
+
+“Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I went nosin'
+round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's. He's thick with the
+Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions. Anyway, I was sure glad to see him
+away from Bland's. An' he didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's
+there wasn't nobody there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was
+startin' to work. Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he
+wouldn't give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+
+“'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+
+“'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+
+“He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him have it,
+plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I reckon I'll never sleep
+again. But I had to do it.”
+
+Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+
+“I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked sharp. Comin'
+back I cut across through the cottonwoods past Bland's cabin. I meant to
+keep out of sight, but somehow I had an idee I might find out if Bland
+was awake yet. Sure enough I run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends
+Bland's hosses. Beppo likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said
+Bland had been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's
+how I figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore, an' he went
+after Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as likely he might have
+went after Jennie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an' Kate must have
+had it hot an' heavy. We're pretty lucky.”
+
+“It seems so. Well, I'm going,” said Duane, tersely.
+
+“Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most draggin'
+ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy, sore, an' he won't
+be expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you walk over to his house.
+Meet him how you like. Thet's your game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes
+out an' you want to parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his
+proposition an' was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have
+to kill him, an' it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be
+wise, too, fer it's likely he'll do thet same.”
+
+“How about the horses?”
+
+“I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to
+me you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside by the time I git
+there. Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or
+anybody else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit.
+Thet big black will carry you both.”
+
+“All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay--not to mix any
+more in this,” said Duane, earnestly.
+
+“Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give
+me the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word--look out fer thet Bland
+woman!”
+
+Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he
+strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove
+and field, it was about five minutes' walk up to Bland's house. To
+Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in
+restraining his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle
+change in his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in
+conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of
+his courting the encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable
+rush of blood. The motive of this deadly action was not personal, and
+somehow that made a difference.
+
+No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle.
+Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant
+smell of it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove.
+He noted a cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in
+the sunlight.
+
+Then he entered Bland's lane.
+
+While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of
+man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey
+of the surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then
+he hurried a little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer
+through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses.
+There was no indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the
+end. Duane had feared this.
+
+Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch
+and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.
+
+“If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!” That was panted out
+in Kate Bland's full voice.
+
+“Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!” replied Bland, hoarsely.
+
+“What for?”
+
+“I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the
+laugh on her new lover.”
+
+“You lie!” cried Kate Bland.
+
+“I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!” His voice grew hoarser
+with passion. “Let me go now!”
+
+“No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of
+her--you'll kill her.”
+
+“The TRUTH!” hissed Bland.
+
+“Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't--murder
+her--for that.”
+
+Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
+violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the jangle of spurs--a
+crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.
+
+Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
+across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to
+her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's
+room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
+shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.
+
+With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold.
+His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable
+position.
+
+Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for
+his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes
+the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland
+shifted his glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate
+with the swing of his arm.
+
+Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
+floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
+stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
+gasped his last.
+
+“Duane, you've killed him!” cried Kate Bland, huskily. “I knew you'd
+have to!”
+
+She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
+clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half
+stunned, but showed no grief.
+
+“Jennie!” called Duane, sharply.
+
+“Oh--Duane!” came a halting reply.
+
+“Yes. Come out. Hurry!”
+
+She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
+Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared
+the woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was
+protective, and his movement toward the door equally as significant.
+
+“Duane,” cried Mrs. Bland.
+
+It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
+that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane.
+Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was
+changing to realization.
+
+“Where 're you taking Jen?” she cried, her voice like a man's. “Get out
+of my way,” replied Duane. His look perhaps, without speech, was enough
+for her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.
+
+“You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You
+let me believe--you swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer about
+you. All for that girl! But you can't have her. You'll never leave here
+alive. Give me that girl! Let me--get at her! She'll never win any more
+men in this camp.”
+
+She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off
+her onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second
+her fury increased.
+
+“HELP! HELP! HELP!” she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated
+to the remotest cabin in the valley.
+
+“Let go! Let go!” cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in
+his right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward the woman off.
+His coolness had gone with her shriek for help. “Let go!” he repeated,
+and he shoved her fiercely.
+
+Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her strong
+hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell
+into the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped upon her. He
+struck up the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
+
+“Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!” he said.
+
+Jennie flashed out of the door.
+
+With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it
+with his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed
+woman off the floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as strong
+as he.
+
+“Kate! Let go!”
+
+He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face,
+or reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not
+care. She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her
+lips they seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she
+fought him; her face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that
+outlaw life, the wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in
+such a moment terribly impressed upon Duane.
+
+He heard a cry from outside--a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+
+It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block
+his plan.
+
+“Let go!” he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
+instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
+
+With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle
+down and discharged it. Duane felt a blow--a shock--a burning agony
+tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully
+upon the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and
+seemed stunned.
+
+Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp
+cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his
+bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled,
+and he was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and
+Euchre's ceased. He fell from the horse.
+
+A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess
+Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he
+saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that
+slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun
+went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+
+Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging
+bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
+face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
+
+“Jennie, you've nerve, all right!” cried Duane, as he dragged down
+the horse she was holding. “Up with you now! There! Never mind--long
+stirrups! Hang on somehow!”
+
+He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
+The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into
+the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. He heard shouts. But
+there were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but
+without stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and
+reached out to grasp her arm.
+
+Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the
+steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No
+pursuers were in sight.
+
+“Jennie, we're going to get away!” he cried, exultation for her in his
+voice.
+
+She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back
+he faced her.
+
+“Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!” she faltered, pointing with
+trembling fingers.
+
+With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he
+instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had
+sustained a terrible wound.
+
+Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave
+apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled
+freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs
+of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough
+up a reddish-tinged foam.
+
+As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
+
+“I'm badly hurt, Jennie,” he said, “but I guess I'll stick it out.”
+
+“The woman--did she shoot you?”
+
+“Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't
+quick enough.”
+
+“You didn't have to--to--” shivered the girl.
+
+“No! no!” he replied.
+
+They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses,
+which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast
+time up the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they
+surmounted the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with
+no signs of pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken
+fastnesses before them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that
+they now had every chance of escape.
+
+“But--your--wound!” she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. “I see--the
+blood--dripping from your back!”
+
+“Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing,” he said.
+
+Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware
+presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But
+that did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe
+enough. What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where
+he could hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire
+inside his breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for
+him to take a swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer
+considerable pain, which increased as the hours went by and then gave
+way to a numbness. From that time on he had need of his great strength
+and endurance. Gradually he lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and
+he realized that if he were to meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should
+come up with him, he could make only a poor stand. So he turned off on a
+trail that appeared seldom traveled.
+
+Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his
+senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he
+was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she
+was left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
+
+“Jennie, I'll give out soon,” he said. “No-I don't mean--what you think.
+But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I die--you ride back to
+the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail goes
+to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some rancher
+will take you in.”
+
+Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on,
+and soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse. He did not
+know whether they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was
+conscious when the horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and
+feeling Jennie's arms before all became dark to him.
+
+When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little hut of
+mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some years old. There
+were two doors or openings, one in front and the other at the back.
+Duane imagined it had been built by a fugitive--one who meant to keep an
+eye both ways and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire
+to move. Where was he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time,
+distance, of something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two
+packs Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become of
+her? There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a little
+blackened coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses
+or getting water. He thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt
+tired, and presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.
+
+Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way
+she seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start and turned
+eagerly to him.
+
+“Duane!” she cried.
+
+“Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?” he said, finding it a little
+difficult to talk.
+
+“Oh, I'm all right,” she replied. “And you've come to--your wound's
+healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could.”
+
+Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness
+of skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+
+“Fever? How long have we been here?” he asked.
+
+She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them.
+
+“Nine. Nine days,” she answered.
+
+“Nine days!” he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her
+assured him that she meant what she said. “I've been sick all the time?
+You nursed me?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Bland's men didn't come along here?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Where are the horses?”
+
+“I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass
+and water.”
+
+“Have you slept any?”
+
+“A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake.”
+
+“Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day
+and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all about
+it.”
+
+“There's nothing much to tell.”
+
+“I want to know, anyway, just what you did--how you felt.”
+
+“I can't remember very well,” she replied, simply. “We must have ridden
+forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the time. Toward evening
+you lay on your horse's neck. When we came to this place you fell out of
+the saddle. I dragged you in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought
+you'd die that night. But in the morning I had a little hope. I had
+forgotten the horses. But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them
+and kept them down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began
+to breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever that
+put you back. You raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn't
+stop you. Anybody trailing us could have heard you a good ways. I don't
+know whether I was scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was
+so dark and lonely and still all around. Every day I put a stone in your
+hat.”
+
+“Jennie, you saved my life,” said Duane.
+
+“I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do,” she replied. “You
+saved mine--more than my life.”
+
+Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp.
+
+“Jennie, we're going to get away,” he said, with gladness. “I'll be well
+in a few days. You don't know how strong I am. We'll hide by day and
+travel by night. I can get you across the river.”
+
+“And then?” she asked.
+
+“We'll find some honest rancher.”
+
+“And then?” she persisted.
+
+“Why,” he began, slowly, “that's as far as my thoughts ever got. It
+was pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so much. It means your
+safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be sent to some village or town
+and taken care of until a relative or friend is notified.”
+
+“And you?” she inquired, in a strange voice.
+
+Duane kept silence.
+
+“What will you do?” she went on.
+
+“Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among
+respectable people. I'm an outlaw.”
+
+“You're no criminal!” she declared, with deep passion.
+
+“Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a
+criminal doesn't count for much.”
+
+“You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness
+and sweetness--all that's good about you? Oh, Duane, don't--don't go!”
+
+“I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go
+alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border. What else can I do,
+Jennie?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas--go
+far away?”
+
+“I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide,
+but a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie.”
+
+In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse.
+During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main
+trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they
+rode out of the canyons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the
+morning halted at the first water to camp.
+
+From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding
+during the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was assured of
+safety for her and great danger for himself. They had crossed into
+a country he did not know. Somewhere east of the river there were
+scattered ranches. But he was as liable to find the rancher in touch
+with the outlaws as he was likely to find him honest. Duane hoped his
+good fortune would not desert him in this last service to Jennie. Next
+to the worry of that was realization of his condition. He had gotten
+up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard, and now he felt that any
+moment he might fall from his saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren
+mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of green and
+a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse for it and turned a
+face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's sake. She seemed both happy
+and sorry.
+
+When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And
+thrift spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees,
+corrals, windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all surrounding a neat
+little adobe house. Some children were playing in the yard. The way
+they ran at sight of Duane hinted of both the loneliness and the fear
+of their isolated lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man.
+The latter looked keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired,
+freckled Texan.
+
+“Howdy, stranger,” he called, as Duane halted. “Get down, you an' your
+woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me--”
+
+Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He
+thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one
+sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
+
+The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+
+“Martha, come out here!” he called. “This man's sick. No; he's shot, or
+I don't know blood-stains.”
+
+Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared
+about to faint.
+
+“Air you his wife?” asked the rancher.
+
+“No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
+Duane!”
+
+“Buck Duane!” exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. “The man who killed
+Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young
+woman.”
+
+The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and
+practical essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far
+gone that he could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and
+weakly asked for water. When that was given him he found his voice.
+
+“Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself--just all in. The wounds I
+got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in--hide her awhile
+till the excitement's over among the outlaws?”
+
+“I shore will,” replied the Texan.
+
+“Thanks. I'll remember you--I'll square it.”
+
+“What 're you goin' to do?”
+
+“I'll rest a bit--then go back to the brakes.”
+
+“Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here--any rustlers on
+your trail?”
+
+“I think we gave Bland's gang the slip.”
+
+“Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an'
+hide both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor
+is five miles off. We don't have much company.”
+
+“You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me,” said
+Duane.
+
+“Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
+outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn.”
+
+“My horses might betray you,” added Duane.
+
+“I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
+it. Come now, let me help you indoors.”
+
+Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of
+a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
+cool hands on his hot face.
+
+He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
+week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
+After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end
+of this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his
+illness he had been silent, moody.
+
+“Jennie, I'll be riding off soon,” he said, one evening. “I can't impose
+on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness.
+His wife, too--she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will
+have to say good-by very soon.”
+
+“Don't hurry away,” she replied.
+
+Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the
+girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance to say
+good-by as another indication of her regret that he must go back to the
+brakes. Yet somehow it made him observe her more closely. She wore a
+plain, white dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep
+and good food had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same paleness,
+the same strained look, the same dark eyes full of haunting shadows.
+After Duane's realization of the change in her he watched her more, with
+a growing certainty that he would be sorry not to see her again.
+
+“It's likely we won't ever see each other again,” he said. “That's
+strange to think of. We've been through some hard days, and I seem to
+have known you a long time.”
+
+Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to
+something less personal.
+
+Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to Huntsville.
+
+“Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland outfit,”
+ he said, important and full of news. “It's some exaggerated, accordin'
+to what you told me; but you've shore made friends on this side of the
+Nueces. I reckon there ain't a town where you wouldn't find people to
+welcome you. Huntsville, you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half
+the people are crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in
+praise of you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the
+boss outlaw of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent citizen.
+He was tellin' me what a grand job yours was for the border an' honest
+cattlemen. Now that Bland and Alloway are done for, King Fisher will
+find rustlin' easier. There's talk of Hardin movie' his camp over to
+Bland's. But I don't know how true it is. I reckon there ain't much
+to it. In the past when a big outlaw chief went under, his band almost
+always broke up an' scattered. There's no one left who could run thet
+outfit.”
+
+“Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?” asked Duane.
+
+“Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore,” replied
+Andrews. “Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled to go on your
+trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would be afraid to
+trail you. An' you could go right in to Huntsville, where you'd be some
+popular. Reckon you'd be safe, too, except when some of them fool saloon
+loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it.
+Them kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane.”
+
+“I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two,” went on
+Duane. “Then I'll go--I'd like to talk to you about Jennie.”
+
+“She's welcome to a home here with us.”
+
+“Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to get farther
+away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here. Besides, she may be
+able to find relatives. She has some, though she doesn't know where they
+are.”
+
+“All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd better
+take her to some town. Go north an' strike for Shelbyville or Crockett.
+Them's both good towns. I'll tell Jennie the names of men who'll help
+her. You needn't ride into town at all.”
+
+“Which place is nearer, and how far is it?”
+
+“Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you
+ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at
+night an' go careful.”
+
+At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said
+good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane's
+thanks.
+
+“I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,” he declared.
+
+“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Duane. “I may come along here again
+some day.”
+
+“Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there
+ain't nothin' I can think of--I just happen to remember--” Here he led
+Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in a whisper. “Buck, I
+used to be well-to-do. Got skinned by a man named Brown--Rodney Brown.
+He lives in Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on fightin',
+or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me--stole all I had. He's a hoss an'
+cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I reckon I
+needn't say any more.”
+
+“Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?” queried Duane,
+curiously.
+
+“Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged
+Stevens through the middle. But the outlaw rode off, an' nobody ever
+knew for shore.”
+
+“Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,” said Duane.
+
+Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women.
+
+“The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the
+left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said, Andrews?”
+
+“Shore. An' good luck to you both!”
+
+Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At the moment
+an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke Stevens and the rancher
+Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a man named Brown. Duane wished
+with all his heart that they had not mentioned it, let alone taken for
+granted the execution of the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men
+who robbed and men who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the
+spirit of the country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this
+Rodney Brown. And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous
+he really was--to men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how
+little stood between his sane and better self and a self utterly wild
+and terrible. He reasoned that only intelligence could save him--only a
+thoughtful understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+
+Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful
+views of her future, and presently darkness set in. The sky was overcast
+with heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression
+threatened storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him,
+though his horse had no difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was
+bothered by the blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible,
+and any moment he might miss the road that led off to the left. So
+he was compelled to give all his attention to peering into the thick
+shadows ahead. As good luck would have it, he came to higher ground
+where there was less mesquite, and therefore not such impenetrable
+darkness; and at this point he came to where the road split.
+
+Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his
+annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was not well
+dressed for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat,
+which in that dry warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his
+saddle, and he put it on Jennie.
+
+They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker.
+Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat
+better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite the
+discomfort, and soon a gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+
+Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be built to
+dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk catching cold.
+In fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find a shelter in that barren
+waste seemed a futile task. Quite unexpectedly, however, they happened
+upon a deserted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did
+it prove to have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water
+was available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for the
+horses.
+
+A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their condition
+as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane,
+however, there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding-place. The
+rain fell harder all the time, and the wind changed to the north. “It's
+a norther, all right,” muttered Duane. “Two or three days.” And he felt
+that his extraordinary luck had not held out. Still one point favored
+him, and it was that travelers were not likely to come along during the
+storm. Jennie slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant
+more to him than any task he had ever assumed. First it had been partly
+from a human feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and partly a motive
+to establish clearly to himself that he was no outlaw. Lately, however,
+had come a different sense, a strange one, with something personal and
+warm and protective in it.
+
+As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with bedraggled dress
+and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep,
+and her long, dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her
+fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never before. But for him
+she might at that very moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying
+back in that cabin of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his
+importance in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still
+young; she would forget and be happy; she would live to be a good
+wife and mother. Somehow the thought swelled his heart. His act,
+death-dealing as it had been, was a noble one, and helped him to hold
+on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once since Jennie had entered into his
+thought had those ghosts returned to torment him.
+
+To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility
+of finding her relatives. He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt
+a pang.
+
+She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always alert,
+whether he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain pattered steadily
+on the roof and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the door.
+The horses were outside in a shed that afforded poor shelter, and they
+stamped restlessly. Duane kept them saddled and bridled.
+
+About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal
+and afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never been, in his
+observation of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, the
+farthest removed from serenity and poise. That characteristic capacity
+for agitation struck him as stronger in her this day. He attributed it,
+however, to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes
+when her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her
+freedom, of her future.
+
+“This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville,” he said.
+
+“Where will you be?” she asked, quickly.
+
+“Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,” he replied.
+
+The girl shuddered.
+
+“I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the men of my
+family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads,
+a hearth with a fire, a warm bed--somebody to love them. And you,
+Duane--oh, my God! What must your life be? You must ride and hide and
+watch eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly word, no clean
+clothes, no woman's hand! Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes--these must
+be the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding,
+killing until you meet--”
+
+She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was
+amazed, deeply touched.
+
+“My girl, thank you for that thought of me,” he said, with a tremor in
+his voice. “You don't know how much that means to me.”
+
+She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful.
+
+“I've heard tell--the best of men go to the bad out there. You won't.
+Promise me you won't. I never--knew any man--like you. I--I--we may
+never see each other again--after to-day. I'll never forget you. I'll
+pray for you, and I'll never give up trying to--to do something. Don't
+despair. It's never too late. It was my hope that kept me alive--out
+there at Bland's--before you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But if
+I could hope--so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. Fight for
+your life. Stick out your exile--and maybe--some day--”
+
+Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep
+as hers promised to remember her words. In her despair for him she had
+spoken wisdom--pointed out the only course.
+
+Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner
+reasserted itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode,
+had broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the
+sound of his hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps
+of mesquite in sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It
+turned out, however, that he had not done so.
+
+Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near the road.
+So he put her up on his horse and bade her follow. The rain had ceased
+for the time being, though evidently the storm was not yet over. The
+tracks led up a wash to a wide flat where mesquite, prickly pear, and
+thorn-bush grew so thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was
+thoroughly concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would
+soon be night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly through that
+brake on foot. Therefore he decided to risk leaving her at the edge of
+the thicket and go in alone.
+
+As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a branch
+he had stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the impatient pound of
+his horse's hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not wholly
+satisfied. He was never satisfied in regard to safety; he knew too well
+that there never could be safety for him in this country.
+
+The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane wondered
+what had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there was
+none. Presently he heard the horse tramping along, and then he ran. The
+mud was deep, and the sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up
+with the horse, and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh
+horse-tracks.
+
+He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that they had
+been made very recently, even since it had ceased raining. They were
+tracks of well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a cautious glance
+all around. His instant decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he
+had come a goodly way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush
+back. Once or twice he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but
+did not halt to make sure. Certain he was now that some kind of danger
+threatened.
+
+Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off somewhere
+to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane leaped
+forward, tore his way through the thorny brake. He heard Jennie cry
+again--an appealing call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right,
+and he plunged that way. He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire
+and ground covered with footprints and tracks showed that campers had
+lately been. Rushing across this, he broke his passage out to the open.
+But he was too late. His horse had disappeared. Jennie was gone. There
+were no riders in sight. There was no sound. There was a heavy trail of
+horses going north. Jennie had been carried off--probably by outlaws.
+Duane realized that pursuit was out of the question--that Jennie was
+lost.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's deeds, far
+up where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs,
+stood a small deserted shack of covered mesquite poles. It had been made
+long ago, but was well preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail,
+and another faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border
+fugitives from law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged
+never lived in houses with only one door.
+
+It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except for the
+outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave for most of the
+other wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the gorge there
+was never-failing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady
+retreats, deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of
+narrow-twisting, deep canyon full of broken rocks and impenetrable
+thickets. The scream of the panther was heard there, the squall of the
+wildcat, the cough of the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring
+blossoms, and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. All day there
+was continuous song of birds, that of the mocking-bird loud and sweet
+and mocking above the rest.
+
+On clear days--and rare indeed were cloudy days--with the subsiding
+of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around the little hut.
+Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually to fade with
+the shading of light.
+
+At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in the
+westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west and listener
+to the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three years
+before, Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+
+The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of circumstances
+that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had marked, if not a
+change, at least a cessation in Duane's activities. He had trailed
+Sellers to kill him for the supposed abducting of Jennie. He had trailed
+him long after he had learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted
+absolute assurance of Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and
+there, unauthenticated stories, were all Duane had gathered in years to
+substantiate his belief--that Jennie died shortly after the beginning of
+her second captivity. But Duane did not know surely. Sellers might have
+told him. Duane expected, if not to force it from him at the end, to
+read it in his eyes. But the bullet went too unerringly; it locked his
+lips and fixed his eyes.
+
+After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a friend, and
+when he recovered from the wound Sellers had given him he started with
+two horses and a pack for the lonely gorge on the Nueces. There he
+had been hidden for months, a prey to remorse, a dreamer, a victim of
+phantoms.
+
+It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky fastness. And
+work, action, helped to pass the hours. But he could not work all the
+time, even if he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments and at
+night his task was to live with the hell in his mind.
+
+The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little
+hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's presence. It was not
+as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her
+death. He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that
+intense hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to
+that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had
+found things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of
+ribbon Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No wandering
+outlaw or traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further
+endeared it to Duane.
+
+A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of it--the
+failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim it--to deaden
+the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of
+visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as
+clearly as if she had stood there in the flesh. For hours he did that,
+dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would
+taste. He saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged
+dress in which he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in
+Mexican sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and
+swelling throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark
+eyes. He remembered every look she had given him, every word she had
+spoken to him, every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty
+and sweetness, of the few things which had come to mean to him that
+she must have loved him; and he trained himself to think of these in
+preference to her life at Bland's, the escape with him, and then her
+recapture, because such memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had
+to fight suffering because it was eating out his heart.
+
+Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his
+white-haired mother. He saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by
+dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of
+it.
+
+Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he
+would send out a voiceless cry no less poignant because it was silent:
+“Poor fool! No, I shall never see mother again--never go home--never
+have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over!
+These dreams torture me! What have I to do with a mother, a home, a
+wife? No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am
+an outlaw, an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am
+alone--alone. Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall go mad
+thinking! Man, what is left to you? A hiding-place like a wolf's--lonely
+silent days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or the trail and the road with
+their bloody tracks, and then the hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride
+to some hole in rocks or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't
+I end it all? What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the
+gun-fighter to live--to hang on to miserable life--to have no fear of
+death, yet to cling like a leach--to die as gun-fighters seldom die,
+with boots off! Bain, you were first, and you're long avenged. I'd
+change with you. And Sellers, you were last, and you're avenged. And you
+others--you're avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!”
+
+But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+
+A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering
+round him, escorted him to his bed.
+
+When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers,
+or passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and
+exhaustion made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually
+he required less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little
+by little his phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the
+saving power of his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+
+How many times he had said to himself: “I am an intelligent man. I'm
+not crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All this is
+fancy--imagination--conscience. I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no
+hope--and my mind is obsessed, thronged with images. And these images
+naturally are of the men with whom I have dealt. I can't forget them.
+They come back to me, hour after hour; and when my tortured mind grows
+weak, then maybe I'm not just right till the mood wears out and lets me
+sleep.”
+
+So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was
+star-bright above the canyon-walls, darkly shadowing down between them.
+The insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick song, low
+and monotonous. Slow-running water splashed softly over stones in the
+stream-bed. From far down the canyon came the mournful hoot of an owl.
+The moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these
+things weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In
+truth, they did not constitute loneliness.
+
+And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached
+out to touch a cold, bright star.
+
+He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this star-studded,
+velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of wild country between
+El Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory--a refuge for
+outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a
+book with names and records of outlaws--three thousand known outlaws.
+Yet these could scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had
+been recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from camp to
+camp, den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he knew these men.
+Most of them were hopeless criminals; some were avengers; a few were
+wronged wanderers; and among them occasionally was a man, human in his
+way, honest as he could be, not yet lost to good.
+
+But all of them were akin in one sense--their outlawry; and that starry
+night they lay with their dark faces up, some in packs like wolves,
+others alone like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not make much
+difference in Duane's thought of them that the majority were steeped in
+crime and brutality, more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a
+fine feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+
+Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not realize his
+moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted wretches who knew it.
+He believed he could enter into their minds and feel the truth of
+all their lives--the hardened outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who
+murdered as Bill Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing,
+who craved money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and,
+like that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, “Let her
+rip!”
+
+The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure; the
+cowboys with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge
+that they were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the North,
+defaulters, forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, flat-chested men not fit
+for that wilderness and not surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand
+and glove with outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled,
+bow-legged genuine rustlers--all these Duane had come in contact with,
+had watched and known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as
+their lives were bad, sooner or later to end dismally or tragically, so
+they must pay some kind of earthly penalty--if not of conscience, then
+of fear; if not of fear, then of that most terrible of all things to
+restless, active men--pain, the pang of flesh and bone.
+
+Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the
+internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by no means small
+class of which he was representative. The world that judged him and his
+kind judged him as a machine, a killing-machine, with only mind enough
+to hunt, to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three endless years
+for Duane to understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that
+the gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who were
+evil and had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis, had something
+far more torturing to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and
+sleep and peace; and that something was abnormal fear of death. Duane
+knew this, for he had shot these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow
+in eyes, the presentiment that the will could not control, and then the
+horrible certainty. These men must have been in agony at every meeting
+with a possible or certain foe--more agony than the hot rend of a
+bullet. They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear, by every victim
+calling from the grave that nothing was so inevitable as death, which
+lurked behind every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep in the dark
+tube of every gun. These men could not have a friend; they could not
+love or trust a woman. They knew their one chance of holding on to life
+lay in their own distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by
+the very nature of their lives, could not be lasting. They had doomed
+themselves. What, then, could possibly have dwelt in the depths of
+their minds as they went to their beds on a starry night like this, with
+mystery in silence and shadow, with time passing surely, and the dark
+future and its secret approaching every hour--what, then, but hell?
+
+The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would
+have been glad to lay down the burden of life, providing death came
+naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,
+superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of
+an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that
+this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.
+
+Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for
+ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing domination of these
+haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or
+brutality or murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they
+knew more than when they were alive, had learned that life was a divine
+mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their
+voiceless clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inaction
+of his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather than
+to hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The moment
+he rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. A
+strange warmth stirred in him--a longing to see the faces of people,
+to hear their voices--a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it was
+only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal vigilance.
+When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all except his deeper,
+better self; when he escaped from this into the haunts of men his force
+and will went to the preservation of his life.
+
+Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends there.
+Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of the village
+there was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered post
+which marked it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He had
+never read the inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other than
+the erstwhile ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the
+stockmen and ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he
+or his outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane
+when sore in need. Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village,
+called him every name known to border men, taunted him to draw, and
+killed him in the act.
+
+Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father,
+and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice
+of a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his
+gun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for the
+time being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often
+speak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him
+silent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In
+the years of his absence from home he had never heard a word about his
+mother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would
+have been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters that
+might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.
+
+Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight
+fell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain
+overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early
+in the evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and
+hero-worshiping sons of the house, Jones returned from a quick visit
+down to the post-office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored
+under intense excitement.
+
+“Duane, there's rangers in town,” he whispered. “It's all over town,
+too, that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw
+you. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the
+women might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows--devils
+with the women.”
+
+“What company of rangers?” asked Duane, quickly.
+
+“Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name
+in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders.
+He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north.”
+
+“MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.”
+
+“Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
+hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
+man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
+you up.”
+
+Duane did not speak.
+
+“MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
+find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
+but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
+Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
+Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
+officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown.”
+
+Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact
+of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+
+“I've already fixed up a pack of grub,” went on Jones. “I'll slip out to
+saddle your horse. You watch here.”
+
+He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded
+on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet
+clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared
+nearer he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He
+slowed his stride.
+
+“Does Burt Jones live here?” he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+
+“I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?” replied Jones.
+
+The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands
+up.
+
+“It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the
+river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after
+dark.”
+
+The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had
+come.
+
+“Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?” exclaimed Jones.
+
+“A new one on me,” replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+“First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor
+tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross
+anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he
+must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal.”
+
+“Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without
+bloodshed,” observed Duane. “Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.”
+
+“He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about
+this, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer
+things. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his
+intentions, his presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you
+hit the road and put some miles between you the amiable Captain before
+daylight. To-morrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil he
+meant.”
+
+“That messenger he sent--he was a ranger,” said Duane.
+
+“Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing
+you that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that.
+Pretty odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane.”
+
+A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark
+rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane
+back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into
+swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind.
+
+Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of mesquite,
+dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a little grass. Here he
+staked his horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a pillow,
+his saddle-blanket for covering, he went to sleep.
+
+Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days
+he paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And in
+each some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made
+Duane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call
+upon these friends and left this message, “Tell Buck Duane to ride into
+Captain MacNelly's camp some time after night.”
+
+Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new
+ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill Buck
+Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse,
+the daring of which might appeal to certain outlaws.
+
+But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it did not,
+however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a
+hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Here
+he heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never but
+once ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had been
+compelled to shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the
+few ranchers and their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both
+outlaws and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these
+ranchers. Being unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed on
+into the heart of this district, when all the time he really believed he
+was traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberate
+attempt to kill him because he was an unknown rider in those parts,
+discovered to Duane his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuaded
+him to return to his old methods of hiding by day and traveling by
+night.
+
+He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering much
+ground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice he
+came to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick as
+chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided
+must be the lower Nueces.
+
+One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw
+the lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unable
+to because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to the
+outskirts of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go round
+to the right. Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so it
+was well after midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or
+more then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a road
+which appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed several thickets
+where he would have halted to hide during the day but for the fact that
+he had to find water.
+
+He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or
+clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So he
+kept on.
+
+The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here and
+there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he
+mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he could
+not see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which
+was down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome
+horse heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+
+The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough
+to reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more,
+a little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump of
+cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of men facing him, and two dark,
+limp, strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches.
+
+The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never
+before found himself so unpleasantly close.
+
+A hoarse voice pealed out: “By hell! there's another one!”
+
+“Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!” yelled another.
+
+“Hands up!”
+
+“Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!”
+
+These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be continuous. Duane
+was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left
+forearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightened
+horse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the
+road saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet
+steed wend down the long hill.
+
+Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief
+concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the bones
+were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was
+an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,
+Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand
+tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+
+Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more
+coming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a
+quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane
+needed only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-riding
+cowboys in a land where all riders were good. They would not have owned
+any but strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers
+had suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws.
+Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynching
+party at a time of all times when any stranger would be in danger and
+any outlaw put to his limit to escape with his life.
+
+Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy piece
+of ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon his
+pursuers. When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to check
+a little that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big,
+strong, fast; but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test.
+And that worried Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep one
+horse very long at a time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+
+Duane had only one plan--the only plan possible in this case--and that
+was to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in the
+willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, and
+this was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closely
+pressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+little in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It was
+decidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane pondered
+over this, looking backward several times to see if their horses were
+stretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only one
+reason presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with
+him headed straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to
+force the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road
+turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted
+and yucca-spired country extended away on either side. Duane believed
+that he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was
+certain--he had to go round the village. The river, however, was on the
+outskirts of the village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+
+Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes
+strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon
+descried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to the
+fact that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene.
+More than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did not
+keep them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see
+this new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a
+muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
+
+He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There
+were patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite,
+and he found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was
+impossible for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he
+decided, and take to his tracks.
+
+What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right
+into a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get a horse over.
+He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to
+a harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of
+mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poor
+cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw
+moving dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile
+away, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved that
+they had entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's
+difficulty.
+
+Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts,
+straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this was seemingly made
+impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feel
+cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an
+outlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. But
+reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless,
+the strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+
+He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward he
+lost sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant now
+to try to reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though still
+saving him for a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus,
+washes--all operated against his following a straight line. Almost he
+lost his bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies
+had not good fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-over
+stretch of ground.
+
+Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within
+gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horse
+into that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never had
+Duane bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about to
+accomplish the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior to
+any horse in pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough
+to spare a little in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly
+terrorized, he kept the pace through thickets that almost tore Duane
+from his saddle. Something weighty and grim eased off Duane. He was
+going to get out in front! The horse had speed, fire, stamina.
+
+Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here,
+right in his path, within pistol-range, stood horsemen waiting. They
+yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his
+horse--faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing his
+ground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figures
+hanging from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw
+than do anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. His
+horror of hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion compared
+to his gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
+
+A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duane
+could scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across his
+eyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of the
+nearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did they
+shoot at him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have been
+the cracking of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he
+handled the rein with his right; and most of the time he hung low over
+the pommel. The gray walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rush
+of wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of his
+horse--these vied in sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the
+rack of his wound, the cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also
+was dull, raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It took
+all his mind to force back that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers,
+of this race for his useless life.
+
+Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long
+stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled
+his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out
+in front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of
+breaking. Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers--he could not count how
+many--were loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them,
+and with teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to
+foil them.
+
+He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from
+corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher
+running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in
+the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a
+lack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride
+which showed he was almost done.
+
+Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner
+than he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had entered the zone of
+wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to
+ride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers
+were half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to
+intercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse
+broke and began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last long
+enough to go through the village.
+
+Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means
+new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in
+his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the
+place, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was
+about to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a
+foot in the stirrup.
+
+Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+
+“Mine's done--but not killed,” he panted. “Trade with me.”
+
+“Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,” drawled the man. “But
+ain't you a little swift?”
+
+Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
+
+“I'm Duane--Buck Duane,” he cried, menacingly. “Will you trade? Hurry!”
+
+The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell
+back.
+
+“I reckon I'll trade,” he said.
+
+Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snorted
+in fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane
+flashed by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But the
+road ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for
+he had ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert.
+When he reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find
+six horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
+
+His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high
+sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see
+extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it was
+to his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached
+his hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to
+the dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+
+There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn
+beast into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane cared
+to risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So
+he had to abandon the horse--a circumstance that only such sore straits
+could have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the
+narrow aisles.
+
+He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers
+piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into
+the willows.
+
+“Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!” called one, evidently to the man Duane had
+forced into a trade.
+
+“Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',”
+ replied a voice from the bluff.
+
+“Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,” said the first speaker.
+
+“Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS
+BUCK DUANE!”
+
+Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a
+rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+
+“He can't git across the river, I tell you,” came to Duane's ears. “He's
+corralled in the brake. I know thet hole.”
+
+Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no
+more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading a
+passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and
+nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied
+by an Indian.
+
+The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas
+ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.
+Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the
+willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
+an inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above,
+these wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray
+and yellow--a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were
+a few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries--the
+jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was clay and unusually dry,
+sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a
+growth of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there
+usually was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender
+poles with stems so close together that they almost touched, and with
+the leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake
+Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle
+of the day the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the
+foliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green
+mantle and danced like gold on the ground.
+
+Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and
+likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always
+seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any
+unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided
+under the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard
+to conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could
+hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and
+never know it. The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then,
+hunted men and animals survived on very little.
+
+Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping
+in the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more
+hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river,
+Duane had his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put
+the river between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to
+be favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the
+willows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There
+were narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by
+animals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling,
+stooping any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was not
+easy--he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and
+when he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progress
+necessarily grew slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder,
+denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept on
+without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that the
+afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrong
+direction. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, and
+after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through to
+the bank of the river.
+
+He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank
+extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance the
+futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish
+water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all
+quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He
+could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked
+down. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from the
+high bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there
+apparently was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any
+hope of crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would be
+just the same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the
+pole and lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his
+way back to where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on
+up-stream till the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling around
+for a place big enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time
+being he was as safe there as he would have been beyond in the Rim Rock.
+He was tired, though not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain
+in his arm he dropped at once into sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly so thick
+and heavy as to have substance blanketed the black willow brake. He
+could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even his hand before
+his eyes. He lay there waiting, listening, sure that he had been
+awakened by an unusual sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the
+wilderness never disturbed his rest. His faculties, like those of
+old fugitives and hunted creatures, had become trained to a marvelous
+keenness. A long low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows,
+passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted by him in the
+darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a fox barked lonesomely
+in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken his slumber.
+
+Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound. Quickly
+Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made him aware of
+his crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. Silence
+enfolded him again, all the more oppressive and menacing in his
+suspense. Bloodhounds had been put on his trail, and the leader was not
+far away. All his life Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he
+knew that if the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he
+would be held at bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising to
+his feet, prepared to flee as best he could, he waited to be sure of the
+direction he should take.
+
+The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, full-toned,
+ringing bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant in its power. It
+caused a cold sweat to ooze out all over Duane's body. He turned from
+it, and with his uninjured arm outstretched to feel for the willows
+he groped his way along. As it was impossible to pick out the narrow
+passages, he had to slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding
+stems. He made such a crashing that he no longer heard the baying of
+the hounds. He had no hope to elude them. He meant to climb the first
+cottonwood that he stumbled upon in his blind flight. But it appeared
+he never was going to be lucky enough to run against one. Often he fell,
+sometimes flat, at others upheld by the willows. What made the work
+so hard was the fact that he had only one arm to open a clump of
+close-growing stems and his feet would catch or tangle in the narrow
+crotches, holding him fast. He had to struggle desperately. It was as if
+the willows were clutching hands, his enemies, fiendishly impeding his
+progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches and his flesh suffered
+many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept on until he brought
+up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+
+There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly exhausted as he
+had ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn and burning, his breast
+laboring, his legs stinging from innumerable bruises. While he leaned
+there to catch his breath he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a
+long time there was no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive
+him into any hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a
+trail, and others that ran mostly silent. The former were more valuable
+to their owner and the latter more dangerous to the fugitive. Presently
+Duane's ears were filled by a chorus of short ringing yelps. The pack
+had found where he had slept, and now the trail was hot. Satisfied that
+they would soon overtake him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood,
+which in his condition was difficult of ascent.
+
+It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up,
+and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
+the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the
+brake, and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these
+were bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult
+on that side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he
+imagined he saw more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be
+sure. While he sat there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds,
+the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded
+was east and meant that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score,
+he descended to the first branch of the tree.
+
+His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so
+hopeless as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and
+he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of
+possibility that any men could have followed running hounds through that
+brake in the night. The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the
+bonfires. He had gathered from the words of one of his pursuers that the
+brake was a kind of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way
+out of it, and that was along the bank where he had entered, and where
+obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further
+conjecture on this point, however, was interrupted by a crashing in the
+willows and the rapid patter of feet.
+
+Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the
+ground, nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would
+not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush
+through the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above
+crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's
+pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant.
+And at daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the
+brake, guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+
+It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
+vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
+had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually
+the obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of
+the hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader
+of the pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That
+stopped the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and fled,
+its course easily marked by the howls of the crippled members. Duane
+reloaded his gun, and, making certain all the hounds had gone, he
+descended to the ground and set off at a rapid pace to the northward.
+
+The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his first
+halt some miles north of the scene where he had waited for the hounds. A
+barrier to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky bluff, rose
+sheer from the willow brake. He skirted the base of the cliff, where
+walking was comparatively easy, around in the direction of the river. He
+reached the end finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape
+from the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by some
+hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where he could fill
+his sombrero with water. After quenching his thirst he had a look at his
+wound. It was caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off the arm
+was seen to be inflamed and swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed
+it, experiencing a soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged
+it as best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated
+the pain of the injured member and held it in a quiet and restful
+position, where it had a chance to begin mending.
+
+As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His great
+strength and endurance had always made fatigue something almost unknown
+to him. However, tramping on foot day and night was as unusual to him as
+to any other riders of the Southwest, and it had begun to tell on him.
+Retracing his steps, he reached the point where he had abruptly come
+upon the bluff, and here he determined to follow along its base in the
+other direction until he found a way out or discovered the futility of
+such effort.
+
+Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to listen. But
+he was always listening, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness
+had become second nature with him, so that except in extreme cases
+of caution he performed it while he pondered his gloomy and fateful
+situation. Such habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+
+By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was facing
+south. The bluff had petered out from a high, mountainous wall to a
+low abutment of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough nature and
+afforded no crack or slope where quick ascent could have been possible.
+He pushed on, growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding
+that as he neared the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper
+into the willows. In the afternoon he reached a point where he could see
+men pacing to and fro on the bluff. This assured him that whatever place
+was guarded was one by which he might escape. He headed toward these men
+and approached to within a hundred paces of the bluff where they were.
+There were several men and several boys, all armed and, after the manner
+of Texans, taking their task leisurely. Farther down Duane made out
+black dots on the horizon of the bluff-line, and these he concluded were
+more guards stationed at another outlet. Probably all the available men
+in the district were on duty. Texans took a grim pleasure in such work.
+Duane remembered that upon several occasions he had served such duty
+himself.
+
+Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the land. For
+several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He took stock of those
+careless guards. They had rifles, and that made vain any attempt to pass
+them in daylight. He believed an attempt by night might be successful;
+and he was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there till dark and
+then try it, when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards
+on the bluff.
+
+The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he was
+lustily true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together and begin to
+talk excitedly and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him to
+slip away under the willows. He made no noise, and he assured himself he
+must be invisible. Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of
+rifles, and bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The
+day was hot and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he touched
+a willow stem, even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent
+a quiver among the leaves. Through this the guards had located his
+position. Once a bullet hissed by him; another thudded into the ground
+before him. This shooting loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from
+these men, and he hated them and himself because of it. Always in
+the fury of such moments he wanted to give back shot for shot. But
+he slipped on through the willows, and at length the rifles ceased to
+crack.
+
+He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept
+on, wondering what the next mile would bring.
+
+It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a hot
+fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape with no more
+than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+
+Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
+and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had
+come down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the
+blockade of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and
+after the brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to
+creep out of the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff,
+here only a bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of
+a shadow when a hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the
+willows was as perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he
+had accomplished it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles,
+he felt that he had indeed been favored by Providence. This time men
+followed him a goodly ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead
+through the willows sounded on all sides of him.
+
+When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his
+mind clamped between two things--whether to try again to escape or
+wait for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
+intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape.
+He had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
+attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound
+him. There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench
+decision out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not
+yet. He had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his
+run he found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms
+of vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low
+and near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang
+and hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered
+his head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a
+long and wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but
+in a dreadful state of mind.
+
+First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
+but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish,
+and therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed.
+That morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting
+to cross the river. If he could find a light log it was within the
+bounds of possibility that he might ford the shallow water and bars of
+quicksand. But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the
+bluff.
+
+All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next
+night, he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff; and every hour
+forced upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.
+
+Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass.
+There arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers at the extreme
+southern corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows,
+driven to what he believed was his last stand.
+
+If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him! Let him
+fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But these hunters, eager
+as they were to get him, had care of their own skins. They took few
+risks. They had him cornered.
+
+It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive, threatening storm.
+Like a snake Duane crawled into a little space in the darkest part of
+the thicket and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, from the
+river, seemingly from all sides. But he heard voices only from in front
+and toward his left. Even if his passage to the river had not been
+blocked, it might just as well have been.
+
+“Come on fellers--down hyar,” called one man from the bluff.
+
+“Got him corralled at last,” shouted another.
+
+“Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,” taunted
+another.
+
+“I seen him, I tell you.”
+
+“Aw, thet was a deer.”
+
+“But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows.”
+
+“If he's winged we needn't hurry.”
+
+“Hold on thar, you boys,” came a shout in authoritative tones from
+farther up the bluff. “Go slow. You-all air gittin' foolish at the end
+of a long chase.”
+
+“Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than
+somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be huntin' us soon!”
+
+“Let's surround this corner an' starve him out.”
+
+“Fire the brake.”
+
+How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear
+his doom. This, then, was the end he had always expected, which had been
+close to him before, yet never like now.
+
+“By God!” whispered Duane, “the thing for me to do now--is go out--meet
+them!”
+
+That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him. In that
+moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die, that was the way
+for him to die. What else could be expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
+knees and drew his gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he held
+what spare ammunition he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to
+the edge of the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there
+was a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had
+rifles. The fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live on earth
+who could make such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting them
+suddenly he could kill a man for every shot in his gun.
+
+Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate--to meet this end.
+But when he tried to step forward something checked him. He forced
+himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that opposed his will was
+as insurmountable as it had been physically impossible for him to climb
+the bluff.
+
+Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim and
+ghastly dignity that had been his a moment before fell away from him. He
+lay there stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He wondered was
+he afraid; had he, the last of the Duanes--had he come to feel fear? No!
+Never in all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet men face
+to face. It was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding,
+this eternal vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the
+situation was that if he went out to meet these men there was absolutely
+no doubt of his doom. If he clung to his covert there was a chance, a
+merest chance, for his life. These pursuers, dogged and unflagging as
+they had been, were mortally afraid of him. It was his fame that made
+them cowards. Duane's keenness told him that at the very darkest and
+most perilous moment there was still a chance for him. And the blood in
+him, the temper of his father, the years of his outlawry, the pride of
+his unsought and hated career, the nameless, inexplicable something in
+him made him accept that slim chance.
+
+Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the
+burning sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe, sweating and
+bleeding. His uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his
+flesh. Blotched and swollen from the never-ending attack of flies and
+mosquitoes his face seemed twice its natural size, and it ached and
+stung.
+
+On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the old hell,
+terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought
+and imagination had never been so swift. If death found him presently,
+how would it come? Would he get decent burial or be left for the
+peccaries and the coyotes? Would his people ever know where he had
+fallen? How wretched, how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was
+monstrous for him to cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in
+his heart, the hellish hate of these men on his trail--that was like a
+scourge. He felt no longer human. He had degenerated into an animal that
+could think. His heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved;
+and this internal strife seemed to thunder into his ears. He was now
+enacting the tragedy of all crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in
+their dens. Only his tragedy was infinitely more terrible because he
+had mind enough to see his plight, his resemblance to a lonely wolf,
+bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling, fire-eyed in a last instinctive
+defiance.
+
+Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching, listening
+intensity so supreme that it registered impressions which were creations
+of his imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not there; he saw
+shadowy moving figures that were only leaves. A hundred times when he
+was about to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from
+a distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other sounds
+real enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real from the false.
+There were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering
+breath down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching
+army.
+
+This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in
+itself was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading
+clouds. A storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air
+was like steam. If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common
+though rare to the country, Duane believed he might slip away in the
+fury of wind and rain. Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged
+again. He hailed it with a bitterness that was sickening.
+
+Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention. He
+heard a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening
+in the thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while that beast came
+into full view was an age. The dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had
+a trail or a scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the
+inevitable discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him
+in that thicket. Voices from outside could be heard urging on the dog.
+Rover they called him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog entered the
+little shaded covert. Duane expected a yelping, a baying, or at least
+a bark that would tell of his hiding-place. A strange relief swiftly
+swayed over Duane. The end was near now. He had no further choice. Let
+them come--a quick fierce exchange of shots--and then this torture past!
+He waited for the dog to give the alarm.
+
+But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a
+yelp. Duane could not believe the evidence of his senses. He thought he
+had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to
+and fro among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all
+sound from him ceased.
+
+“Thar's Rover,” called a voice from the bluff-side. “He's been through
+thet black patch.”
+
+“Nary a rabbit in there,” replied another.
+
+“Bah! Thet pup's no good,” scornfully growled another man. “Put a hound
+at thet clump of willows.”
+
+“Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes.”
+
+The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
+
+Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching,
+listening spell. After all, it was not to end just now. His chance still
+persisted--looked a little brighter--led him on, perhaps, to forlorn
+hope.
+
+All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else
+Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be caused by the approaching
+storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder still
+muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at
+this time of overcast sky night was at hand.
+
+Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He would yet
+elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he seized the significance
+of all these fortunate circumstances which had aided him. Without haste
+and without sound he began to crawl in the direction of the river. It
+was not far, and he reached the bank before darkness set in. There were
+men up on the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he
+half yielded to a temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close
+in under the willows. But when he raised himself to peer out he saw that
+an attempt of this kind would be liable to failure. At the same moment
+he saw a rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged against some
+willows. The end of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him.
+Quick as a flash he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he
+tied his gun in an oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.
+
+The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to
+splash into the water. There was a willow growing back some few feet
+from the edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over
+the water so that when he released it there would be no springing back.
+Then he trusted his weight to it, with his feet sliding carefully
+down the bank. He went into the water almost up to his knees, felt
+the quicksand grip his feet; then, leaning forward till he reached the
+plank, he pulled it toward him and lay upon it.
+
+Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end
+appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows. Very carefully
+then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand.
+It seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a
+movement upward, and he pulled with all the power he dared use. It
+came slowly and at length was free. The left one he released with less
+difficulty. The next few moments he put all his attention on the plank
+to ascertain if his weight would sink it into the sand. The far end
+slipped off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled
+to rest upon the bottom. But it sank no farther, and Duane's greatest
+concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible for him
+to keep his head up for long he carefully crawled out upon the plank
+until he could rest an arm and shoulder upon the willows.
+
+When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous with
+fires. There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the bluff, another
+a hundred paces beyond. A great flare extended over the brake in that
+direction. Duane heard a roaring on the wind, and he knew his pursuers
+had fired the willows. He did not believe that would help them much.
+The brake was dry enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the
+bonfires he discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood,
+were keeping up the light with oil and stuff from the village. A dozen
+men kept watch on the bluff scarcely fifty paces from where Duane lay
+concealed by the willows. They talked, cracked jokes, sang songs, and
+manifestly considered this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the
+bright light lasted Duane dared not move. He had the patience and the
+endurance to wait for the breaking of the storm, and if that did not
+come, then the early hour before dawn when the gray fog and gloom were
+over the river.
+
+Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he
+waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of withstanding any
+strain endurable by the human frame.
+
+The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the willows,
+carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down over the river, and
+lightning began to flash. Then the rain fell in heavy sheets, but
+not steadily. The flashes of lightning and the broad flares played so
+incessantly that Duane could not trust himself out on the open river.
+Certainly the storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on
+the bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain and
+cramp and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it had come,
+and the long night set in. There were times when Duane thought he was
+paralyzed, others when he grew sick, giddy, weak from the strained
+posture. The first paling of the stars quickened him with a kind of wild
+joy. He watched them grow paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow
+hovered down, rested upon the river, and gradually thickened. The
+bonfire on the bluff showed as through a foggy veil. The watchers were
+mere groping dark figures.
+
+Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction, began
+to move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at length overcame a
+paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the sand and holding the
+plank with his knees, he edged it out into the river. Inch by inch he
+advanced until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy
+figures of the men on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him,
+feared that they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a little gurgle
+and splash in the water. Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It
+got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking
+sound. There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered
+straight advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear
+the bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
+backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving
+shadows a little darker.
+
+Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling.
+Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place.
+This way he made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to
+be enveloping him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were
+coalescing with the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred
+patches of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+
+To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit
+and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and when at last he
+discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save
+him. He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed
+north through the willows.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he
+reached familiar country and found a rancher who had before befriended
+him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a
+couple of weeks he was himself again.
+
+When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his
+friend reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles
+south, near the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain
+cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of
+such notices, but he had never seen one. His friend's reluctance and
+refusal to state for what particular deed this reward was offered roused
+Duane's curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
+rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some gun-shooting
+scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been accused of worse
+deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over there and find out who wanted
+him dead or alive, and why.
+
+As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first
+time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble. Introspection awarded him
+this knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces
+and while he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable,
+hopeless bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
+All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back
+from his fate.
+
+That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be
+what he was credited with being--that is to say, to embrace evil. He
+had never committed a crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? He
+reasoned finally that the desperation of crime had been forced upon
+him, if not its motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable
+actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had returned to the scene
+of the crime that had outlawed them; why they took such strangely fatal
+chances; why life was no more to them than a breath of wind; why they
+rode straight into the jaws of death to confront wronged men or
+hunting rangers, vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
+bitterness as this that drove these men.
+
+Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green
+fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be
+Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersecting
+road. There was a placard nailed on the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew
+rein near it and leaned close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR
+BUCK DUANE DEAD OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded
+print, Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
+Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named, but the
+date was illegible. The reward was offered by the woman's husband, whose
+name appeared with that of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.
+
+Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the
+horror of his fate, wild with passion at those misguided fools who could
+believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland, and,
+as always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before
+word had gone abroad that he had killed her, and so it was easy for
+men wanting to fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often.
+Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless crimes.
+
+A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm
+shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with clouded brow and
+piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight
+toward the village.
+
+Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of
+some railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by
+trees and commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick.
+A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central
+location.
+
+Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting,
+before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a
+spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of
+lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such
+placid, lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their
+attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently
+took him for an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of
+them recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
+
+He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+
+“I'm Buck Duane,” he said. “I saw that placard--out there on a
+sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
+see him.”
+
+His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
+he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was
+simple enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were
+tears in his eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees
+and his hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his
+fate. This ignominy was the last straw.
+
+Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among
+these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the
+shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked
+his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face,
+shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun.
+
+“Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!” he roared, waving the gun.
+
+That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
+his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
+not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt
+man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy.
+He made no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded
+him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of
+his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even
+if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from
+his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.
+
+People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old
+men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew.
+The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of
+girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.
+
+The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got
+to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of
+them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to
+stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little
+time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+
+“Shut up, will you-all?” he was yelling. “Give us a chance to hear
+somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's
+right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off.”
+
+This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
+personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.
+
+“Abe, put the gun down,” he said. “It might go off. Here, give it to me.
+Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?”
+
+The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking
+hand and pointed.
+
+“Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!” he panted.
+
+An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+
+“The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!” cried an
+excited villager.
+
+“Buck Duane! Buck Duane!”
+
+“Hang him!”
+
+The cowboy silenced these cries.
+
+“Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?” he asked, sharply.
+
+“Why--he said so,” replied the man called Abe.
+
+“What!” came the exclamation, incredulously.
+
+“It's a tarnal fact,” panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was
+an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his
+deed. “He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off,
+says he was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.”
+
+This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring
+as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had
+restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope
+over his head.
+
+“Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+
+The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+
+“Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,” ordered Abe's
+interlocutor.
+
+With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his
+former statement.
+
+“If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?” bluntly
+queried the cowboy.
+
+“Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I
+grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.”
+
+What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates
+likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
+
+“Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,” he said.
+
+That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+
+“I'm Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. “It was this way--”
+
+The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left
+his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out
+in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out
+a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.
+
+“Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
+ought to know that. You mean it, then?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters?
+Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken
+bad, huh?”
+
+“No,” replied Duane. “Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems
+a little off his head.”
+
+“Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an'
+all his doings?”
+
+“I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did.
+That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward.
+Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed
+for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to
+send for Jeff Aiken.”
+
+“An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?”
+ queried the cowboy in amazement.
+
+“I guess that's it,” replied Duane.
+
+“Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.”
+
+A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+
+“It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,” he said.
+“Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or
+what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen
+him onct would never forget him.”
+
+“What do you want to see Aiken for?” asked the cowboy Sibert.
+
+“I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because I'm innocent, that's all.”
+
+“Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you;
+what then?”
+
+“If he won't believe me--why, then my case's so bad--I'd be better off
+dead.”
+
+A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+
+“If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.”
+
+“Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,” replied a man.
+
+Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed
+out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a
+number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with
+hard faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these
+seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying
+glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck.
+Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated,
+seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old
+women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+
+Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's
+wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A
+soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!
+
+“Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” called a man, loudly.
+
+The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+
+Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart
+build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce
+energy.
+
+The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+
+“Hold on, Jeff,” he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He
+spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's
+face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken
+and Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a
+pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands--again the
+insane tumult was about to break out--the demand for an outlaw's blood,
+the call for a wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's
+bloody soil.
+
+Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat
+and cuffed in vain.
+
+“Jeff, will you listen?” broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the
+other man's arm.
+
+Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of
+themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that
+dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of
+bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of
+death he felt it then.
+
+“Sure this 's your game, Aiken,” said Sibert. “But hear me a minute.
+Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck Duane. He seen the
+placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shirley. He says he's
+Buck Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff Aiken. That's all clear enough.
+You know how these gunfighters go lookin' for trouble. But here's
+what stumps me. Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe
+Strickland grab his gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives
+me some strange talk about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's
+innocent, he'd better be dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't drunk or
+crazy or locoed. He doesn't strike me as a man who rode in here huntin'
+blood. So I reckon you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to
+say.”
+
+Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his
+gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to
+passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have
+judge him in a critical moment like this.
+
+“Listen,” said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's, “I'm
+Buck Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into
+outlawry. I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed
+men to save my own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode
+thirty miles to-day--deliberately to see what this reward was, who made
+it, what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of
+my soul. So I rode in here to find you--to tell you this: I never saw
+Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to have--killed your
+wife. Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper
+Nueces. I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't
+murder a woman. I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my
+hands. It's just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons
+you have for holding me responsible. I only know--you're wrong. You've
+been deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man.
+I'm about broken, I guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything.
+If you can't look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I
+say--why, by God! you can kill me!”
+
+Aiken heaved a great breath.
+
+“Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't
+matter. You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear.
+The thing is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my
+wife's assailant.”
+
+He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+
+“Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.”
+
+Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
+voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he
+did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which
+might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.
+
+The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image
+of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
+Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid.
+Then he fetched her closer to Duane.
+
+“Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?” asked Aiken, huskily
+and low. “Is he the one--who came in the house that day--struck you
+down--and dragged mama--?”
+
+Aiken's voice failed.
+
+A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
+sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
+moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence--of suspense.
+
+“It's ain't him!” cried the child.
+
+Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
+bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
+
+“See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,” burst
+out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. “You-all are a lot of wise
+rangers. Haw! haw!”
+
+He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
+
+“You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like
+again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck
+Duane's named for--which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's
+his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.”
+
+Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the
+horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a
+lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
+
+“I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say--hit that road quick!” he said,
+frankly.
+
+He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them
+they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly
+drawn to follow.
+
+Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously
+probably, he still held the gun.
+
+“Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe you're not so black as
+you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this,
+anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?”
+
+“I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise.
+
+“I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” went on Aiken, hurriedly.
+“He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him--argued with
+him. We almost had hard words over it. Now--I'm sorry. The last thing he
+said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp
+after dark!' He meant something strange. What--I can't say. But he was
+right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you.
+Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever.
+Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger
+tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you
+further as he did this day!”
+
+Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+
+“So long, Buck!” called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over
+his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the
+sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of
+decision in favor of that direction.
+
+He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt
+up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain.
+In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were
+out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
+
+Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be
+Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village
+limits on the other side.
+
+No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival.
+Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared
+to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern
+Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street,
+he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of
+his old home.
+
+There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as
+Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to
+make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness.
+Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a
+grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding
+darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
+
+“Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+
+Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+
+“One man--alone,” replied Duane.
+
+“A stranger?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+“I'm trying to find the ranger camp.”
+
+“You've struck it. What's your errand?”
+
+“I want to see Captain MacNelly.”
+
+“Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can
+see.”
+
+Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces.
+He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he discovered the man who
+held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here
+Duane halted.
+
+“Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,” the guard ordered,
+curtly.
+
+Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of
+light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+
+“Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business
+with the Captain?”
+
+Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+
+“Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his
+camp--after dark,” finally said Duane.
+
+The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner
+had been alert, and now it became tense.
+
+“Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, without turning in the
+least toward the camp-fire.
+
+“Hello! What's up, Pickens?” came the swift reply. It was followed by a
+rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
+the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
+Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
+second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
+back.
+
+“Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is
+peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come
+here--after dark.”
+
+Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at
+the camp-fire heard what he said.
+
+“Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied an authoritative voice.
+Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
+camp-fire and hurried out.
+
+“Better be foxy, Cap,” shouted a ranger, in warning.
+
+“Shut up--all of you,” was the reply.
+
+This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers
+who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to
+Duane.
+
+“I'm MacNelly,” he said. “If you're my man, don't mention your
+name--yet.”
+
+All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
+happened lately.
+
+“I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said Duane. “He sent me--”
+
+“You've met Aiken!” exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. “By all
+that's bully!” Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
+
+“Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.”
+
+The rangers slowly withdrew.
+
+“Buck Duane! It's you?” he whispered, eagerly.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated
+fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,” went on MacNelly; and he extended
+his hand.
+
+Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his
+hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+
+“It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to
+meet you,” said Duane, soberly.
+
+“You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
+present.”
+
+He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+
+“Pickers, go back on duty,” he ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after
+this horse.”
+
+When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
+the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
+the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small
+adobe house at one side.
+
+“We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk,” said
+MacNelly. “I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
+hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house.”
+
+Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
+before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way
+he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that
+MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would
+hardly have made this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and
+Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had
+bent keen eyes around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers
+apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in
+service--Duane saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
+Despite the occasional joke and sally of the more youthful members, and
+a general conversation of camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about
+the fact that his advent had been an unusual and striking one, which had
+caused an undercurrent of conjecture and even consternation among them.
+These rangers were too well trained to appear openly curious about their
+captain's guest. If they had not deliberately attempted to be oblivious
+of his presence Duane would have concluded they thought him an ordinary
+visitor, somehow of use to MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense
+that must have been due to a hint of his identity.
+
+He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+
+“Come in and have a chair,” said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
+occupant of the room to rise. “Leave us, Russell, and close the door.
+I'll be through these reports right off.”
+
+MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen
+in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
+dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong,
+yet not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers,
+fussed with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up
+he pushed a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to
+smoke he took a cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then,
+settling back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to
+hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.
+
+“Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years,” he began.
+
+Duane smiled a little--a smile that felt strange on his face. He had
+never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more than ordinarily
+difficult.
+
+MacNelly must have felt that.
+
+He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
+changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+
+“I've lots to say, but where to begin,” he mused. “Duane, you've had
+a hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met you before, don't
+know what you looked like as a boy. But I can see what--well, even
+ranger life isn't all roses.”
+
+He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke.
+
+“Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?” he asked, abruptly.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Never a word?”
+
+“Not one,” replied Duane, sadly.
+
+“That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately
+your mother, sister, uncle--all your folks, I believe--were well. I've
+kept posted. But haven't heard lately.”
+
+Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his
+throat, and then said, “It's worth what I went through to-day to hear
+that.”
+
+“I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war--but let's
+get down to the business of this meeting.”
+
+He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+
+“You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to
+see you?”
+
+“Three times, I remember,” replied Duane.
+
+“Why didn't you hunt me up?”
+
+“I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take
+a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested.”
+
+“That was natural, I suppose,” went on MacNelly. “You didn't know me,
+otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you.
+But the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious.
+Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?”
+
+“Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing,” replied Duane.
+
+“It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border.
+But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his
+infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also. But I've found hundreds
+of men in southwest Texas who're your friends, who swear you never
+committed a crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes.
+What I want to know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal?
+Tell me the truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan.
+And when I say crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable
+Texan.”
+
+“That way my hands are clean,” replied Duane.
+
+“You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when
+you needed him bad--never anything like that?”
+
+“Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest.”
+
+“Duane, I'm damn glad!” MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. “Glad
+for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
+Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
+existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
+probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term.”
+
+“That's what kept me on the dodge all these years,” replied Duane.
+
+“Certainly.” MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and
+glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He
+leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.
+
+“Listen to this,” he whispered, hoarsely. “If I place a pardon in your
+hand--make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
+infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you--will you swear
+yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?”
+
+Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+
+Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
+MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+
+“My God!” burst from Duane. “What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
+earnest!”
+
+“Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
+do you say?”
+
+He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
+outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
+Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
+fugitive mounting assurance of victory.
+
+Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
+sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.
+
+“Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word,” said Duane.
+
+A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness.
+He held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men
+unconsciously give in moments of stress.
+
+When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
+fumbled for another cigar--he had bitten the other into shreds--and,
+lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He
+had the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable
+cost. His next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and
+extract from it several folded papers.
+
+“Here's your pardon from the Governor,” he said, quietly. “You'll see,
+when you look it over, that it's conditional. When you sign this paper I
+have here the condition will be met.”
+
+He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along
+a dotted line.
+
+Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It
+was with difficulty that he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane--how
+strange the name looked!
+
+“Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gunfighter,” said
+MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane's fingers and
+wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. Then with a smile
+he handed it to Duane.
+
+“That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers.”
+
+“So that's it!” burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+bewilderment. “You want me for ranger service?”
+
+“Sure. That's it,” replied the Captain, dryly. “Now to hear what that
+service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as
+you may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you
+that political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a
+good deal of friction in the Department of State in regard to whether or
+not the ranger service is any good--whether it should be discontinued or
+not. I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I contend
+that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce
+results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break
+up the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there
+yet because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant I needed. You, of
+course, are the man I had in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio
+Grande and begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw
+of the times. He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang
+who are operating on the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's my
+private opinion, but it's not been backed up by any evidence. Cheseldine
+doesn't leave evidences. He's intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have
+seen him--to know what he looks like. I assume, of course, that you are
+a stranger to the country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of
+your ground. There's a little town over there called Fairdale. It's the
+nest of a rustler gang. They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who
+the leader is. I want you to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is
+best you will proceed to act upon. You are your own boss. You know such
+men and how they can be approached. You will take all the time needed,
+if it's months. It will be necessary for you to communicate with me, and
+that will be a difficult matter. For Cheseldine dominates several whole
+counties. You must find some way to let me know when I and my rangers
+are needed. The plan is to break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest
+job on the border. Arresting him alone isn't to be heard of. He couldn't
+be brought out. Killing him isn't much better, for his select men, the
+ones he operates with, are as dangerous to the community as he is. We
+want to kill or jail this choice selection of robbers and break up the
+rest of the gang. To find them, to get among them somehow, to learn
+their movements, to lay your trap for us rangers to spring--that, Duane,
+is your service to me, and God knows it's a great one!”
+
+“I have accepted it,” replied Duane.
+
+“Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no
+one except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off
+the job. You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to
+acquaint Texas with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's
+no date on that paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the
+service. Perhaps we can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry
+has really been good service to the state. At that, I'll believe it'll
+turn out so.”
+
+MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his
+brows together in a dark frown, and went on. “No man on the border knows
+so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a thousand to one
+that you'll be killed. I'd say there was no chance at all for any other
+man beside you. Your reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe
+that and your nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping
+so. But it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back.”
+
+“That's not the point,” said Duane. “But in case I get killed out
+there--what--”
+
+“Leave that to me,” interrupted Captain MacNelly. “Your folks will know
+at once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you lose your life out
+there I'll see your name cleared--the service you render known. You can
+rest assured of that.”
+
+“I am satisfied,” replied Duane. “That's so much more than I've dared to
+hope.”
+
+“Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll
+start as soon as you like--the sooner the better. I hope to think of
+other suggestions, especially about communicating with me.”
+
+Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased
+round the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring into the
+blackness, marveling over the strange events of the day. He was humble,
+grateful to the depths of his soul. A huge and crushing burden had been
+lifted from his heart. He welcomed this hazardous service to the man who
+had saved him. Thought of his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his
+home, of old friends came rushing over him the first time in years that
+he had happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them would
+now be removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life of the past,
+and its probable tragic end in future service as atonement changed their
+aspects. And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming
+the vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated
+in the blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+
+It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to
+breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting
+and stamping of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out of his
+blankets and made good use of the soap and towel and razor and brush
+near by on a bench--things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The
+face he saw in the mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so
+hard to recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+
+The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the
+ground.
+
+“Fellows,” said MacNelly, “shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret
+ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you all hump soon!
+Mind you, keep mum about it.”
+
+The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth of which
+he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their
+ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain
+hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in
+their welcome to show Duane their respect and appreciation, while not
+forgetting his lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that
+circle, now one of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+
+After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+
+“Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike straight
+for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then go to Valentine.
+That's near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge of the
+Rim Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the
+north is the town Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the
+rocks. Only after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border
+towns on his staff, or scared of him, and these places we want to know
+about, especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin.
+I don't have to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Ride a
+hundred, two hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.”
+
+MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose.
+
+“I'll start at once,” he said, extending his hand to the Captain. “I
+wish--I'd like to thank you.”
+
+“Hell, man! Don't thank me!” replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered
+hand. “I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're
+another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by
+Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing.
+No, not good-by--Adios, Duane! May we meet again!”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II. THE RANGER
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region, barren in the
+north where the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile in
+the south along the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course
+across five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and
+towns lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western
+Texas, and despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the
+pioneers pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; then
+his neighbors in near and far valleys; then the hamlets; at last the
+railroad and the towns. And still the pioneers came, spreading
+deeper into the valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was
+mesquite-dotted, cactus-covered desert, but rich soil upon which water
+acted like magic. There was little grass to an acre, but there were
+millions of acres. The climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and
+ranchers prospered.
+
+The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a
+thousand miles, and then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north,
+to make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut
+across this bend, and all that country bounded on the north by the
+railroad and on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains.
+It contained not one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as
+if to isolate it, stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount
+Ord, Cathedral Mount, and Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks above their
+fellows. In the valleys of the foothills and out across the plains were
+ranches, and farther north villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+
+Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas
+was a world in itself--a world where the riches of the rancher were
+ever enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this
+outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the
+dark peak that loomed some miles to the south. It had been settled
+originally by Mexicans--there were still the ruins of adobe
+missions--but with the advent of the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants
+were shot or driven away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and
+evil sway there were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their
+choice between holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or furnishing
+target practice for that wild element.
+
+Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in
+a community where all men were remarkable for one reason or another
+he excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and
+most engaging attention--horses in that region being apparently more
+important than men. This particular horse did not attract with beauty.
+At first glance he seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough
+despite the care manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body, ponderous
+of limb, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand
+head. True, if only his head had been seen he would have been a
+beautiful horse. Like men, horses show what they are in the shape, the
+size, the line, the character of the head. This one denoted fire, speed,
+blood, loyalty, and his eyes were as soft and dark as a woman's. His
+face was solid black, except in the middle of his forehead, where there
+was a round spot of white.
+
+“Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?” asked a ragged urchin, with born
+love of a horse in his eyes.
+
+“Bullet,” replied the rider.
+
+“Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?” whispered the youngster to
+another. “Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen.”
+
+Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican make, a
+lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a tarpaulin.
+
+This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his horse. His
+apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without vanity, and it
+was torn and travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an intimate
+acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, this man was a giant in
+stature, but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking
+thing about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair
+white over the temples. He packed two guns, both low down--but that was
+too common a thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer,
+however, would have noted a singular fact--this rider's right hand was
+more bronzed, more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove
+on that right hand!
+
+He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide,
+high-boarded front the sign, “Hotel.” There were horsemen coming and
+going down the wide street between its rows of old stores, saloons,
+and houses. Ord certainly did not look enterprising. Americans had
+manifestly assimilated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel
+had a wide platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk.
+Upon it, and leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages,
+most of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were
+booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all wore
+vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the men.
+
+It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature did not
+appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and boisterous kind
+natural to the cowboy or rancher in town for a day. These men were
+idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this
+arriving stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an
+atmosphere never associated with work.
+
+Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely
+detached himself from the crowd.
+
+“Howdy, stranger,” he said.
+
+The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and
+nodded. Then: “I'm thirsty!”
+
+That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting.
+One and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark,
+ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head.
+A bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks.
+
+“Line up, gents,” said the stranger.
+
+They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and
+oaths and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear
+so thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the
+motions, he did not drink at all.
+
+“My name's Jim Fletcher,” said the tall man with the drooping, sandy
+mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that
+showed he expected to be known. Something went with that name. The
+stranger did not appear to be impressed.
+
+“My name might be Blazes, but it ain't,” he replied. “What do you call
+this burg?”
+
+“Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to
+you?”
+
+He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes, clear as
+crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded
+close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise,
+according to how the tall interrogator marked the new-comer.
+
+“Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it?
+Funny trails hereabouts.”
+
+“How fur was you goin'?”
+
+“I reckon I was goin' as far as I could,” replied the stranger, with a
+hard laugh.
+
+His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the
+men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed
+thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.
+
+“Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place,” he said, presently. “Sure you've
+heerd of the Big Bend country?”
+
+“I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it,” replied the stranger.
+
+Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. “Knell,
+come in heah.”
+
+This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than
+a boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless
+face, thin and sharp.
+
+“Knell, this heah's--” Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. “What'd you
+call yourself?”
+
+“I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately.”
+
+This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless,
+indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present knew, that this show
+of Fletcher's, this pretense of introduction, was merely talk while he
+was looked over.
+
+Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than he had
+appeared upon the scene.
+
+“Any business here?” he queried, curtly. When he spoke his
+expressionless face was in strange contrast with the ring, the quality,
+the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of
+friendliness, of heart.
+
+“Nope,” replied the stranger.
+
+“Know anybody hereabouts?”
+
+“Nary one.”
+
+“Jest ridin' through?”
+
+“Yep.”
+
+“Slopin' fer back country, eh?”
+
+There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and
+drew himself up disdainfully.
+
+“Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down
+here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes--I am in on the
+dodge,” he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+
+“From west of Ord--out El Paso way, mebbe?”
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“A-huh! Thet so?” Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. “You're
+from way down the river. Thet's what they say down there--'on the
+dodge.'... Stranger, you're a liar!”
+
+With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving
+Knell and the stranger in the center.
+
+Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve.
+Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger
+suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before
+manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar
+to him. His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a
+compass-needle.
+
+“Sure I lied,” he said; “so I ain't takin' offense at the way you called
+me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one
+of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are--go ahead
+an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till
+they go fer theirs.”
+
+Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the
+least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here was metal which
+rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight
+or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner
+characteristic of only the genuine gunman.
+
+“Stranger, I pass,” he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor.
+
+The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the
+incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger,
+and now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity.
+
+“Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge,” he said.
+
+“Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again--an' if you can't be
+friendly, be careful!”
+
+Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+
+Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El Paso
+he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise
+outfitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely he rode
+from town to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk
+and his occupation to the impression he wanted to make upon different
+people whom he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman,
+a stock-buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the
+wild and inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting
+into new territory. He passed on leisurely because he wanted to learn
+the lay of the country, the location of villages and ranches, the work,
+habit, gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he came
+in contact. The one subject most impelling to him--outlaws--he never
+mentioned; but by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and
+cattle story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In
+this game time was of no moment; if necessary he would take years to
+accomplish his task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it showed
+in the slow, wary preparation. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced
+Knell he knew he had reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on
+the fringe of the grazing country, of doubtful honesty, from which,
+surely, winding trails led down into that free and never-disturbed
+paradise of outlaws--the Big Bend.
+
+Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and
+several other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and then, after
+having a care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to
+a grove he had marked, and there, well hidden, he prepared to spend the
+night. This proceeding served a double purpose--he was safer, and the
+habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined
+to see in him the lone-wolf fugitive.
+
+Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned
+victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been;
+but the inner life had tremendously changed. He could never become a
+happy man, he could never shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had
+once been his despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible
+for any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow
+strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness
+of how passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his
+former infamy. The iron fetters no more threatened his hands; the iron
+door no more haunted his dreams. He never forgot that he was free.
+Strangely, too, along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered
+the force of imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms.
+He never called them outlaws--but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers,
+criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, and
+sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in
+this ranger service, it was the old, terrible inherited killing instinct
+lifting its hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure.
+He dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+
+Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving,
+yet not improbably even more potent of new significance to life, was
+the imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw
+days.
+
+For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him
+from place to place, to beat and spur and goad mercilessly in flight;
+now this giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend,
+a brother, a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden
+with an intense appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years
+the daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the
+ruddy close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or
+willow brake or deserted hut, had been hated because it augmented danger
+of pursuit, because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding;
+now the dawn was a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan,
+to remember, and sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky--all were joys to him,
+somehow speaking his freedom. For years the night had been a black
+space, during which he had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to
+peer with cat-eyes through gloom for the moving shape that ever pursued
+him; now the twilight and the dusk and the shadows of grove and canyon
+darkened into night with its train of stars, and brought him calm
+reflection of the day's happenings, of the morrow's possibilities,
+perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old phantoms, then sleep. For
+years canyons and valleys and mountains had been looked at as retreats
+that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an outlaw; now he saw
+these features of the great desert with something of the eyes of the boy
+who had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+
+This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against
+the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared
+itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder
+that Duane gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in
+its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret
+stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from
+El Paso Duane had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds,
+his cunning, his widely separated raids, of his flitting here and there
+like a Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his
+appearance.
+
+Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north,
+riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been
+used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west,
+this northern direction led him into totally unfamiliar country. While
+he passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the
+future he would know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced
+that way again.
+
+The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills gradually
+leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing country, upon which till
+noon of that day Duane did not see a herd of cattle or a ranch. About
+that time he made out smoke from the railroad, and after a couple of
+hours' riding he entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford.
+It was the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated
+must have a thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including
+Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for
+a while, being the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he
+hitched his horse in front of a store and leisurely set about studying
+Bradford.
+
+It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions
+concerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one
+long row of saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane
+visited them all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to
+that of the old river camp of Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was
+forced upon him that the farther west one traveled along the river
+the sparser the respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard
+characters, and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness.
+Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's
+task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he
+reflected, a company of intrepid and quick-shooting rangers could have
+soon cleaned up this Bradford.
+
+The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and
+wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man
+had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning
+toward companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself
+as Colonel Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane
+made no comment about himself.
+
+“Sir, it's all one to me,” he said, blandly, waving his hand. “I have
+traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier
+and just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion.
+You might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little,
+of El Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.”
+
+Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not
+have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was
+a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come
+out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who
+had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+
+“Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,” said Colonel Webb.
+“And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't
+want to expiate my sins there.”
+
+“Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,”
+ replied Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+
+The Colonel swore lustily.
+
+“My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was
+wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun,
+and he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work
+to offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws
+alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs,
+sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers.”
+
+Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+
+“Do you know anything about the service?” he asked.
+
+“I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of
+men, sir, and the salvation of Texas.”
+
+“Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,” said Duane.
+
+Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice
+for a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a
+while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to
+get a benefit from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that
+here was just the kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen
+that he had been trying to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to
+be agreeable and interesting; and he saw presently that here was an
+opportunity to make a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend.
+
+“I'm a stranger in these parts,” said Duane, finally. “What is this
+outlaw situation you speak of?”
+
+“It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just
+wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
+honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know,
+the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to
+get rid of big bunches--that's the hard job. The gang operating between
+here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where
+the stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of
+it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New
+Orleans, also to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and
+Marfa and Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray
+cattle out in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and
+stragglers are not rounded up.”
+
+“Wholesale business, eh?” remarked Duane. “Who are these--er--big
+stock-buyers?”
+
+Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
+penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.
+
+“Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
+accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer.”
+
+When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
+freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
+subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that
+any man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
+Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
+person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine,
+and those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in
+descriptions of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to
+the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as
+there was no one who could identify him, so there was no one who could
+prove he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the
+Big Bend country, and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact
+remained there were no eye-witnesses to connect any individual called
+Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in striking contrast to
+this mystery was the person, character, and cold-blooded action of
+Poggin and Knell, the chief's lieutenants. They were familiar figures in
+all the towns within two hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record,
+but as gunman with an incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme.
+If Poggin had a friend no one ever heard of him. There were a hundred
+stories of his nerve, his wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for
+gambling, his love of a horse--his cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out
+of his path any man that crossed it.
+
+“Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name,” said Colonel Webb. “Sometimes
+I wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where does the brains of
+this gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this
+border pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and
+Knell. Of all the thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the
+last twenty years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down
+between the Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many
+bad men. But I doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane,
+ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?”
+
+“Yes, a little,” replied Duane, quietly. “I'm from southern Texas. Buck
+Duane then is known out here?”
+
+“Why, man, where isn't his name known?” returned Colonel Webb. “I've
+kept track of his record as I have all the others. Of course, Duane,
+being a lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like
+Cheseldine. Out here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible
+some of them. But despite them a sort of romance clings to that Nueces
+outlaw. He's killed three great outlaw leaders, I believe--Bland,
+Hardin, and the other I forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had
+friends there. Bland had a hard name at Del Rio.”
+
+“Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?”
+ inquired Duane.
+
+“He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men.
+I understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties swear by
+him--secretly, of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his
+head. His fame in this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play
+and his enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I
+wish to God that Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred
+pesos to see him and Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how
+jealous these great outlaws are of each other.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, all about them is singular,” replied Duane. “Has
+Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?”
+
+“No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's
+unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock that's being
+shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,
+too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not
+heard of at all for a spell. These lulls are pretty surely indicative of
+a big storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer
+and farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some
+people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the bank-robberies
+and train-holdups during the last few years in this country. But that's
+poor reasoning. The jobs have been too well done, too surely covered, to
+be the work of greasers or ordinary outlaws.”
+
+“What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will
+the outlaw ever be driven out?” asked Duane.
+
+“Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All the
+armies in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that fifteen
+hundred miles of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is enjoyed
+by these great leaders, will sooner or later be past. The criminal
+element flock to the Southwest. But not so thick and fast as the
+pioneers. Besides, the outlaws kill themselves, and the ranchers are
+slowly rising in wrath, if not in action. That will come soon. If they
+only had a leader to start the fight! But that will come. There's talk
+of Vigilantes, the same hat were organized in California and are now in
+force in Idaho. So far it's only talk. But the time will come. And the
+days of Cheseldine and Poggin are numbered.”
+
+Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long trail was
+growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new ideas. It came
+to Duane in surprise that he was famous along the upper Rio Grande.
+Assuredly he would not long be able to conceal his identity. He had
+no doubt that he would soon meet the chiefs of this clever and bold
+rustling gang. He could not decide whether he would be safer unknown or
+known. In the latter case his one chance lay in the fatality connected
+with his name, in his power to look it and act it. Duane had never
+dreamed of any sleuth-hound tendency in his nature, but now he felt
+something like one. Above all others his mind fixed on Poggin--Poggin
+the brute, the executor of Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the
+gunman. This in itself was a warning to Duane. He felt terrible forces
+at work within him. There was the stern and indomitable resolve to
+make MacNelly's boast good to the governor of the state--to break up
+Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange
+grim and deadly instinct--which he had to drive away for fear he would
+find in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word
+to MacNelly, but for himself. Had his father's blood and the hard years
+made Duane the kind of man who instinctively wanted to meet Poggin? He
+was sworn to MacNelly's service, and he fought himself to keep that, and
+that only, in his mind.
+
+Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from
+Bradford toward the north. There was a stage which made the journey
+twice a week.
+
+Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale. He rode
+leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the country.
+There were few ranches. The farther he traveled the better grazing he
+encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer herds of cattle.
+
+It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that
+marked the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had
+learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.
+
+When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number
+of loungers greeted him laconically.
+
+“Beat the stage in, hey?” remarked one.
+
+“There she comes now,” said another. “Joel shore is drivin' to-night.”
+
+Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a lumbering
+coach. When he had looked after the needs of his horse he returned to
+the group before the inn. They awaited the stage with that
+interest common to isolated people. Presently it rolled up, a large
+mud-bespattered and dusty vehicle, littered with baggage on top and
+tied on behind. A number of passengers alighted, three of whom excited
+Duane's interest. One was a tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the
+other two were ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard
+the proprietor of the inn address the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as
+the party entered the inn Duane's quick ears caught a few words which
+acquainted him with the fact that Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+
+Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready.
+At table he found himself opposite the three who had attracted his
+attention.
+
+“Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,” Longstreth was saying.
+
+Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+
+“I'm crazy to ride bronchos,” she said.
+
+Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other girl's
+deep voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had
+beauty as he had never seen it in another woman. She was slender, but
+the development of her figure gave Duane the impression she was twenty
+years old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen.
+She did not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She
+looked tired, quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face;
+clear, olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal,
+beautiful to look into; a slender, straight nose that had something
+nervous and delicate about it which made Duane think of a thoroughbred;
+and a mouth by no means small, but perfectly curved; and hair like
+jet--all these features proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed
+her a descendant of one of the old French families of eastern Texas. He
+was sure of it when she looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent
+gaze. There were pride, fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt
+himself blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been rude, perhaps,
+but unconscious. How many years had passed since he had seen a girl like
+her! Thereafter he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet he seemed to be
+aware that he had aroused the interest of both girls.
+
+After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open
+fire place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow.
+Duane took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper,
+began to read. Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced
+men, strangers who had not appeared before, and were peering in from a
+doorway. When they saw Duane had observed them they stepped back out of
+sight.
+
+It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas
+in the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded.
+Duane pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men.
+The doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
+dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks
+to the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
+whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
+outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect,
+it was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on
+the border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character,
+or at least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these
+strangers were dishonest.
+
+“Hey somethin'?” one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
+down.
+
+“No thanks, I don't drink,” Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
+with interest. “How's tricks in the Big Bend?”
+
+Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to recognize
+a type of ruffian most frequently met along the river. These strangers
+had that stamp, and their surprise proved he was right. Here the
+innkeeper showed signs of uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his
+customers. No more was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly
+went out.
+
+“Say, boss, do you know those fellows?” Duane asked the innkeeper.
+
+“Nope.”
+
+“Which way did they come?”
+
+“Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today,” he
+replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked at Duane. “They
+nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the
+stage.”
+
+When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was absent,
+also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had
+vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss Longstreth. Duane went
+directly to them.
+
+“Excuse me,” said Duane, addressing them. “I want to tell you there are
+a couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen them. They mean
+evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors--bar your windows
+to-night.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Ruth, very low. “Ray, do you hear?”
+
+“Thank you; we'll be careful,” said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The
+rich color had faded in her cheek. “I saw those men watching you
+from that door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really
+danger--here?”
+
+“I think so,” was Duane's reply.
+
+Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: “Hands up!”
+
+No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His
+hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into
+her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls
+were staring at some one behind Duane.
+
+“Turn around!” ordered the harsh voice.
+
+The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade
+in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked
+gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him,
+and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out
+his roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and
+took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another
+weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish
+satisfaction that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice
+at this kind of game.
+
+His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who
+stood there frightened, speechless.
+
+“Git a move on, Bill,” called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance
+backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had
+horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with
+brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to
+search them. The robber in the doorway called “Rustle!” and disappeared.
+
+Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the
+other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his
+searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well
+remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle,
+stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his
+bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched,
+but the little girl appeared about to faint.
+
+“Don't yap, there!” he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to
+Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a
+plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold
+glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in
+his pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+
+“Any money, jewelry, diamonds!” ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+
+Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with
+her hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to
+mean that she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had
+instinctively pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.
+
+“Come out with it!” he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+
+“Don't dare touch me!” she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She
+had nerve.
+
+It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had
+been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted,
+and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped
+Duane, yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man
+made at her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull
+ripped it asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+
+She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not
+shaken Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half
+her waist.
+
+The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself
+he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held
+dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow
+made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a
+magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He
+bellowed something again.
+
+Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It was
+a kind of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot
+Longstreth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth's torn waist
+loosened its hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped
+till it pointed to the floor. That was Duane's chance.
+
+Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and
+he could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into
+the ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood
+spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small
+bullet had glanced.
+
+Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported
+her. It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half
+carried her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through
+the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a
+saddled horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot.
+His comrade had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a
+condition approaching pandemonium.
+
+The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out
+at the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel,
+the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The
+woman, wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The
+girls were still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and
+Duane guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing
+that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such
+passion. Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a
+quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:
+
+“Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear
+to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them fellers!”
+
+“I ought to kill you anyhow!” replied Longstreth. And his voice now
+astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+
+Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber's
+temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed,
+had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of
+returning consciousness.
+
+“Drag him out of here!” ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his
+daughter.
+
+Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and
+gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other
+men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
+
+Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay
+Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane
+did not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very
+still, with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel,
+now that he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and
+kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure,
+said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
+
+“Can I be of any service?” asked Duane, solicitously.
+
+“Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened
+girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,”
+ he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he
+went out.
+
+Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the
+other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange
+thrill.
+
+“You saved my life,” she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+
+“No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He might have struck you, hurt you, but no
+more.”
+
+“I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I
+couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was
+in peril.”
+
+“Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+
+“Oh no. He's not badly hurt.”
+
+“I'm very glad he's alive,” said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+
+“My intention was bad enough,” Duane went on. “It was a ticklish place
+for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go
+off. Fool careless he was!”
+
+“Yet you say you didn't save me,” Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
+
+“Well, let it go at that,” Duane responded. “I saved you something.”
+
+“Tell me all about it?” asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
+
+Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of
+view.
+
+“Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of
+nothing--watching for nothing except a little moment when you might draw
+your gun?” asked Miss Ruth.
+
+“I guess that's about it,” he replied.
+
+“Cousin,” said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, “it was fortunate for us
+that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts--laughs at danger.
+He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came.”
+
+“Go with us all the way to Fairdale--please?” asked Miss Ruth, sweetly
+offering her hand. “I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray
+Longstreth.”
+
+“I'm traveling that way,” replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not
+know how to meet the situation.
+
+Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night,
+which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls,
+he led them away.
+
+Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured
+robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he
+was gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said
+that he left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
+
+“Had he come to?” inquired Duane.
+
+“Sure. He asked for whisky.”
+
+“Did he say anything else?”
+
+“Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.”
+
+“You mean Colonel Longstreth?”
+
+“I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame
+fer that two-bit of a hold-up!”
+
+“What did you make of the old gent's rage?” asked Duane, watching the
+innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane
+believed in his honesty.
+
+“Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's
+either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.”
+
+“More nerve, maybe,” Duane replied. “Show me a bed now, innkeeper.”
+
+Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the
+several events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup
+and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under
+circumstances where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed
+Duane, and he put it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on
+the action of the robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in
+upon him. This ruffian, as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever
+encountered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. From whatever
+point Duane viewed the man's strange indecision he could come to
+only one conclusion--his start, his check, his fear had been that of
+recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly acquired sense
+he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that
+desperate robber lowered his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound
+of the Mayor of Fairdale? This was not answerable. There might have been
+a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane
+could not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for his
+daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had advanced in
+front of a cocked gun. Duane probed deep into this singular fact, and he
+brought to bear on the thing all his knowledge and experience of
+violent Texas life. And he found that the instant Colonel Longstreth
+had appeared on the scene there was no further danger threatening his
+daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not answer. Then his rage,
+Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS daughter being
+assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a thought-disturber,
+but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more careful
+consideration.
+
+Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It
+was larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street
+and back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and
+dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane
+heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake
+hands with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he
+spoke with force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The
+fellow laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly
+he espied Miss Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his
+sombrero. Duane went closer.
+
+“Floyd, did you come with the teams?” asked Longstreth, sharply.
+
+“Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,” was the reply.
+
+“Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later.” Then Longstreth turned to
+his daughter. “Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to
+play with him ten years ago--Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter--and my
+niece, Ruth Herbert.”
+
+Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game
+to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant
+personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+
+He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples--dark, smooth-shaven, with
+lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
+strong and bitter, and a square chin--a reckless, careless, handsome,
+sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace
+of a gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice.
+Duane doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to
+the frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not
+quite effaced the mark of good family.
+
+Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter
+and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this
+meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready
+for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a
+wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To
+the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday,
+and to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat.
+The driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered
+ground rapidly.
+
+The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the
+horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to
+cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster
+of adobe and stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called
+Longstreth, named after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale
+there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
+
+Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
+patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
+sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization
+than its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast
+western third of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to
+settle there and establish places like Fairdale.
+
+It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's
+ranch. The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and
+it was not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the
+town. It was a low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and
+covered what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about
+it, except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed
+gray and red.
+
+Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the
+town with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The
+street he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was
+a solid row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched
+all along the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here
+and there breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+
+From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other
+frontier towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the
+afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his
+horse. Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the
+subject most in mind.
+
+“Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?”
+
+“Reckon he has,” replied the lad. “Doan know how many cowboys. They're
+always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them.”
+
+“Much movement of stock these days?”
+
+“Stock's always movin',” he replied, with a queer look.
+
+“Rustlers?”
+
+But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
+
+“Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?”
+
+“Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.”
+
+“Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys
+who were arrested.”
+
+“Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--they belong
+heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.”
+
+Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk
+into other channels.
+
+After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
+darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
+watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
+rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
+ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted
+crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with
+wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the
+guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted by
+six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up
+by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
+southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
+some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for
+a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
+
+Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
+conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+
+“Laramie, what's the stranger's name?” asked one.
+
+“He didn't say,” replied the other.
+
+“Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
+cattleman, him. How'd you size him?”
+
+“Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for
+a man for years--to kill him when he found him.”
+
+“Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin'
+for Long--”
+
+“'S--sh!” interrupted Laramie. “You must be half drunk, to go talkie'
+that way.”
+
+Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and
+presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself
+agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not
+communicative.
+
+Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's
+visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane
+inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something
+wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if
+there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The
+innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's
+thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of
+her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him
+remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of his life.
+What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the
+present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray
+Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed,
+it seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew
+conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like
+a pang in his breast.
+
+Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to
+the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented
+himself with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he
+decided Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was
+on the track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much
+the same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for
+a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that.
+He would answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn
+that Laramie had seen better days--that he was now broken, bitter, and
+hard. Some one had wronged him.
+
+Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to
+Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the
+stores unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to
+find out that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling,
+drinking, and fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled
+horses, the town full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in
+any place Duane had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon
+that spoke forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided
+that Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to this
+Fairdale, which was a secret center of rustlers and outlaws. And what
+struck Duane strangest of all was the fact that Longstreth was mayor
+here and held court daily. Duane knew intuitively, before a chance
+remark gave him proof, that this court was a sham, a farce. And he
+wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his was equivalent to
+suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached himself. Then
+he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry had
+brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live with her
+father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana, where his
+family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich rancher;
+he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd
+Lawson was his lieutenant and associate in deals.
+
+On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he
+returned to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed
+to have a rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside
+Laramie was lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did
+not appear to be dangerously hurt.
+
+“Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,” said Laramie,
+laboring to his feet.
+
+“Are you hurt much?” queried Duane.
+
+“I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before
+without that.”
+
+“Well, I'll take a look after Bo,” replied Duane.
+
+He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of the town.
+He did not see any one he could take for the innkeeper's assailant. Then
+he looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow about a block away,
+hurrying along and gazing back.
+
+Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him. Snecker broke
+into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him. There were two motives
+in Duane's action--one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend
+of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much.
+
+Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained
+rapidly upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get
+out of sight. Then he took to the open country and ran straight for
+the green hill where Longstreth's house stood. Duane had almost caught
+Snecker when he reached the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him.
+But Duane kept him in sight, in the shade, on the paths, and up the
+road into the courtyard, and he saw Snecker go straight for Longstreth's
+house.
+
+Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He did not
+stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate had directed him to
+the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane entered the first open door
+on that side of the court. It opened into a corridor which led into a
+plaza. It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in
+the center. Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was giving a
+little party.
+
+Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the
+porch roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably, expressing
+amazement, consternation, then fear.
+
+In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her dress.
+The young women present stared in astonishment, if they were not equally
+perturbed. There were cowboys present who suddenly grew intent and
+still. By these things Duane gathered that his appearance must
+be disconcerting. He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His big
+gun-sheath showed plainly at his hip.
+
+Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was
+plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no one but her.
+
+“Miss Longstreth--I came--to search--your house,” panted Duane.
+
+He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he realized
+that that should have been the last thing for him to say. He had
+blundered. But he was not used to women, and this dark-eyed girl made
+him thrill and his heart beat thickly and his wits go scattering.
+
+“Search my house!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the
+white in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry. “What for? Why,
+how dare you! This is unwarrantable!”
+
+“A man--Bo Snecker--assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie,” replied Duane,
+hurriedly. “I chased Snecker here--saw him run into the house.”
+
+“Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the
+absence of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you to search.”
+
+Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward.
+
+“Ray, don't be bothered now,” he said, to his cousin. “This fellow's
+making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you clear out!”
+
+“I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him,” replied Duane,
+quietly.
+
+“Bah! That's all a bluff,” sneered Lawson. “I'm on to your game. You
+just wanted an excuse to break in here--to see my cousin again. When you
+saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the
+worse for you.”
+
+Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he felt that
+he was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable to put this Ray
+Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her eyes now.
+And somehow that checked his embarrassment.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?” he asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then--I regret to say--I'll do so without your permission.”
+
+“You'll not dare!” she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling.
+
+“Pardon me, yes, I will.”
+
+“Who are you?” she demanded, suddenly.
+
+“I'm a Texas Ranger,” replied Duane.
+
+“A TEXAS RANGER!” she echoed.
+
+Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses,” said Duane.
+“I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your permission. A ruffian
+has taken refuge here--in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere.
+May I look for him?”
+
+“If you are indeed a ranger.”
+
+Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at
+them.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better
+place for women and children. I don't wonder at your resentment. But to
+doubt me--insult me. Some day you may be sorry.”
+
+Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+
+“All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys
+and go with this--this Texas Ranger.”
+
+“Thanks,” said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. “Perhaps you'll be able
+to find Snecker quicker than I could.”
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he
+was a man of fierce quick passions.
+
+“Don't quarrel,” said Miss Longstreth. “Floyd, you go with him. Please
+hurry. I'll be nervous till--the man's found or you're sure there's not
+one.”
+
+They started with several cowboys to search the house. They went through
+the rooms searching, calling out, peering into dark places. It struck
+Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the calling. He was
+hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead. Duane wondered if he knew his
+voice would be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was
+Duane who peered into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said
+“Come out!”
+
+He came forth into the flare--a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing
+sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him before any of the
+others could move and held the gun close enough to make him shrink. But
+he did not impress Duane as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he
+had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a
+shock. He peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to
+him, then into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld relief
+it was then. That was all Duane needed to know, but he meant to find out
+more if he could.
+
+“Who're you?” asked Duane, quietly.
+
+“Bo Snecker,” he said.
+
+“What'd you hide here for?”
+
+He appeared to grow sullen.
+
+“Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres.”
+
+“Ranger, what'll you do with him?” Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
+the capture was made.
+
+“I'll see to that,” replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him
+out into the court.
+
+Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
+Longstreth in the court.
+
+When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men
+there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane
+had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near
+him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford
+Owens, county judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced
+fellow with a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a
+huge silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs.
+There were four other men whom Duane knew by sight, several whose faces
+were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
+
+Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was
+unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided,
+and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored Duane
+gathered that he had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+
+“What'd you break in here for,” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?” interrogated
+Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
+
+“Yes,” replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his
+intense interest.
+
+“I've arrested a criminal,” said Duane.
+
+“Arrested a criminal!” ejaculated Longstreth. “You? Who're you?”
+
+“I'm a ranger,” replied Duane.
+
+A significant silence ensued.
+
+“I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery--if not
+murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it keeps
+a record.”
+
+“What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,” said
+Longstreth, gruffly.
+
+Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had
+shuffled forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but
+not the boldness even of a rustler.
+
+“It ain't so, Longstreth,” he began, loudly. “I went in Laramie's place
+fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit
+Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger
+chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's
+hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.”
+
+Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that
+worthy nodded his great bushy head.
+
+“Bo, you're discharged,” said Longstreth, bluntly. “Now the rest of you
+clear out of here.”
+
+He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duane--his slap
+in the face to an interfering ranger service. If Longstreth was crooked
+he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost decided he was above
+suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative
+assurance--these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes were in significant
+contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow
+paling of his olive skin. In that momentary lull Duane's scrutiny of
+Longstreth gathered an impression of the man's intense curiosity.
+
+Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of
+silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+
+“Hold on!” called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a
+bullet.
+
+“Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,” said Duane, his voice still
+ringing. “What has the court to say to that?”
+
+“The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger
+service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you.”
+
+“That's a lie, Longstreth,” retorted Duane. “I've letters from Fairdale
+citizens all begging for ranger service.”
+
+Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared
+about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick reply.
+
+Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed black and
+thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable
+outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should
+reasonably have had for anger. Longstreth shoved him back with a curse
+and a warning glare.
+
+“Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?” shouted Longstreth.
+
+“I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of
+the power of Texas Rangers.”
+
+“You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block
+you.”
+
+That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had
+been waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to force
+Longstreth's hand and show the town his stand.
+
+Duane backed clear of everybody.
+
+“Men! I call on you all!” cried Duane, piercingly. “I call on you to
+witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by Longstreth, Mayor of
+Fairdale. It will be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General at
+Austin. Longstreth, you'll never prevent another arrest.”
+
+Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+
+“Longstreth, you've shown your hand,” said Duane, in a voice that
+carried far and held those who heard. “Any honest citizen of Fairdale
+can now see what's plain--yours is a damn poor hand! You're going to
+hear me call a spade a spade. In the two years you've been Mayor
+you've never arrested one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for
+rustlers! You've never sent a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to
+Austin. You have no jail. There have been nine murders during your
+office--innumerable street-fights and holdups. Not one arrest! But you
+have ordered arrests for trivial offenses, and have punished these out
+of all proportion. There have been lawsuits in your court-suits over
+water-rights, cattle deals, property lines. Strange how in these
+lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to you were always involved!
+Strange how it seems the law was stretched to favor your interest!”
+
+Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both outside
+and inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men.
+Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he betray anything but rage at
+this interloper?
+
+“Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale,” went on Duane. “I
+don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say STRANGE! Law here
+has been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to
+me--yet. But I call your hand!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down
+the street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen
+ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot
+trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely
+that Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting
+eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of
+Ray Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended.
+He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young
+woman. The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him,
+and then he was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the
+disgrace he might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked
+inside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was
+troubled.
+
+Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the
+worse for his injury.
+
+“How are you, Laramie?” he asked.
+
+“Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected,” replied Laramie. His
+head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had
+been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
+
+“That was a good crack Snecker gave you,” remarked Duane.
+
+“I ain't accusin' Bo,” remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane
+thoughtful.
+
+“Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's court. But
+they let him go.”
+
+Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
+
+“See here, Laramie,” went on Duane, “in some parts of Texas it's policy
+to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I
+want you to know I lean on your side of the fence.”
+
+Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his
+gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but
+even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out
+of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough.
+Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
+
+“Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?”
+
+“I didn't say.”
+
+“Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day.
+It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?”
+
+“When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.”
+
+“Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale.
+I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
+Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore--ha,
+ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope
+So joint.”
+
+“He owns considerable property hereabouts,” replied Laramie,
+constrainedly.
+
+“Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town,
+you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight,
+Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause
+I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.”
+
+“Talk's cheap,” replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the
+red was deeper in his face.
+
+“Sure. I know that,” Duane said. “And usually I don't talk. Then it's
+not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?”
+
+“Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't
+connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.”
+
+“That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that
+we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them.
+But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope
+So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.”
+
+“Thanks,” replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky.
+“Didn't you hear I used to run it?”
+
+“No. Did you?” Duane said, quickly.
+
+“I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
+years.”
+
+“Well, I'll be doggoned.” It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised,
+and with the surprise came a glimmering. “I'm sorry you're not there
+now. Did you sell out?”
+
+“No. Just lost the place.”
+
+Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had made
+him soft.
+
+“It was two years ago-two years last March,” he went on. “I was in a big
+cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteen
+hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come
+to a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined.”
+
+It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down
+his cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the
+man. He had failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had been
+swindled. All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had
+the man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now
+the secret of his bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse
+Longstreth, the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thought
+best to try to learn at some later time.
+
+“Hard luck! It certainly was tough,” Duane said. “But you're a good
+loser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need your
+advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest
+some. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I
+want you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of
+ranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with
+ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is
+full of them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must
+know a couple of men above suspicion.”
+
+“Thank God I do,” he replied, feelingly. “Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my
+friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You
+can gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me--don't invest
+money in stock now.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker
+'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen--these
+are easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy
+enough pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't
+know anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd
+fight if they--”
+
+“What?” Duane put in, as he paused. “If they knew who was rustling the
+stock?”
+
+“Nope.”
+
+“If they had the nerve?”
+
+“Not thet so much.”
+
+“What then? What'd make them fight?”
+
+“A leader!”
+
+“Howdy thar, Jim,” boomed a big voice.
+
+A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room.
+
+“Hello, Morton,” replied Laramie. “I'd introduce you to my guest here,
+but I don't know his name.”
+
+“Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names.”
+
+“Say, Morton,” put in Duane, “Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good
+man to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like to
+invest it in stock.”
+
+Morton smiled broadly.
+
+“I'm on the square,” Duane said, bluntly. “If you fellows never size up
+your neighbors any better than you have sized me--well, you won't get
+any richer.”
+
+It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant
+with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith
+held aloof.
+
+“I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you
+start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?”
+
+“Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle
+now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go
+back across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had
+more'n twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let
+me hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?”
+
+“Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton,” replied Duane, with
+impatience. “You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county.
+Who heads the gang, anyway?”
+
+Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his
+big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+
+“Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these
+rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly
+honest men--they CAN'T last.”
+
+“They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single
+steer left,” he declared.
+
+“Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
+of the rustlers.”
+
+Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his
+whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,
+something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
+
+“It's not so funny,” Duane went on. “If you're going to pretend a yellow
+streak, what else will I think?”
+
+“Pretend?” he repeated.
+
+“Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different from
+those in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand
+it's all bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men
+around Fairdale who're afraid of their shadows--afraid to be out after
+dark--afraid to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you
+claim these rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to
+help the popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out here
+is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?”
+
+“Wal, I reckon I do,” he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
+him. “Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I come to town.”
+
+Then he went out.
+
+Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+
+He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze
+fixed again on Duane.
+
+“Wal,” he replied, speaking low. “You've picked the right men. Now, who
+in the hell are you?”
+
+Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the
+lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object flashed as he shoved it,
+pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+
+“RANGER!” he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. “You sure rung
+true to me.”
+
+“Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers
+hereabouts?” asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him to
+come sharp to the point. His voice--something deep, easy, cool about
+him--seemed to steady Laramie.
+
+“No,” replied Laramie.
+
+“Does anybody know?” went on Duane.
+
+“Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS.”
+
+“But you have your suspicions?”
+
+“We have.”
+
+“Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons--the
+regulars.”
+
+“Jest a bad lot,” replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
+knowledge. “Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in.
+Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob,
+anythin' for a little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!”
+
+“Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with
+this gang here?”
+
+“Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever
+seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle
+Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggin
+doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around
+all over west of the Pecos.”
+
+“Now I'm puzzled over this,” said Duane. “Why do men--apparently honest
+men--seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only my
+impression?”
+
+“It's a sure fact,” replied Laramie, darkly. “Men have lost cattle an'
+property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been
+proved. An' in some cases when they talked--hinted a little--they was
+found dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk!
+Thet's why we're close mouthed.”
+
+Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
+intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of
+the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret,
+murderous hold on a little struggling community was something too
+strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
+
+The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
+interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got down.
+Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
+
+If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence. But Lawson
+showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from
+the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leaned
+easily against the counter.
+
+“Say, that was a bad break of yours,” Lawson said. “If you come fooling
+round the ranch again there'll be hell.”
+
+It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten
+years could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk.
+It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldom
+intolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmen
+of the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost
+gentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
+French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in
+anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the
+face of a situation like this made him simply a fool.
+
+“I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
+Longstreth,” Lawson sneered. “Mind you, if you come up there again
+there'll be hell.”
+
+“You're right. But not the kind you think,” Duane retorted, his voice
+sharp and cold.
+
+“Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,”
+ said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention
+to rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. “I'll call
+you right. You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering,
+conceited ranger!”
+
+“Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
+beautiful cousin,” replied Duane, in slow speech. “But let me return
+your compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap
+four-flush--damned, bull-headed RUSTLER!”
+
+Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
+working passion-blackened face.
+
+Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
+His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
+chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
+
+“Don't draw!” warned Duane.
+
+“Lawson, git away from your gun!” yelled Laramie.
+
+But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
+with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
+hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+
+Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+
+“What'd you wing him for?” he wailed. “He was drawin' on you. Kickin'
+men like him won't do out here.”
+
+“That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang
+right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides,
+shooting him would have been murder.”
+
+“Murder!” exclaimed Laramie.
+
+“Yes, for me,” replied Duane.
+
+“That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you think he
+is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleep
+of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me.”
+
+“Laramie, what are your eyes for?” demanded Duane. “Watch out. And now
+here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
+approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
+need your help.”
+
+Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
+watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and
+speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he
+stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were
+open; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in
+Longstreth's big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a
+buckboard drove up and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well
+hidden in the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
+glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see, he
+appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with
+an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to observe Lawson was
+lost. They went into the house without speaking and closed the door.
+
+At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset
+between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane
+waited there in the darkness with patience born of many hours of hiding.
+
+Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+
+“Something's happened surely, Ruth,” he heard Miss Longstreth say,
+anxiously. “Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed
+pale, worried.”
+
+“Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,” said Ruth. “For once he
+didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a
+bad day.”
+
+“Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life
+miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--”
+
+“I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,” declared Ruth,
+emphatically. “He'd run after any woman.”
+
+“A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,” laughed Ray.
+
+“I don't care,” replied Ruth, stubbornly, “it's so. He's mushy. And when
+he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!”
+
+There were steps on the hall floor.
+
+“Hello, girls!” sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety.
+
+“Floyd, what's the matter?” asked Ray, presently. “I never saw papa as
+he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what has happened?”
+
+“Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,” replied Lawson, with a blunt,
+expressive laugh.
+
+“Jar?” echoed both the girls, curiously.
+
+“We had to submit to a damnable outrage,” added Lawson, passionately,
+as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. “Listen, girls; I'll
+tell you-all about it.” He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that
+betrayed he had been drinking.
+
+Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his
+muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all
+acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently
+uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his
+clue.
+
+“It happened at the town hall,” began Lawson, rapidly. “Your father and
+Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from
+out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the
+fellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged
+assault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
+innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his
+insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There
+was no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. He
+made arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers,
+highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or--he just let them alone. He used
+his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the
+ranger yelled for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father,
+Ray, insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!”
+
+“Oh!” cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+
+“The ranger service wants to rule western Texas,” went on Lawson. “These
+rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they
+hunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became
+rangers. This is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent,
+smooth, and that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He
+wanted to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he
+would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman. My God,
+any instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!”
+
+“Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!” cried Ray Longstreth,
+passionately.
+
+“You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety. He made
+that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He
+tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was
+the worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies.”
+
+“What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?” said Ray
+Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. “After a moment's
+thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell
+papa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
+reputation by--by an adventurer.”
+
+“Yes, he can be injured,” replied Floyd, quickly. “The frontier is a
+queer place. There are many bitter men here--men who have failed at
+ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger
+has dropped poison, and it'll spread.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, new
+to Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waiting
+atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.
+Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by
+rowdies carousing in the streets.
+
+Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain
+the opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be a
+target for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they did
+happen so, it was more accident than design. But at night he was not
+idle. He met Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; a
+secret club had been formed; and all the members were ready for action.
+Duane spent hours at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed
+when he was not up at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least
+the house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--all
+that kindly disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane had
+not been able to recognize any of these night visitors; and he did
+not think the time was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them.
+Nevertheless, he was sure such an event would discover Lawson, or some
+one in that house, to be in touch with crooked men.
+
+Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,
+in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar of
+his restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
+found who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon the
+bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: “All
+friends of rangers look for the same.”
+
+This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. None
+of Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or the
+unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were held
+in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband's
+death was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with five
+children. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and
+moved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse
+and friend.
+
+After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meant
+business. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly
+glad of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great
+speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the
+wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he
+was a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He
+had killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all--it was actually said of him
+he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+
+At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious
+element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action
+calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at
+the bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: “Who's thet ranger
+after? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin'
+to draw on him fust--an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be
+found somewheres full of lead?”
+
+When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest
+stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,
+then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot at
+in the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the
+gunman, was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise up
+in a mass to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemies
+of the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to
+the frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if
+formidable. He would have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to
+play and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion. There
+was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.
+
+Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held the
+undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and
+quarrels except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were
+rife in them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usual
+run of strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone
+or was under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of
+Poggin, yet he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the
+habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble
+were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull,
+however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that
+it had lasted so long.
+
+Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon
+while he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the
+door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's
+trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room
+rather than meet them.
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you,” said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
+
+The little room was not very light, there being only one window and
+the doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,
+hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been a
+woman of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there to
+read in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter
+lines that had characterized her husband's.
+
+Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.
+Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+
+“So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?” queried the woman, with her
+bright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+
+“Yes,” replied Miss Longstreth, simply. “This is my cousin, Ruth
+Herbert. We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in
+any way you'll let us.”
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+“Well, you look a little like Longstreth,” finally said Mrs. Laramie,
+“but you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. Miss
+Longstreth, I don't know if I can--if I ought accept anything from you.
+Your father ruined my husband.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” replied the girl, sadly. “That's all the more reason you
+should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--mean so much to me.”
+
+If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in
+the warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's idea
+was that the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftly
+succeeded by that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had
+started well with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk to
+the children than both they and the mother were won. The opening of that
+big basket was an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings
+seemed too easily roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim
+Laramie's slayer if he could have laid eyes on him then. However, Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth, after the nature of tender and practical girls, did
+not appear to take the sad situation to heart. The havoc was wrought in
+that household.
+
+The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action--and these the
+girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?” presently asked Miss Longstreth.
+Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight,
+if any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of Ray
+Longstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
+
+“The ranger,” replied Mrs. Laramie.
+
+“The ranger!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+
+“Yes, he's taken care of us all since--since--” Mrs. Laramie choked.
+
+“Oh! So you've had no help but his,” replied Miss Longstreth, hastily.
+“No women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll come
+myself.”
+
+“It'll be good of you,” went on the older woman. “You see, Jim had
+few friends--that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to help
+us--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--”
+
+“That's awful!” burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. “A brave lot of
+friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.
+Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?”
+
+Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
+
+“Why, it's on hind side before,” declared Ruth. “I guess Mr. Ranger
+hasn't dressed many babies.”
+
+“He did the best he could,” said Mrs. Laramie. “Lord only knows what
+would have become of us!”
+
+“Then he is--is something more than a ranger?” queried Miss Longstreth,
+with a little break in her voice.
+
+“He's more than I can tell,” replied Mrs. Laramie. “He buried Jim. He
+paid our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for
+us and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first
+two nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so
+kind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near.
+Sometimes I'd wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how
+false were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.
+Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. When
+he has the baby up I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they
+say. He's good, but he isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far
+off sometimes when the children climb round him. They love him. His life
+is sad. Nobody need tell me--he sees the good in things. Once he said
+somebody had to be a ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like
+him!'”
+
+Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+
+“It was thoughtful of you,” Duane said. “Womankind are needed here. I
+could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad.
+And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying to
+puzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I
+tell you--friends would come? So will the brighter side.”
+
+“Yes, I've more faith than I had,” replied Mrs. Laramie. “Granger
+Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's
+death I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of
+my little ones? But I'm gaining courage to--”
+
+“Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,” said Miss Longstreth.
+“I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you.”
+
+“Miss Longstreth, that's fine!” exclaimed Duane. “It's what I'd
+have--expected of you.”
+
+It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
+burned out in a beautiful blush.
+
+“And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come,” added Duane. “Let me
+thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
+task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
+ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's
+risk. And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again
+to-night. Good-by.”
+
+“Mr. Ranger, wait!” called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was
+white and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
+
+“I have wronged you,” she said, impulsively.
+
+“Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?” he returned.
+
+“I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see--I
+wronged you.”
+
+“You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
+wronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--and much said of me
+is true. My duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent,
+alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me.”
+
+“I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an
+honor. I--”
+
+“Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth,” interrupted Duane.
+
+“But, sir, my conscience flays me,” she went on. There was no other
+sound like her voice. “Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?”
+
+She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
+Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
+
+Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
+sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied
+or real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could
+have resisted her then.
+
+“I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman,” she said, and
+now her speech came swiftly. “When she was all alone and helpless you
+were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't the
+only unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how
+I may soon need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm
+terribly worried. I fear--I fear--Oh, surely I'll need a friend
+soon--soon. Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. I
+want to help you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone--all
+alone? Will you--will you be--” Her voice failed.
+
+It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to
+suspect--that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers they
+pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook him
+deeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. And
+with the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there
+came realization of a dangerous situation.
+
+“I must be true to my duty,” he said, hoarsely.
+
+“If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it.”
+
+“Well, then--I'll do anything for you.”
+
+“Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied--he
+lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me to
+go back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, I
+know something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if--if--Will
+you help me?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying. The night
+was dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane
+bent his steps toward the Longstreth's ranchhouse. He had so much to
+think about that he never knew where the time went. This night when he
+reached the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps
+and saw Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the
+darkness. Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was
+dark again outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window.
+
+Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be
+interesting to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but could
+hear only a murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. He
+went round the corner of the house.
+
+This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than
+the back and larger part. There was a narrow passage between the houses,
+leading from the outside through to the patio.
+
+This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to
+avail himself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on very
+stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage.
+In the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack
+in the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he
+entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew
+a very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the
+thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best by
+working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in
+reaching a vantage-point. When he did get there the crack he had marked
+was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in
+the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care what risk
+he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his
+brow was clouded. Lawson's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted
+by some indomitable resolve.
+
+“We'll settle both deals to-night,” Lawson was saying. “That's what I
+came for.”
+
+“But suppose I don't choose to talk here?” protested Longstreth,
+impatiently. “I never before made my house a place to--”
+
+“We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your
+nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to
+me?”
+
+“Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why, she's a
+woman, and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. I told you
+I was willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Ray
+hasn't any use for you now. She liked you at first. But now she doesn't.
+So what can I do?”
+
+“You can make her marry me,” replied Lawson.
+
+“Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be done even if
+I tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't the highest opinion
+of you as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray loved you I would
+consent. We'd all go away together before this damned miserable business
+is out. Then she'd never know. And maybe you might be more like you used
+to be before the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your
+own game with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose.”
+
+“What'd you want to let her come out here for?” demanded Lawson, hotly.
+“It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over her. I'll have her or
+die. Don't you think if she was my wife I'd soon pull myself together?
+Since she came we've none of us been right. And the gang has put up a
+holler. No, Longstreth, we've got to settle things to-night.”
+
+“Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,” replied
+Longstreth, rising. “Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand.”
+
+They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself
+and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But
+he could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had
+thought him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he
+was worse.
+
+The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have
+been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally
+he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leaden-faced,
+humiliated. Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode
+the room; he cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now appreciably calmer.
+Duane could not but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection
+of Lawson's proposal.
+
+“Don't fuss about it, Floyd,” he said. “You see I can't help it. We're
+pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter and give her to you
+as I would an unruly steer.”
+
+“Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me,” declared Lawson, thickly.
+
+“How?”
+
+“You know the hold I got on you--the deal that made you boss of this
+rustler gang?”
+
+“It isn't likely I'd forget,” replied Longstreth, grimly.
+
+“I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it
+broadcast--tell this ranger--unless she'd marry me.”
+
+Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had
+no shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Longstreth gazed with
+dark, controlled fury at this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong,
+unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed
+Lawson to be the wild and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also
+how during all the years of association this strong man had upheld
+the weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on
+Longstreth's part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great majority
+of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where
+influence was futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.
+
+“But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a
+rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border,”
+ replied Longstreth, impressively.
+
+Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred
+to him. But he was not long at a loss.
+
+“She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now
+there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes. Mark what I say.”
+
+“Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's
+a boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor.
+Also I think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to
+certain property.”
+
+Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared himself as if
+this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed
+an absence of his usual nervous excitement.
+
+“Longstreth, that may well be true,” he said. “No doubt all you say is
+true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her--I
+reckon we'll all go to hell!”
+
+He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly
+had something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely
+perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head
+down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long
+experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means
+to vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right
+then and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson.
+For Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a
+conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put
+Longstreth in conflict with himself.
+
+Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to
+talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking
+to smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the
+fateful significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree
+decided than if he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself.
+How, Duane wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone
+so far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was,
+perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The
+coming of Ray Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension.
+
+“You're too impatient,” concluded Longstreth. “You'll ruin any chance
+of happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am
+she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate
+you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her.
+Cut out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out
+here--stock, ranch, property--and leave the country. Then you'd have a
+show with her.”
+
+“I told you we've got to stick,” growled Lawson. “The gang won't
+stand for our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice
+everything.”
+
+“You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them
+here to face whatever comes?”
+
+“I mean just that.”
+
+“I'm bad enough, but not that bad,” returned Longstreth. “If I can't
+get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same,
+Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years
+have been YOURS?”
+
+“Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had
+cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here.”
+
+“Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached
+our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--at a time when
+rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then
+came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before
+we knew it--before I knew it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS
+on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!”
+
+“I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all
+think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing
+can be proved. We're too strong.”
+
+“There's where you're dead wrong,” rejoined Longstreth, emphatically.
+“I imagined that once, not long ago. I was bullheaded. Who would ever
+connect Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? I've changed my mind.
+I've begun to think. I've reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we
+can't last. It's the nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow
+better. The wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the
+country, all of us.”
+
+“But you and I have all the stock--all the gain,” protested Lawson.
+
+“I'll split mine.”
+
+“I won't--that settles that,” added Lawson, instantly.
+
+Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince
+this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more
+than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
+
+“Your stock and property will last a long time--do you lots of good when
+this ranger--”
+
+“Bah!” hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to
+powder. “Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon--any time--same as Laramie
+is?”
+
+“Yes, you mentioned the--the supposition,” replied Longstreth,
+sarcastically. “I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to
+be brought about.”
+
+“The gang will lay him out.”
+
+“Bah!” retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+
+“Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've
+packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they
+killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in
+all that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough
+to see him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only
+way to get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then
+he's going to drop some of them.”
+
+“Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did
+drop some of them,” declared Lawson; and now he was sarcastic.
+
+“To tell you the truth, I wouldn't,” returned the other, bluntly. “I'm
+pretty sick of this mess.”
+
+Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to
+his intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen a
+vainer or more arrogant man.
+
+“Longstreth, I don't like your talk,” he said.
+
+“If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do,” replied
+Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of
+eyes and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.
+
+“Well, after all, that's neither here nor there,” went on Lawson,
+unconsciously cowed by the other. “The thing is, do I get the girl?”
+
+“Not by any means except her consent.”
+
+“You'll not make her marry me?”
+
+“No. No,” replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched.
+
+“All right. Then I'll make her.”
+
+Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that he
+wasted no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that
+was that Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use
+it. Then heavy footsteps sounded outside tramping upon the porch. Duane
+might have been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps saved Lawson's
+life.
+
+“There they are,” said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+
+Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big
+man with burly shoulders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others
+stood back.
+
+The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a
+nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man--a stranger to
+Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from this band,
+of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of
+these men. There was power here, and he was bound.
+
+The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others
+gathered around him close to the table. There were evidently some signs
+of membership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads were bent over the
+table. Low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. By straining his
+ears Duane caught a word here and there. They were planning, and they
+were brief. Duane gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near
+Ord.
+
+Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present
+convention, got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had come, and was
+followed by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet smoke. Lawson
+seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. He smoked fiercely and drank
+continually. All at once he straightened up as if listening.
+
+“What's that?” he called, suddenly.
+
+Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+
+“Must be a rat,” replied Longstreth.
+
+The rustle became a rattle.
+
+“Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,” said Lawson.
+
+Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+
+Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the
+adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. But
+the rattle inside Longstreth's room was mingling with little dull thuds
+of falling dirt. The adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane
+distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+his heart.
+
+“What in the hell!” exclaimed Longstreth.
+
+“I smell dust,” said Lawson, sharply.
+
+That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite
+his care he made a noise.
+
+“Did you hear a step?” queried Longstreth.
+
+No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud.
+Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+
+“There's somebody between the walls!” thundered Longstreth.
+
+Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to
+squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
+
+“Hear him!” yelled Lawson. “This side!”
+
+“No, he's going that way,” yelled Longstreth.
+
+The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of desperation. He
+was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was
+another matter. He almost tore his clothes off in that passage. The dust
+nearly stifled him. When he burst into the patio it was not a single
+instant too soon. But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up,
+gun in hand, running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps
+turned him back. While there was a chance to get away he did not want to
+fight. He thought he heard someone running into the patio from the other
+end. He stole along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it
+might lead, he softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth
+sitting on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her
+to be silent he turned to close the door. It was a heavy door without
+bolt or bar, and when Duane had shut it he felt safe only for the
+moment. Then he gazed around the room. There was one window with blind
+closely drawn. He listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating,
+dying away.
+
+Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the bed, half
+to her knees, and was holding out trembling hands. She was as white as
+the pillow on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with warning
+hand commanding silence, Duane stepped softly forward, meaning to
+reassure her.
+
+“Oh!” she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to faint.
+When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood the strange,
+dark expression in them. She was terrified because she believed he meant
+to kill her, or do worse, probably worse. Duane realized he must have
+looked pretty hard and fierce bursting into her room with that big gun
+in hand.
+
+The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him.
+
+“Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get away--to
+save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on--on your father and
+his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was
+listening. They're after me now.”
+
+Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening
+windows of thought.
+
+Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a
+woman in her eyes.
+
+“Tell me now. You were spying on my father?”
+
+Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not
+omitting a terse word as to the character of the men he had watched.
+
+“My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong here--with
+him--with the place--the people. And right off I hated Floyd Lawson. Oh,
+it'll kill me if--if--It's so much worse than I dreamed. What shall I
+do?”
+
+The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's attention,
+reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted more with him, made
+clear the probability of being discovered in her room.
+
+“I'll have to get out of here,” whispered Duane.
+
+“Wait,” she replied. “Didn't you say they were hunting for you?”
+
+“They sure are,” he returned, grimly.
+
+“Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got away.
+Stay. If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the light. I'll meet
+them at the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets down, if we
+have to wait till morning. Then you can slip out.”
+
+“I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to--I won't,” Duane replied, perplexed
+and stubborn.
+
+“But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.”
+
+“Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every
+room and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't
+start a fight. You might be hurt. Then--the fact of my being here--”
+
+Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the
+door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him.
+She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been
+either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make
+Duane weak.
+
+“Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to
+be natural.
+
+“No. I'm in bed reading. Good night,” instantly replied Miss Longstreth,
+so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between
+man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He
+slipped in, but the door would not close altogether.
+
+“Are you alone?” went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+
+“Yes,” she replied. “Ruth went to bed.”
+
+The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half
+entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and
+indistinctly another man.
+
+Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as
+well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced
+around he went out and closed the door.
+
+Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent once
+more. Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard her quick
+breathing. How long did she mean to let him stay hidden there? Hard and
+perilous as his life had been, this was a new kind of adventure. He
+had divined the strange softness of his feeling as something due to the
+magnetism of this beautiful woman. It hardly seemed possible that he,
+who had been outside the pale for so many years, could have fallen in
+love. Yet that must be the secret of his agitation.
+
+Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss
+Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared to be in
+distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+
+“I think I can go now--safely,” he whispered.
+
+“Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe,” she replied.
+
+“I--I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me--this finding
+out--and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't understand myself
+well. But I want you to know--if I were not an outlaw--a ranger--I'd lay
+my life at your feet.”
+
+“Oh! You have seen so--so little of me,” she faltered.
+
+“All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my
+coming caused you.”
+
+“You will not fight my father?”
+
+“Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+
+“But you spied upon him.”
+
+“I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.”
+
+“And oh! I am a rustler's daughter,” she cried. “That's so much more
+terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he
+was engaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions aroused.”
+
+“How? Tell me.”
+
+“I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange a
+meeting for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to
+go. Floyd taunted him with a name.”
+
+“What name?” queried Duane.
+
+“It was Cheseldine.”
+
+“CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?”
+
+“What difference does that make?”
+
+“Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same,” whispered Duane,
+hoarsely.
+
+“I gathered so much myself,” she replied, miserably. “But Longstreth is
+father's real name.”
+
+Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part
+in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she betrayed the secret
+Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a
+great flood.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable,” he whispered.
+“Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here to get. He's only a
+name. Your father is the real man. I've sworn to get him. I'm bound by
+more than law or oaths. I can't break what binds me. And I must disgrace
+you--wreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I--I love
+you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How
+fatal--terrible--this is! How things work out!”
+
+She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+
+“You won't kill him?” she implored. “If you care for me--you won't kill
+him?”
+
+“No. That I promise you.”
+
+With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+
+Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to
+the court.
+
+When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
+his relief equaled his other feelings.
+
+The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
+soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
+But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
+throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
+Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have
+a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he
+could save her.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try
+to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men
+Duane wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine,
+was the brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who
+needed to be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane
+experienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more
+than thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
+this emotion.
+
+Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
+for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
+in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let
+his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
+
+He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
+Bradford.
+
+The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
+express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
+messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
+away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and
+engineer and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men
+and citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up
+before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane
+had the sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to
+find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford
+unobserved. As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the
+direction of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope
+that he might be taken for a train-robber.
+
+He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak of
+Ord Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and
+slept until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his time
+cooking breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and,
+leaving the trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put
+his horse to the rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough,
+roundabout, and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill
+of a long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded and
+covered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival that the man
+Duane remembered as Fletcher and several others saw him come in the back
+way through the lots and jump a fence into the road.
+
+Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard.
+He was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morning
+drink.
+
+“Howdy, Dodge,” said Fletcher, laconically.
+
+Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
+
+“Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as
+might happen to ride up curious-like.”
+
+“Haw! haw! haw!”
+
+Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
+
+“Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in
+the 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev to
+rustle water.”
+
+Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and
+left him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the group
+of men had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before.
+Without comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever
+one of the tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This
+procedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+
+“Wal, Dodge,” remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, “thet's safer 'n
+prayin' fer rain.”
+
+Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect
+that a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They all
+joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most
+assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his
+ability, it probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at that
+time these men had nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern.
+Evidently they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed
+they could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane set
+out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was card-playing
+for small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature, much bantering among the
+younger fellows, and occasionally a mild quarrel. All morning men came
+and went, until, all told, Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty.
+Toward the middle of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloon
+and yelled one word:
+
+“Posse!”
+
+From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing
+action was rare in Ord.
+
+“What the hell!” muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,
+compact bunch of horses and riders. “Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!
+We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was
+here or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'.”
+
+The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted in
+a bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men,
+all heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbed
+cowboy. Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence of
+the sheriff who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was
+out in another direction with a different force.
+
+“Hello, Jim Fletcher,” called the cowboy.
+
+“Howdy,” replied Fletcher.
+
+At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before
+the posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The
+outlaw was different now.
+
+“Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.
+Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit
+into the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us.
+Think he went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the
+rest of the way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last
+night or early this mornin'?”
+
+“Nope,” replied Fletcher.
+
+His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently
+the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the
+posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference
+of opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
+
+“Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?”
+ protested an old hawk-faced rancher. “Them hoss tracks we follored ain't
+like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up.”
+
+“I'm not so sure of that,” replied the leader.
+
+“Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--'
+
+“But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.”
+
+“Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent
+fer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this
+road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through
+town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some
+greasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute.”
+
+“But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the
+greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no
+ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine
+an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his
+gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did
+the killin'--he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it.”
+
+Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old
+cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
+
+“Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons
+Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell you what--I'd
+take a chance an' clean up this hole!”
+
+All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
+
+“Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,” he said. The
+menace was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+
+“You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!” called Guthrie, as the horses
+started.
+
+Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the
+posse out of sight.
+
+“Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here,” he said, as they disappeared.
+Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away
+from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it
+was somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
+
+“Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal,
+seein' I staved off Guthrie.”
+
+Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it.
+First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledge
+whatever of the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself.
+Then at Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show of
+friendliness he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swell
+with pride, though still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent
+will-power and seemed to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and
+grew silent, then surly. Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory,
+desisted for the time being; however, in his solicitous regard and close
+companionship for the rest of that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+
+Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse
+and make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
+
+“Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.
+Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I
+hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now.
+I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square.”
+
+“I'll square it. I pay my debts,” replied Duane. “But I can't put up
+here all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different.”
+
+“What gang?” asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+
+“Why, Cheseldine's.”
+
+Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+
+Duane laughed. “I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,
+he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I
+had for bein' on earth or some such like--why, I up an' told him.”
+
+Fletcher appeared staggered.
+
+“Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?”
+
+“Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over
+there.”
+
+All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white.
+“Cheseldine--Longstreth!” he whispered, hoarsely. “Gord Almighty! You
+braced the--” Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He
+gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he
+could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this
+rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement,
+the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a
+master of men!
+
+“WHO AIR YOU?” queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+
+“You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore
+it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin'
+in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.”
+
+The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he
+returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness--all
+without a word.
+
+Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and
+mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night.
+His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing
+his game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end,
+always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the
+approach that needed all his mind.
+
+He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail
+and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
+disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
+expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
+Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
+
+That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently
+well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane heard him say, before he
+could possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss
+of money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of
+this report. He pretended not to have heard.
+
+In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
+and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to
+a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took
+out a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
+handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through
+the roll.
+
+“Five hundred!” he exclaimed. “Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
+considerin' the job wasn't--”
+
+“Considerin' nothin',” interrupted Duane. “I'm makin' no reference to
+a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If
+thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this
+country.”
+
+Fletcher was won.
+
+The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
+history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
+laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
+that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
+then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
+boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a
+stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any
+influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all
+the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved
+anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine
+was already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have
+killed Duane.
+
+Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed
+to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory!
+Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,
+high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job,
+where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed
+he basked in the sunshine before one or another of the public places
+he owned. He was there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the
+biggest job yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as
+yet been advised.
+
+Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details
+pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering
+a period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith
+was unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in
+its brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and
+grasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was
+stunned. Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher,
+stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane
+had ever known sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned
+Duane; the strange fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate
+inside working of his great system was equally stunning. But when Duane
+recovered from that the old terrible passion to kill consumed him,
+and it raged fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handed
+Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But
+they were not, and Duane with help of time got what he hoped was the
+upper hand of himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a leashed
+hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he
+was bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold,
+wild brow of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for
+Knell and Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting
+one.
+
+But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A
+messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do
+with Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful
+moods and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a
+striking contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw.
+Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few
+words whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger
+or fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger,
+a lean, dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy
+Guthrie, left the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the
+west. This west mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south
+beyond Mount Ord. Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not
+at present with the leader on the mountain. After the messenger left
+Fletcher grew silent and surly. He had presented a variety of moods to
+Duane's observation, and this latest one was provocative of thought.
+Fletcher was dangerous. It became clear now that the other outlaws
+of the camp feared him, kept out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet
+closely watched him.
+
+Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher
+manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then
+he went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape
+both to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep
+close until he returned. Then he mounted.
+
+“Come here, Dodge,” he called.
+
+Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher
+walked his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log
+bridge, when he halted.
+
+“Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell,” he said. “An' it 'pears I'm the cause
+of friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but
+Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, an'
+here it's been held up because of this scrap. He's waitin' over there on
+the mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's
+showin' up. I've got to stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the
+prospects.”
+
+“What's the trouble about, Jim?” asked Duane.
+
+“Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge,” said Fletcher, dryly. “Knell
+hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer a man onless he
+can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with
+my say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethin' about
+you that'll make both the boss an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But
+he's keepin' quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better
+go back to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come
+back.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too.”
+
+“The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, I'll light a
+fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you don't see
+it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks
+to his pals. So long, Dodge.”
+
+Then he rode away.
+
+He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been
+working out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not
+know which way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to
+Bradford. Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open
+hostility between one of them and another of the chief's right-hand
+men! Among outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such
+matters were settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from
+disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band had
+already begun. But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around
+the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this
+stranger in Ord, this new partner of Fletcher's, was no less than Buck
+Duane. Well, it was about time, thought Duane, that he made use of his
+name if it were to help him at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope.
+He had anchored all his scheme to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to
+ride off after Fletcher and stay with him. This, however, would hardly
+be fair to an outlaw who had been fair to him. Duane concluded to await
+developments and when the gang rode in to Ord, probably from their
+various hiding-places, he would be there ready to be denounced by Knell.
+Duane could not see any other culmination of this series of events than
+a meeting between Knell and himself. If that terminated fatally for
+Knell there was all probability of Duane's being in no worse situation
+than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here Duane accused
+himself again--tried in vain to revolt from a judgment that he was only
+reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws.
+
+Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his
+mountain retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than he was
+hurrying for his horse.
+
+He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of sight, he
+turned off the road, circled through the brush, and several miles south
+of town he struck a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told him
+led to Cheseldine's camp. The horse tracks along this trail were not
+less than a week old, and very likely much more. It wound between
+low, brush-covered foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with
+mesquite, cottonwood, and scrub-oak.
+
+In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he
+got a view of the rolling, black-spotted country, partly desert, partly
+fertile, with long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away to grow
+dim in the distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the
+open, downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to
+find the trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress. Finally
+he climbed into a region of all rock benches, rough here, smooth there,
+with only an occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide him. Many
+times he had to go ahead and then work to right or left till he found
+his way again. It was slow work; it took all day; and night found him
+half-way up the mountain. He halted at a little side-canyon with grass
+and water, and here he made camp. The night was clear and cool at that
+height, with a dark-blue sky and a streak of stars blinking across. With
+this day of action behind him he felt better satisfied than he had been
+for some time. Here, on this venture, he was answering to a call that
+had so often directed his movements, perhaps his life, and it was one
+that logic or intelligence could take little stock of. And on this
+night, lonely like the ones he used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and
+memorable of them because of a likeness to that old hiding-place, he
+felt the pressing return of old haunting things--the past so long ago,
+wild flights, dead faces--and the places of these were taken by one
+quiveringly alive, white, tragic, with its dark, intent, speaking
+eyes--Ray Longstreth's.
+
+
+That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+
+In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than
+he had followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the head of the
+canyon, there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar
+fenced him in. Then he went back and took up the trail on foot.
+
+Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts,
+wide canyons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along precipices--a long,
+hard climb--till he reached what he concluded was a divide. Going down
+was easier, though the farther he followed this dim and winding trail
+the wider the broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black
+fringe of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow,
+like a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great
+escarpments, he saw the lower country beyond the range, and beyond this,
+vast and clear as it lay in his sight, was the great river that made the
+Big Bend. He went down and down, wondering how a horse could follow that
+broken trail, believing there must be another better one somewhere into
+Cheseldine's hiding-place.
+
+He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and presently
+came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen
+through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two sides he
+could see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet below him; and, plain as all
+the other features of that wild environment, there shone out a big red
+stone or adobe cabin, white water shining away between great borders,
+and horses and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful
+scene. Duane could not help grinding his teeth at the thought of
+rustlers living there in quiet and ease.
+
+Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a niche,
+he settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He made note of the
+position of the sun and saw that if anything developed or if he decided
+to descend any farther there was small likelihood of his getting back to
+his camp before dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would be
+vain effort.
+
+Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
+structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been built by
+outlaws.
+
+There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting for the
+rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with mud, the valley was
+as wild, probably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to have been
+watching for a long time before he saw any sign of man, and this one
+apparently went to the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+
+The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the darker
+places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer to that cabin.
+What had he taken this arduous climb for? He held back, however, trying
+to evolve further plans.
+
+While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he
+was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And
+suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the
+valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment
+of rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and
+stopped at the stream for a long drink.
+
+Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as fast
+as he could without making noise. It did not take him long to reach the
+valley floor. It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and there
+clumps of bushes. Twilight was already thick down there. Duane marked
+the location of the trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through
+the grass and from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he
+made out the dark outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry
+whistle, a coarse song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He
+smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light.
+Evidently there was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.
+
+Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus
+was able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward
+the back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make
+no noise, and he could scarcely be seen--if only there was no watch-dog!
+But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life
+at stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an
+Indian. He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their
+shadows, for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their
+tops. From there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with
+his hands.
+
+He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He
+saw a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He
+saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the
+fire. Voices came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther
+along--all the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only
+the flare of light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he
+paused at the crack again, saw that no man was in the room, and then
+he went on round that end of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There
+were bushes, an old shed, a wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that
+corner. He did not even need to crawl.
+
+Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
+close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from
+that he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no
+dread. There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the
+same. Then he looked.
+
+He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while
+he handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against
+the wall, with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second
+glance, not so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men,
+three in the shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+
+“It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one
+right over the mountain,” one outlaw was saying.
+
+“What's eatin' you, Panhandle?” ejaculated another. “Blossom an' me rode
+from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang.”
+
+“Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said
+nothin'.”
+
+“It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well,”
+ spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+
+Longstreth's voice--Cheseldine's voice!
+
+Here they were--Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith,
+Boldt--how well Duane remembered the names!--all here, the big men of
+Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest--Poggin. Duane had holed them, and
+his sensations of the moment deadened sight and sound of what was before
+him. He sank down, controlled himself, silenced a mounting exultation,
+then from a less-strained position he peered forth again.
+
+The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might have been
+that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane listened with
+eager ears, waiting for the business talk that he felt would come. All
+the time he watched with the eyes of a wolf upon its quarry. Blossom
+Kane was the lean-limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt
+was a giant in stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the
+red-faced cook, merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling many
+rustlers Duane had known, particularly Luke Stevens. And Knell, who sat
+there, tall, slim, like a boy in build, like a boy in years, with
+his pale, smooth, expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And
+Longstreth, who leaned against the wall, handsome, with his dark face
+and beard like an aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana planter
+Duane had met. The sixth man sat so much in the shadow that he could not
+be plainly discerned, and, though addressed, his name was not mentioned.
+
+Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully
+called out: “If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed
+you with a spoon.”
+
+The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to
+their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+
+Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept round to
+the other side of the cabin. After he became used to the dark again
+he ventured to steal along the wall to the window and peeped in. The
+outlaws were in the first room and could not be seen.
+
+Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded.
+Longstreth entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of cigars
+from the table, he carried it out.
+
+“Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke,” he said. “Knell, come on in
+now. Let's get it over.”
+
+He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his
+booted feet on the table.
+
+Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished.
+There must have been a good trail, he thought, else how could all that
+stuff have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come
+over the trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside,
+and their voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated
+himself without any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as
+always, cold.
+
+“What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?” queried
+Longstreth.
+
+“Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again.”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway,
+an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept him, I reckon, more
+than anythin'.”
+
+“What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job.”
+
+“Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago--weeks--a
+stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he owned the place.
+He seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I
+left, tryin' to place him in my mind.”
+
+“What'd he look like?”
+
+“Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard face,
+eyes like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he walked an'
+stood an' swung his right hand showed me what he was. You can't fool me
+on the gun-sharp. An' he had a grand horse, a big black.”
+
+“I've met your man,” said Longstreth.
+
+“No!” exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise expressed by
+this man that did not in the least show it in his strange physiognomy.
+Knell laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. “Boss, this here big gent
+drifts into Ord again an' makes up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is
+easy led. He likes men. An' when a posse come along trailin' a blind
+lead, huntin' the wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim--he
+up an' takes this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to him.
+Got money out of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more. What's this
+man's game? I happen to know, boss, that he couldn't have held up No.
+6.”
+
+“How do you know?” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“Because I did the job myself.”
+
+A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+
+“Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break
+like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?”
+
+“Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to
+kill me.”
+
+“Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?”
+
+“It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake. I got
+the country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I just couldn't help
+it. You know what idleness means to one of us. You know also that this
+very life breeds fatality. It's wrong--that's why. I was born of good
+parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the
+end, that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes.”
+
+“Fine wise talk from you, Knell,” said Longstreth, scornfully. “Go on
+with your story.”
+
+“As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're
+together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he knew an' then
+some. A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over
+from Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new
+man for the gang. Poggin, you know, is always ready for any new man.
+He says if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather
+liked the way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always
+hit it up together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was already in
+the gang, without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin'
+hard. Just where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never
+had seen him, which accounts for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget
+any man I'd seen. I dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over
+them. Letters, pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty
+good notion what I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of. At
+last I found it. An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin.
+Oh no! I want to have some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be
+wilder than a trapped wolf. I sent Blossom over to Ord to get word from
+Jim, an' when he verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a
+message calculated to make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for
+Jim, an' I could come over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet
+me in Ord.”
+
+Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale
+eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell to a whisper.
+
+“Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?”
+
+“Who?” demanded Longstreth.
+
+“BUCK DUANE!”
+
+Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid.
+
+“That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed
+Bland, Alloway--?”
+
+“An' Hardin.” Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the
+apparent circumstance demanded.
+
+“Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows--Buck Duane!”
+
+Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache seemed
+outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood
+each other without more words. It was enough that Buck Duane was there
+in the Big Bend. Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from
+which he drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+
+“Knell,” began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, “I gathered you
+have some grudge against this Buck Duane.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men
+would--don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a Texas
+Ranger now.”
+
+“The hell you say!” exclaimed Knell.
+
+“Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and
+they'll fix even Buck Duane.”
+
+“All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane--”
+
+“Don't run into him!” Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of
+its passion and command. He wiped his face, drank again from the flask,
+sat down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket
+he began to study it.
+
+“Well, I'm glad that's settled,” he said, evidently referring to the
+Duane matter. “Now for the new job. This is October the eighteenth. On
+or before the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of gold reach the
+Rancher's Bank of Val Verde. After you return to Ord give Poggin these
+orders. Keep the gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle
+Smith, and Boldt to be in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll
+leave Ord on the twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till you
+get within sight of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from Bradford to Val
+Verde--about the same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val
+Verde on the morning of the twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than
+trot your horses. At two o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town
+and up to the Rancher's Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been
+any holdups there. Town feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job.
+That's all. Have you got the details?”
+
+Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+
+“Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?” he asked.
+
+Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+
+“You never can tell what'll come off,” continued Knell. “I'll do my
+best.”
+
+“The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I
+say again--look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry
+the job through. But I want both of you in it. Break for the hills, and
+when you get up in the rocks where you can hide your tracks head for
+Mount Ord. When all's quiet again I'll join you here. That's all. Call
+in the boys.”
+
+Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the level toward
+the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung wire. For a little while
+his mind was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, from which,
+like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The
+game was now in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat
+was improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford, forty
+miles from the foothills before eight o'clock next morning. He must
+telegraph MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty-fifth. He must ride
+back to Ord, to intercept Knell, face him be denounced, kill him, and
+while the iron was hot strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as
+he had wholly won Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws
+alone to bide their time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job
+in Val Verde. In the mean time he must plan to arrest Longstreth. It
+was a magnificent outline, incredible, alluring, unfathomable in
+its nameless certainty. He felt like fate. He seemed to be the iron
+consequences falling upon these doomed outlaws.
+
+Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags
+showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was merely a grayness
+between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not
+seem steep. His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and,
+looking down into the ebony gulf pierced by one point of light, he
+lifted a menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter
+till he reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there
+was none; but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches of rock
+above. Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of
+broken walls the moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the
+mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to magic silver light.
+It seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a
+transparent sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes,
+and, like a goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew his
+way and lost no time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then
+had all downhill before him. Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of
+his memory of the landmarks. He did not remember having studied them in
+the ascent, yet here they were, even in changed light, familiar to his
+sight. What he had once seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as
+a deer striking for home, he reached the canyon where he had left his
+horse.
+
+Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle and pack,
+cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The worst was now to come.
+Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weathered slopes, narrow black
+gullies, a thousand openings in a maze of broken stone--these Duane had
+to descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked the
+loose fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+
+Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great opportunity. But
+he could not quell that self in him which reached back over the lapse
+of lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He who had been worse
+than dead was now grasping at the skirts of life--which meant victory,
+honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind.
+Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,
+his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true
+course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time
+a spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had
+left her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with
+the trap to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not
+dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and
+the dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and
+toil were nothing.
+
+The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to
+the other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks,
+with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work
+of the long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down
+to Ord. The little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of
+houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on
+the lower trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He
+watched the dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time
+to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous
+about the time Duane turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset
+they would meet.
+
+The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west.
+The stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the
+world, thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it
+lightened, until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.
+
+Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the
+tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard
+the clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An
+operator sat inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked
+up with startled glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.
+
+“Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,” whispered Duane.
+
+With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message
+he had carefully composed.
+
+“Send this--repeat it to make sure--then keep mum. I'll see you again.
+Good-by.”
+
+The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+
+Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse
+a couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day.
+The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.
+
+When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord
+he saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew
+what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he
+could ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make
+his power felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That
+would be fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a
+presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities
+held them. He knew what to exaggerate.
+
+There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance
+that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the
+tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed
+two guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the
+right side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door
+and stepped inside.
+
+The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's
+pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom
+Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were
+familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or
+heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+great and evil deeds.
+
+There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table
+upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a
+huge gold-mounted gun.
+
+“Are you gents lookin' for me?” asked Duane. He gave his voice all the
+ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back,
+free of anything, with the outlaws all before him.
+
+Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other
+outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.
+
+“My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?” he said, plaintively, and
+slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He
+meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.
+
+“Back, Fletcher!” called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.
+
+“Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody,” said Fletcher. “Let me talk,
+seein' I'm in wrong here.”
+
+His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+
+“Go ahead. Talk,” said Poggin.
+
+Fletcher turned to Duane. “Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet
+enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my fault. I'll stand
+by you if you let me.”
+
+“No, Jim,” replied Duane.
+
+“But what'd you come fer without the signal?” burst out Fletcher, in
+distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.
+
+“Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad--”
+
+Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a
+rude dignity.
+
+“Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd
+make him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer him than fer
+me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life.
+Here's my pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to
+be hell if you don't. An' us with a big job on hand!”
+
+While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his
+gaze riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He
+was tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But
+looked at closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that
+thing which shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that
+swelled and rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and
+face of the cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+
+Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal
+and hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward
+quaking fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within
+him and numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed,
+but did not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper
+than thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+
+That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+
+“Jim, I ante up,” he said, “an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big
+hand--why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set in the game.”
+
+Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one
+hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an
+assurance which made him master of the situation.
+
+“Poggin, you're a gambler, you are--the ace-high, straight-flush hand of
+the Big Bend,” he said, with stinging scorn. “I'll bet you my roll to a
+greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play.”
+
+“Phil, you're talkin' wild,” growled Poggin, with both advice and menace
+in his tone.
+
+“If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody
+else when he's not. Thet so?”
+
+Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+
+“Well, Jim's new pard--this man Dodge--he's not who he seems. Oh-ho!
+He's a hell of a lot different. But _I_ know him. An' when I spring
+his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get
+me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be
+lightnin'--All because you'll realize you've been standin' there five
+minutes--five minutes ALIVE before him!”
+
+If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested
+itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust
+before Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could
+be plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging
+either way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center
+of the room.
+
+“Spring his name, then, you--” said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
+
+Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce.
+He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat
+expressive of what his face disguised.
+
+“BUCK DUANE!” he yelled, suddenly.
+
+The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's
+passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought
+to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's
+manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his
+passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw
+certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin,
+had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated
+and feared by all outlaws.
+
+Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility
+in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the
+great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
+
+“BUCK DUANE! Yes,” he broke out, hotly. “The Nueces gunman! That
+two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard a thousand
+times of him--talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you!
+Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd
+fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know him. An' I know why he drifted
+in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me
+he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself.
+Don't you always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to
+meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I
+know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An' when I sprung his name,
+what ought you have done? What would the boss--anybody--have expected of
+Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
+froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love
+to have. Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
+damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
+we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
+Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
+lesser man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every
+gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad!
+Here's once I show you up!”
+
+The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade
+he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
+
+“Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?” he asked, in scarcely audible
+voice.
+
+“Yes,” replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's
+attitude.
+
+“You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Hardin was the best pard I ever had.”
+
+His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
+
+The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words
+had passed. In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually
+stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a
+soul-piercing fire.
+
+Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought--the breaking of
+Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+
+Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's
+bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild
+thing in agony.
+
+Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a
+stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
+
+Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+
+“Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!” he yelled.
+
+With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
+
+Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he could
+think of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was
+slowly but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what
+love was and also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode like one
+possessed down the rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through
+the brush, with a sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the
+wind. Something dragged at him.
+
+Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other
+was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of
+sensations. He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily,
+he hurried faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive;
+it eased the weight. But the farther he went on the harder it was to
+continue. Had he turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life
+itself?
+
+There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of
+himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed
+haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under
+which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed
+up, then stopped, only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a low
+ridge, Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the
+sight was a conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and
+Duane sought the shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot,
+glary sun and no wind. Here Duane had to have out his fight. Duane was
+utterly unlike himself; he could not bring the old self back; he was
+not the same man he once had been. But he could understand why. It was
+because of Ray Longstreth. Temptation assailed him. To have her his
+wife! It was impossible. The thought was insidiously alluring. Duane
+pictured a home. He saw himself riding through the cotton and rice and
+cane, home to a stately old mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed him
+welcome, and a woman looked for him and met him with happy and beautiful
+smile. There might--there would be children. And something new, strange,
+confounding with its emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There
+would be children! Ray their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast
+always yearned for and never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+
+But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was
+then there was something cold and death-like in Duane's soul. For he
+knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was sure--he would have to kill
+either Longstreth or Lawson. Longstreth might be trapped into arrest;
+but Lawson had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a
+panther and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+
+Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore--in the most
+fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. He had
+fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams, now rendered poignant by
+reason of love. He drove away those dreams. In their places came the
+images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the
+dark, evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and
+sinister the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+
+It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for
+the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
+He found them at length, restless, somber, anxious, but unaware of the
+part he had played at Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was
+possible that Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+
+Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might
+need them, and then with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth's ranch.
+
+Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch
+he heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were
+quarreling again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of
+action, but his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions.
+He meant to take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men
+were out on the porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery
+and crouched low to watch for his opportunity.
+
+Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he
+had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid on a table near the
+wall. He wore no belt.
+
+Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink,
+though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate
+man in his last stand. It was his last stand, though he was ignorant of
+that.
+
+“What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings,” said Lawson.
+
+“Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,” replied Longstreth.
+
+Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the
+rush of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane
+awaited his chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise.
+
+“But why should your daughter meet this ranger?” demanded Lawson,
+harshly.
+
+“She's in love with him, and he's in love with her.”
+
+Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the
+force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was his game?
+
+Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then
+Longstreth.
+
+“You damned selfish fool!” cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. “All
+you think of is yourself--your loss of the girl. Think once of ME--my
+home--my life!”
+
+Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently dawned upon
+the other. Somehow through this girl her father and cousin were to be
+betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he could not tell how true
+it was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
+
+“To hell with you!” burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied.
+“I'll have her, or nobody else will!”
+
+“You never will,” returned Longstreth, stridently. “So help me God I'd
+rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!”
+
+While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of
+hate and menace in his mien.
+
+“Lawson, you made me what I am,” continued Longstreth. “I backed
+you--shielded you. YOU'RE Cheseldine--if the truth is told! Now it's
+ended. I quit you. I'm done!”
+
+Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+
+“GENTLEMEN!” Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out.
+“YOU'RE BOTH DONE!”
+
+They wheeled to confront Duane.
+
+“Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!” he warned.
+
+Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned
+from gray to ashen.
+
+“What d'ye mean?” yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
+obey a command, to see impending death.
+
+All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his
+left hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed
+brightly.
+
+Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer
+impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke
+his action.
+
+Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped
+behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the
+gun from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself
+with the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke;
+he heard quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like
+wind, light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him.
+The hot rend of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode,
+yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
+
+Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the
+hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the
+loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane
+waited, cool and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to
+edge him closer toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering
+the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent
+peering at Duane under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side.
+Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was
+never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like
+those. More than once Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top of
+Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.
+
+Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before
+Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered
+him, called piercingly to him:
+
+“Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill
+you!”
+
+Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane
+saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced
+Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that
+gun. He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill
+him.
+
+“Longstreth, listen,” cried Duane, swiftly. “The game's up. You're done.
+But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life--I'll try to get you
+freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed--all the
+proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid.
+Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for
+Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man!
+Your answer!”
+
+“Suppose I refuse?” he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
+
+“Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
+death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second
+now--I'll kill you!”
+
+“All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,” he said, and deliberately
+walked to the chair and fell into it.
+
+Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
+
+“There come the girls!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Can you help me drag
+Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.”
+
+Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching,
+evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the
+house before the girls saw him.
+
+“Duane, you're not hard hit?” said Longstreth.
+
+“Reckon not,” replied Duane.
+
+“I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him!
+Always I've split over him!”
+
+“But the last time, Longstreth.”
+
+“Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked
+me out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be
+harder than facing a gun.”
+
+“Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.”
+
+“Duane, will you do me a favor?” he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter.
+Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll
+be here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change
+places with Lawson if I could!”
+
+“Glad you--said that, Longstreth,” replied Duane. “And sure--Lawson
+plugged me. It's our secret.”
+
+Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so
+different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She
+lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and
+mute, she gazed from that to her father.
+
+“Papa!” cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+
+“Don't give way,” he replied, huskily. “Both you girls will need your
+nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is--is dead. Listen. Let me
+tell it quick. There's been a fight. It--it was Lawson--it was Lawson's
+gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm
+to divide my property--return so far as possible what I've stolen--leave
+Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get
+MacNelly, the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!”
+
+She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic
+glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+
+“You must rise above this,” said Duane to her. “I expected this to ruin
+you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can
+promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor
+will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in
+San Antonio and Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line
+between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border
+days. Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher
+say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father
+drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's
+perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and
+morality of a civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with
+bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This
+matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out
+of court. I'm sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting.
+Then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing
+that took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him. And
+so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed that way
+out here. He could not control them. He became involved with them. And
+eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. That
+meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew
+into the leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be
+judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to
+catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him.
+Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not
+be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had
+turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it
+as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his
+party by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and
+reached Bradford as he had planned.
+
+That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was
+in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be
+there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of
+that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours
+and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the
+outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him
+leap.
+
+It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+
+Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car,
+changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken.
+Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a
+seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted
+briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed
+a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right
+alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty
+miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting
+eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang!
+He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward
+contraction. He thought he recognized the clean-cut Blossom Kane, the
+black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher.
+There was another man strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not
+have been Knell.
+
+Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
+
+“Look!” he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
+
+The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
+
+“Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?” whispered Duane.
+
+Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
+Verde.
+
+They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
+travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
+there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
+train.
+
+Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
+familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but
+was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him--MacNelly,
+clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
+
+When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
+hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
+yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from
+Duane to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did
+not look the part of an outlaw.
+
+“Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you,” was the Captain's greeting. Then at
+closer look into Duane's face his warmth fled--something he saw there
+checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
+
+“MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,” said Duane, low-voiced.
+
+The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's
+instant action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
+
+“Any of your men down here?” queried Duane, sharply.
+
+“No. They're up-town.”
+
+“Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come
+behind with them.”
+
+They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on
+the way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a
+trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
+
+Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street.
+There was a big sign, “Rancher's Bank.”
+
+“There's the hotel,” said MacNelly. “Some of my men are there. We've
+scattered around.”
+
+They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane
+asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the
+Captain complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and,
+drawing a deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
+
+“Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable
+now,” he said. “And don't be distressed.” Then he turned to his captain.
+“MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I've brought to you, and
+this one is his niece.”
+
+Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not
+spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+
+“When I went after Longstreth,” concluded Duane, “it was either to kill
+him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his
+daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe
+he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return.
+The name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it'll fade.”
+
+A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a
+hall, and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them--rangers!
+
+MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+
+“Boys, here he is.”
+
+“How many men have you?” asked Duane.
+
+“Fifteen.”
+
+MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the
+dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed,
+he sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside
+himself. And his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to
+run. They all talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent
+in their speech was “outlaws.”
+
+MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+
+“This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the
+Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how'd you
+ever do it?”
+
+“Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The
+gang's coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They'll ride
+into town on the dot--two-thirty.”
+
+“How many?” asked MacNelly.
+
+“Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another
+man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll
+bet they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced.”
+
+“Poggin--that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since
+I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and
+blazes!”
+
+“Knell's dead.”
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and
+of harder aspect. “Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm only a ranger under
+orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make
+your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who're not here.”
+
+“You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and
+that lot?” queried Duane.
+
+“No, I don't understand that,” replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+
+“It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them
+they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no
+equal with a gun--unless--He's got to be killed quick. They'll all have
+to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in
+action.”
+
+“Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The
+boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now.”
+
+“Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let
+him hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we
+might fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It's
+well situated for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the
+bank--four men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game
+begins. They want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise
+before they're down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your
+men put inside behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to
+the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, and don't let them
+shut up the bank. You want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold.
+But the clerks and cashier ought to be at their desks or window when
+Poggin rides up. He'll glance in before he gets down. They make no
+mistakes, these fellows. We must be slicker than they are, or lose. When
+you get the bank people wise, send your men over one by one. No hurry,
+no excitement, no unusual thing to attract notice in the bank.”
+
+“All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?”
+
+Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had
+seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he was confronted
+by the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with
+lowered head.
+
+“Where'll you wait, Duane?” insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes
+speculating.
+
+“I'll wait in front, just inside the door,” replied Duane, with an
+effort.
+
+“Why?” demanded the Captain.
+
+“Well,” began Duane, slowly, “Poggin will get down first and start in.
+But the others won't be far behind. They'll not get swift till inside.
+The thing is--they MUSTN'T get clear inside, because the instant they
+do they'll pull guns. That means death to somebody. If we can we want to
+stop them just at the door.”
+
+“But will you hide?” asked MacNelly.
+
+“Hide!” The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+
+“There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a vestibule, with
+steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in the vestibule, too. It
+leads somewhere. We can put men in there. You can be there.”
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+“See here, Duane,” began MacNelly, nervously. “You shan't take any undue
+risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?”
+
+“No!” The word was wrenched from Duane.
+
+MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit
+over his face.
+
+“Duane, I can give you no orders to-day,” he said, distinctly. “I'm only
+offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've done a grand
+job for the service--already. You've paid me a thousand times for
+that pardon. You've redeemed yourself.--The Governor, the
+adjutant-general--the whole state will rise up and honor you. The game's
+almost up. We'll kill these outlaws, or enough of them to break for
+ever their power. I say, as a ranger, need you take more risk than your
+captain?”
+
+Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces. And one,
+a tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him.
+Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the weaker, found a
+voice.
+
+“Captain, you want this job to be sure?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met. Just
+WHAT I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings like this the
+moment decides. But I'll be there!”
+
+MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and
+sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+
+“Now you've done your work--laid the trap--is this strange move of yours
+going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?” asked MacNelly, in significant low
+voice.
+
+Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked
+up as if he had seen a ghost.
+
+Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: “You can win her, Duane! Oh, you
+can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover--then go
+back to her. You will have served the Texas Rangers as no other man has.
+I'll accept your resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That girl
+loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She's--”
+
+But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet,
+and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still
+there was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.
+
+“Enough. I'm done,” he said, somberly. “I've planned. Do we agree--or
+shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?”
+
+MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled
+chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they rested upon
+Duane.
+
+Duane was left alone.
+
+Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses
+of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him
+before any one else had a chance--Poggin first--and then the others!
+He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its
+acceptance he had become stone.
+
+Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared nothing
+for the state. He had no thought of freeing the community of a dangerous
+outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle to its progress and
+prosperity. He wanted to kill Poggin. It was significant now that
+he forgot the other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the
+gun-fighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit
+of the surviving pioneer--these had been in him; and the killings, one
+after another, the wild and haunted years, had made him, absolutely in
+spite of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly.
+The thing he had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the gunman.
+Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kind--the
+need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last
+victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still there in his mind,
+and now it stalked out, worse, more powerful, magnified by its rest,
+augmented by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to that
+strange, wild product of the Texas frontier--the gun-fighter. And those
+passions were so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought
+to have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record! Actual
+vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any rival!
+
+Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice. What
+he had feared for years had become a monstrous reality. Respect for
+himself, blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to while in
+outlawry--all, like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood
+stripped bare, his soul naked--the soul of Cain. Always since the first
+brand had been forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now
+with conscience flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this
+tiger instinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the
+utter abasement the soul he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with
+the thought of Ray Longstreth.
+
+Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal
+meeting--as all his swift and deadly genius must be occupied with
+Poggin, perhaps in vain--as hard-shooting men whom he could not watch
+would be close behind, this almost certainly must be the end of Buck
+Duane. That did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All
+her sweetness, her fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+
+“Duane,” she said, softly. “Captain MacNelly sent me to you.”
+
+“But you shouldn't have come,” replied Duane.
+
+“As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not.
+You left me--all of us--stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I
+do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't
+expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and
+here I'm selfishly using time.”
+
+“Go, then--and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a
+desperate game to finish.”
+
+“Need it be desperate?” she whispered, coming close to him.
+
+“Yes; it can't be else.”
+
+MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt
+that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful,
+and they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
+
+“You're going to take some mad risk,” she said. “Let me persuade you not
+to. You said--you cared for me--and I--oh, Duane--don't you--know--?”
+
+The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and
+failed.
+
+Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of
+thought.
+
+She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in
+a flood of tears.
+
+“My God! You can't care for me?” he cried, hoarsely.
+
+Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+
+“But I do-I do!”
+
+Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood
+holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing breast and the
+clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear.
+He felt her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all
+the demons that possessed him. And he held her as if she had been his
+soul, his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+
+The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there
+rushed over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and full, strong
+like an intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and
+terrible as the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become
+an outcast, a wanderer, a gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost
+and suffered worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the
+endless bloody trail, a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly
+and inevitably closed to all except the instinct to survive and a black
+despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her swelling breast
+against his, in this moment almost of resurrection, he bent under the
+storm of passion and joy possible only to him who had endured so much.
+
+“Do you care--a little?” he whispered, unsteadily.
+
+He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+
+She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped up to
+his neck.
+
+“A littler Oh, Duane--Duane--a great deal!”
+
+Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth
+seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry
+heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats. He felt the outcast's need
+of love. And he gave up to the enthralling moment. She met him half-way,
+returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes
+closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+shoulder.
+
+Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she
+had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not even her life, in
+that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of regret at
+his unrestraint.
+
+Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and leaned upon
+him with her face upturned. He felt her hands on his, and they were
+soft, clinging, strong, like steel under velvet. He felt the rise and
+fall, the warmth of her breast. A tremor ran over him. He tried to draw
+back, and if he succeeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing
+closer. She held her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was
+wonderful now: white, yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark
+eyes alluring. But that was not all. There was passion, unquenchable
+spirit, woman's resolve deep and mighty.
+
+“I love you, Duane!” she said. “For my sake don't go out to meet this
+outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you. Conquer it if you love
+me.”
+
+Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his arms again
+he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed
+more than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She was throbbing,
+palpitating, quivering, with hot wet cheeks and arms that clung to him
+like vines. She lifted her mouth to his, whispering, “Kiss me!” She
+meant to change him, hold him.
+
+Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him close.
+With his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss closed his
+eyes, and he could not lift his head. He sat motionless holding her,
+blind and helpless, wrapped in a sweet dark glory. She kissed him--one
+long endless kiss--or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks,
+her hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her
+arms, the swell of her breast--all these seemed to inclose him.
+
+Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and arms,
+watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure now of her
+intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost lost.
+This was what it was to be loved by a woman. His years of outlawry had
+blotted out any boyish love he might have known. This was what he had
+to give up--all this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he
+feared yet loved, this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never
+until that moment had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That
+meaning was physical inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what
+marvel in the touch of quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he
+saw there might have been for him, under happier circumstances, a life
+of noble deeds lived for such a woman.
+
+“Don't go! Don't go!” she cried, as he started violently.
+
+“I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you.”
+
+He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+
+“Ray, dearest--I believe--I'll come back!” he whispered.
+
+These last words were falsehood.
+
+He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever
+in memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
+
+“DUANE!”
+
+He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+
+To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
+Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar,
+with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's
+wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had
+sent the cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated
+life so? Poggin was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous
+instinct, now deep as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild
+and fatal issue. There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance
+that Poggin likewise had been taunted in fear of him.
+
+So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
+fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
+as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+
+There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
+clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
+vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
+were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
+cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men--the rangers--crouching
+down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
+iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money
+in sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
+to-morrow.
+
+Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into
+the country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no
+person near him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural
+strain.
+
+At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
+appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot--a
+group that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They
+came a little faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they
+were four blocks away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle
+of the vestibule, up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide
+doorway.
+
+There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
+ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the
+street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There
+was a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
+
+Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted
+quickly. They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to
+conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the
+bank door, quickening step a little. The others, close together, came
+behind him. Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was
+left at the curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.
+
+Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
+other, a little in his rear.
+
+As he strode in he saw Duane.
+
+“HELL'S FIRE!” he cried.
+
+Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
+fear?
+
+“BUCK DUANE!” echoed Kane.
+
+One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+
+Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his
+arm.
+
+The guns boomed almost together.
+
+Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
+like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in
+his hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his
+breast. He pulled--pulled--at random. Thunder of booming shots all about
+him! Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end;
+yes, the end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's,
+back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns spouting red!
+
+All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
+There it drifted--Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark, tragic
+eyes, fading from his sight... fading.. . fading...
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Light shone before Duane's eyes--thick, strange light that came and
+went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all.
+It was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden;
+darkness, light, sound, movement; and vague, obscure sense of time--time
+that was very long. There was fire--creeping, consuming fire. A dark
+cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.
+
+He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
+over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
+clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full
+of those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff,
+like a stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his
+bound body racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
+
+A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
+old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent
+over him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a
+distance: “Duane--Duane! Ah, he knew me!”
+
+After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light
+came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him.
+It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
+
+Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move
+them.
+
+“Poggin!” he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
+Ruling passion--eternal instinct!
+
+“Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces,” replied MacNelly, solemnly.
+“What a fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he
+was a tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him.”
+
+“Who-got--away?”
+
+“Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
+job's done--it's done! Why, man, you're--”
+
+“What of--of--HER?”
+
+“Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped
+the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when
+you sank low--so low--I think it was her spirit that held yours back.
+Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her
+nerve for a moment. Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go
+with us. Colonel Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I
+advised it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave.”
+
+“Have I--a--chance--to recover?”
+
+“Chance? Why, man,” exclaimed the Captain, “you'll get well! You'll pack
+a sight of lead all your life. But you can stand that. Duane, the whole
+Southwest knows your story. You need never again be ashamed of the name
+Buck Duane. The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes you've been
+a secret ranger all the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your
+mother, of this noble girl--of your future.”
+
+The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+
+A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had
+grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was
+carried from the train.
+
+A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he
+remembered--schoolmates, friends, old neighbors. There was an upflinging
+of many hands. Duane was being welcomed home to the town from which he
+had fled. A deadness within him broke. This welcome hurt him somehow,
+quickened him; and through his cold being, his weary mind, passed a
+change. His sight dimmed.
+
+Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real!
+His heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet
+strange it was, and all seemed magnified.
+
+They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and
+lifted his head upon pillows. The house was still, though full of
+people. Duane's gaze sought the open door.
+
+Some one entered--a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a light
+upon her face. She was leading an old lady, gray-haired, austere-faced,
+somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked erect. She
+was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity.
+
+The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His
+mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+
+“This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where
+is my son? My son--oh, my son!”
+
+When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west window and
+watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his talk. The old man
+was broken now. He told many interesting things about people Duane had
+known--people who had grown up and married, failed, succeeded, gone
+away, and died. But it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of
+guns, outlaws, fights. He could not seem to divine how mention of these
+things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great pride
+in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there
+was one thing more than another that pleased him it was to talk about
+the bullets which Duane carried in his body.
+
+“Five bullets, ain't it?” he asked, for the hundredth time.
+
+“Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?”
+
+“Yes, uncle,” replied Duane.
+
+“Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all
+that lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards,
+right here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem
+to mind them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad
+man in his day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger
+than you--got more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the
+doctor only bein' able to cut one bullet out of you--that one in your
+breastbone? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it,
+and I wanted it, but Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there
+was a bullet left in one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same
+kind as the one cut out of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if
+it'd stayed there.”
+
+“It would indeed, uncle,” replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
+mood returned.
+
+But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping
+Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine
+Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all
+suggestion.
+
+One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came
+for him. They read it together.
+
+You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+
+MACNELLEY.
+
+Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak
+then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but
+sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes
+were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
+
+“I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane.
+
+She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank
+a little.
+
+“The pain--Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly.
+
+“No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you
+know. But I don't mind a little pain.”
+
+“Then--it's the old mood--the fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.”
+
+“Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon--able to go out. Then that--that
+hell will come back!”
+
+“No, no!” she said, with emotion.
+
+“Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every
+town, wherever I go,” he went on, miserably. “Buck Duane! To kill Buck
+Duane!”
+
+“Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde,
+when I came to you--plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a
+terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle
+between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved
+you then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that--that thing
+which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have
+to kill another man, thank God!”
+
+Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not
+voice his passionate query.
+
+She put tender arms round his neck. “Because you'll have me with
+you always,” she replied. “Because always I shall be between you and
+that--that terrible thing.”
+
+It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came
+to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger
+woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day.
+
+“We'll--we'll be married and leave Texas,” she said, softly, with the
+red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+
+“Ray!”
+
+“Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.”
+
+“But, dear--suppose,” he replied, huskily, “suppose there might be--be
+children--a boy. A boy with his father's blood!”
+
+“I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even
+so--he'll be half my blood.”
+
+Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of
+joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made
+him weak as a child. How could she love him--how could she so bravely
+face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her
+hands round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and
+beauty--these she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past.
+They were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think
+of accepting her sacrifice.
+
+“But Ray--you dear, noble girl--I'm poor. I have nothing. And I'm a
+cripple.”
+
+“Oh, you'll be well some day,” she replied. “And listen. I have money.
+My mother left me well off. All she had was her father's--Do you
+understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to
+Louisiana--to my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to
+work. There are horses and cattle--a great cypress forest to cut. Oh,
+you'll have much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my
+home. It's a beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss
+blows all day and the nightingales sing all night.”
+
+“My darling!” cried Duane, brokenly. “No, no, no!”
+
+Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not
+resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?
+
+“We'll be happy,” she whispered. “Oh, I know. Come!--come!-come!”
+
+Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous,
+waiting lips.
+
+With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed
+to him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills
+in the west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the
+Nueces and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see
+again.
+
+It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness
+and faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be
+stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.
+
+It would come back--that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that
+driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those
+pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his
+life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be
+the faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
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+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
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+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
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+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
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+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lone Star Ranger
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2008 [EBook #1027]
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE STAR RANGER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ken Smidge, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE LONE STAR RANGER
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Zane Grey
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      To<br /><br /> CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES<br /> and his Texas Rangers
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard on the Rio
+      Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane&mdash;outlaw and
+      gunman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes has haunted
+      me, and I have given full rein to imagination and have retold it in my own
+      way. It deals with the old law&mdash;the old border days&mdash;therefore
+      it is better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing
+      of the border of to-day, which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, &ldquo;Shore is
+      'most as bad an' wild as ever!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier of the
+      West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in stories. As I think
+      of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he made that remark, while he grimly
+      stroked an unhealed bullet wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that
+      typical son of stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head,
+      his thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him. Only a
+      few months have passed since then&mdash;when I had my memorable sojourn
+      with you&mdash;and yet, in that short time, Russell and Moore have crossed
+      the Divide, like Rangers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gentlemen,&mdash;I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and the
+      hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the truth about a
+      strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men&mdash;the Texas Rangers&mdash;who
+      made the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest and
+      sleep, who are passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
+      come into their own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ZANE GREY <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I. THE OUTLAW</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <b>BOOK II. THE RANGER</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BOOK I. THE OUTLAW
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So it was in him, then&mdash;an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
+      intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting stock
+      of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the pleading of his
+      soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle who stood before him
+      now, had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of the dark passionate
+      strain in his blood. It was the recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in
+      power, of a strange emotion that for the last three years had arisen in
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,&rdquo;
+       repeated the elder man, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the second time,&rdquo; muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up. He ain't
+      got it in for you when he's not drinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what's he want me for?&rdquo; demanded Duane. &ldquo;To insult me again? I won't
+      stand that twice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants
+      gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a wind
+      of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding to leave him strangely
+      chilled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kill me! What for?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with most of the
+      shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to Everall's kill one
+      another dead all because they got to jerkin' at a quirt among themselves?
+      An' Cal has no reason to love you. His girl was sweet on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I quit when I found out she was his girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's here, just
+      drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody. He's one of them
+      four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot of
+      wild cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick
+      they are on the draw. They ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all
+      the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along the Rio
+      Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd fix the
+      rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only keep out
+      of his way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean for me to run?&rdquo; asked Duane, in scorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not afraid
+      Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your father's eye
+      an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of is that you'll kill
+      Bain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to
+      realize their significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws,
+      why, a young man will have a lookout,&rdquo; went on the uncle. &ldquo;You're
+      twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your
+      temper. You've a chance in life. But if you go gun-fightin', if you kill a
+      man, you're ruined. Then you'll kill another. It'll be the same old story.
+      An' the rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law an' order
+      for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with them. If you resist
+      arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to arrest, then you go to jail, an'
+      mebbe you hang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd never hang,&rdquo; muttered Duane, darkly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you wouldn't,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;You'd be like your father.
+      He was ever ready to draw&mdash;too ready. In times like these, with the
+      Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad would have been driven to the
+      river. An', son, I'm afraid you're a chip off the old block. Can't you
+      hold in&mdash;keep your temper&mdash;run away from trouble? Because it'll
+      only result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was
+      killed in a street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after
+      a bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible nature of a
+      man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give
+      it a chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What you say is all very well, uncle,&rdquo; returned Duane, &ldquo;but the only way
+      out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain and his outfit have
+      already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out and
+      face him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides, Cal
+      would shoot me in the back some day if I didn't face him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what're you goin' to do?&rdquo; inquired the elder man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't decided&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin' in
+      you. You're different to-day. I remember how you used to be moody an' lose
+      your temper an' talk wild. Never was much afraid of you then. But now
+      you're gettin' cool an' quiet, an' you think deep, an' I don't like the
+      light in your eye. It reminds me of your father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,&rdquo; said
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a glove
+      on his right hand for twenty years?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have
+      done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with downcast eyes,
+      and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of the future. Presently he
+      turned to Duane with an expression that denoted resignation, and yet a
+      spirit which showed wherein they were of the same blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got a fast horse&mdash;the fastest I know of in this country.
+      After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a saddle-bag packed for you
+      and the horse ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that he turned on his heel and went into the house, leaving Duane to
+      revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if he
+      shared his uncle's opinion of the result of a meeting between himself and
+      Bain. His thoughts were vague. But on the instant of final decision, when
+      he had settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm of
+      passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken with ague. Yet
+      it was all internal, inside his breast, for his hand was like a rock and,
+      for all he could see, not a muscle about him quivered. He had no fear of
+      Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of this strange
+      force in him, made him ponder and shake his head. It was as if he had not
+      all to say in this matter. There appeared to have been in him a reluctance
+      to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a distance, something
+      he was not accountable for, had compelled him. That hour of Duane's life
+      was like years of actual living, and in it he became a thoughtful man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a
+      Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it, on
+      and off, for five years. Before that it had been used by his father. There
+      were a number of notches filed in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun
+      was the one his father had fired twice after being shot through the heart,
+      and his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in the death-grip that his
+      fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn upon any man since
+      it had come into Duane's possession. But the cold, bright polish of the
+      weapon showed how it had been used. Duane could draw it with inconceivable
+      rapidity, and at twenty feet he could split a card pointing edgewise
+      toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought, she
+      was away from home. He went out and down the path toward the gate. The air
+      was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds. Outside in
+      the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they
+      spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride
+      down the road toward the town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
+      great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles of
+      territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings, some
+      brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by far the
+      most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into this
+      street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and saddled
+      horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down the street,
+      taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving leisurely up and
+      down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his stride, and by the
+      time he reached Sol White's place, which was the first saloon, he was
+      walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and turned to look back after
+      they had passed. He paused at the door of White's saloon, took a sharp
+      survey of the interior, then stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The noise
+      ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke to the
+      clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who was
+      behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without speaking,
+      he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the Mexican
+      gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen, speculative,
+      questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble; they probably
+      had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do? Several of the
+      cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had been weighed by
+      unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The boy was the son
+      of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned to their drinks and
+      cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out upon the bar; he was a
+      tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed to sharp points.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Buck,&rdquo; was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and averted
+      his dark gaze for an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Sol,&rdquo; replied Duane, slowly. &ldquo;Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
+      town looking for me bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon there is, Buck,&rdquo; replied White. &ldquo;He came in heah aboot an hour
+      ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me confidential
+      a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he was hell-bent on
+      wearin' it home spotted red.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody with him?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
+      They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looked on the flowin'
+      glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
+      ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
+      length of the long block, meeting many people&mdash;farmers, ranchers,
+      clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
+      that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
+      had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
+      deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
+      street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
+      instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
+      with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could not
+      fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on the
+      street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet his
+      enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he swerved
+      out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment, then went
+      ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the length of the
+      block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off,&rdquo; he said, quick and low-voiced. &ldquo;Cal Bain's
+      over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll show
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
+      statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened, and he
+      traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a person.
+      Everall's place was on the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange fury
+      that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this encounter
+      more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his sensations,
+      he felt as if in a dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was raised
+      high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a vigorous hand.
+      A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon the sidewalk. At
+      sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he uttered a savage
+      roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
+      dozen rods from Everall's door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered
+      forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty, disheveled, and hatless,
+      his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent, he was a
+      wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this showed in
+      his demeanor. His hands were extended before him, the right hand a little
+      lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor in speech mostly
+      curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A good twenty-five
+      paces separated the men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't nothin' make you draw, you&mdash;!&rdquo; he shouted, fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm waitin' on you, Cal,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bain's right hand stiffened&mdash;moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy
+      throws a ball underhand&mdash;a draw his father had taught him. He pulled
+      twice, his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was
+      pointed downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel
+      at Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun
+      ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon
+      his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely
+      the red had left his face&mdash;and also the distortion! The devil that
+      had showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to
+      speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+      changed&mdash;rolled&mdash;set blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool, glad
+      the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. &ldquo;The fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When he looked up there were men around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plumb center,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned
+      down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand.
+      He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered the
+      two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like father
+      like son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have
+      spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to kill
+      a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a drunken,
+      bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a
+      mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place, a
+      subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind&mdash;the
+      consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle
+      recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
+      anger took hold of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The d&mdash;d fool!&rdquo; he exclaimed, hotly. &ldquo;Meeting Bain wasn't much,
+      Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on
+      the dodge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Son, you killed him&mdash;then?&rdquo; asked the uncle, huskily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I stood over him&mdash;watched him die. I did as I would have been
+      done by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
+      spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her&mdash;what she
+      always feared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! Uncle, what have I done?&rdquo; His broad shoulders shook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, son, an' remember what I say,&rdquo; replied the elder man, earnestly.
+      &ldquo;Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see you take it this
+      way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous. You're not to
+      blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are wild times. The
+      law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change life all in a
+      minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has had her share in
+      making you what you are this moment. For she was one of the pioneers&mdash;the
+      fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild times, before you was
+      born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save her life, her children,
+      an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It will be many years before it
+      dies out of the boys born in Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a murderer,&rdquo; said Duane, shuddering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
+      outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An outlaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
+      neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley Duane.
+      Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever you do-be a
+      man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as honest as you
+      can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become bad. There are
+      outlaws who 're not all bad&mdash;many who have been driven to the river
+      by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men avoid brawls.
+      Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do if it comes to
+      gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When this thing is lived
+      down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into the unsettled country.
+      It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember, be a man. Goodby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's hand
+      and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the black and
+      rode out of town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
+      distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed up,
+      and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He passed
+      several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and he took an
+      old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor growth of
+      mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of low
+      hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that section, and knew where
+      to find grass and water. When he reached this higher ground he did not,
+      however, halt at the first favorable camping-spot, but went on and on.
+      Once he came out upon the brow of a hill and saw a considerable stretch of
+      country beneath him. It had the gray sameness characterizing all that he
+      had traversed. He seemed to want to see wide spaces&mdash;to get a glimpse
+      of the great wilderness lying somewhere beyond to the southwest. It was
+      sunset when he decided to camp at a likely spot he came across. He led the
+      horse to water, and then began searching through the shallow valley for a
+      suitable place to camp. He passed by old camp-sites that he well
+      remembered. These, however, did not strike his fancy this time, and the
+      significance of the change in him did not occur at the moment. At last he
+      found a secluded spot, under cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a
+      goodly distance from the old trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse.
+      He looked among his effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had
+      failed to put one in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble,
+      and never on this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso and
+      used that. The horse, unused to such hampering of his free movements, had
+      to be driven out upon the grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This done, ending
+      the work of that day, he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had waned
+      into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show and brighten. Above the
+      low continuous hum of insects sounded the evening carol of robins.
+      Presently the birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet was more
+      noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more isolated
+      and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful, sleepless.
+      The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think back, to take note of
+      his late actions and their motives. The change one day had wrought amazed
+      him. He who had always been free, easy, happy, especially when out alone
+      in the open, had become in a few short hours bound, serious, preoccupied.
+      The silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing to him except a
+      medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds of pursuit. The
+      loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always been beautiful to him,
+      now only conveyed a sense of safety for the present. He watched, he
+      listened, he thought. He felt tired, yet had no inclination to rest. He
+      intended to be off by dawn, heading toward the southwest. Had he a
+      destination? It was vague as his knowledge of that great waste of mesquite
+      and rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out there was a refuge. For
+      he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no
+      sleep, no content, no life worth the living! He must be a lone wolf or he
+      must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest living he
+      still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If he did not
+      work on some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? The idea of
+      stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber enough.
+      And he was twenty-three years old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that stole along his
+      veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the few sticks of mesquite into
+      a last flickering blaze. He was cold, and for some reason he wanted some
+      light. The black circle of darkness weighed down upon him, closed in
+      around him. Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze in that position.
+      He had heard a step. It was behind him&mdash;no&mdash;on the side. Some
+      one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the touch of cold
+      steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But all was silent&mdash;silent
+      as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low murmuring of wind in the
+      mesquite. Had he heard a step? He began to breathe again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had taken on a
+      strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer shadows.
+      Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was another
+      present at that camp-fire vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in the middle
+      of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal Bain! His
+      features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo, more sharply
+      outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard face softening at the
+      threshold of eternity. The red tan of sun, the coarse signs of
+      drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so characteristic of Bain were no
+      longer there. This face represented a different Bain, showed all that was
+      human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white. The lips
+      wanted to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony of thought.
+      They revealed what might have been possible for this man if he lived&mdash;that
+      he saw his mistake too late. Then they rolled, set blankly, and closed in
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a
+      remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him. He
+      divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. He
+      remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of
+      accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep
+      those men he had killed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams
+      troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so early that in the
+      gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his horse. Day had just broken
+      when he struck the old trail again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and graze his
+      horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an easy trot. The country
+      grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the level of the monotonous
+      horizon. About three in the afternoon he came to a little river which
+      marked the boundary line of his hunting territory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing to two
+      facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt
+      reluctant to cross into that region where his presence alone meant that he
+      was a marked man. The bottom-lands through which the river wound to the
+      southwest were more inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The rest
+      or that day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated the
+      brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed to him that
+      in this lonely cover he would feel easy and content. But he did not. Every
+      feeling, every imagining he had experienced the previous night returned
+      somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of the same intensity
+      and color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during which
+      he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle&mdash;stolen
+      cattle, probably&mdash;had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
+      of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
+      quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
+      enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
+      rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+      assuredly would be his lot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It was
+      distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
+      throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was this
+      reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide berth.
+      Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he concluded
+      to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of provisions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which he
+      believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
+      horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless, he
+      followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far when
+      the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his rear. In
+      the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back along the
+      road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever they were,
+      had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the road was not
+      to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the mesquites and
+      halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was now a fugitive, it
+      seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of Duane's
+      position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the clink of
+      spurs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore he crossed the river below,&rdquo; said one man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
+      gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
+      him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what it
+      would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held his
+      breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his horse.
+      Suddenly he became aware that these horsemen had halted. They were
+      whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed. What had
+      made them halt so suspiciously?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong, Bill,&rdquo; said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
+      hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand,&rdquo; replied the man called Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
+      the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
+      breathed exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
+      straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
+      from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close by
+      his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound. These
+      shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a quick, hot
+      resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable. He must
+      escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or not.
+      Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these men.
+      After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over the
+      pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried to
+      guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods he
+      was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so well and
+      made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his pursuers. The
+      sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died away. Duane
+      reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they would go into
+      camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on again, walking
+      his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he might take
+      advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long while until he
+      came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when, striking the willow
+      brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the river, he picketed his
+      horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep. His mind bitterly
+      revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made efforts to think of
+      other things, but in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet was
+      ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and shades
+      of the night&mdash;these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
+      Doggedly Duane fought against the insidious phantom. He kept telling
+      himself that it was just imagination, that it would wear off in time.
+      Still in his heart he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not give
+      up; he would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river. Half an hour
+      of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and willow thickets. These he
+      threaded to come at length to the ford. It was a gravel bottom, and
+      therefore an easy crossing. Once upon the opposite shore he reined in his
+      horse and looked darkly back. This action marked his acknowledgment of his
+      situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge of the outlaws; he was
+      beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse passed his lips as he
+      spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether or
+      not he left a plain trail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let them hunt me!&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and thirst
+      made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him for a place to
+      halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which was hard packed
+      and smooth from the tracks of cattle. He doubted not that he had come
+      across one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed into it, and had
+      scarcely traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank upon a
+      single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their mounts
+      sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more than a hundred
+      paces separated them. They stood then for a moment watching each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mawnin', stranger,&rdquo; called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy,&rdquo; replied Duane, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seen you ain't no ranger,&rdquo; called the rider, &ldquo;an' shore I ain't none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?&rdquo; asked Duane, curiously. Somehow he had
+      instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a rancher
+      trailing stolen stock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, &ldquo;a ranger'd
+      never git ready to run the other way from one man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to
+      the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing brown
+      eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he was
+      a good-natured ruffian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his mind
+      how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a hunted man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?&rdquo; said this
+      stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're Buck Duane,&rdquo; went on Stevens. &ldquo;I heerd you was a damn bad
+      man with a gun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the idea
+      that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was proof of how
+      swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Buck,&rdquo; said Stevens, in a friendly manner, &ldquo;I ain't presumin' on
+      your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the river. But will you
+      stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,&rdquo; admitted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up before
+      you hit thet stretch of country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and there
+      was that in his action which seemed significant of a vast and barren
+      region.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stock up?&rdquo; queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along without whisky,
+      but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so embarrassin' travelin' these
+      parts dodgin' your shadow. Now, I'm on my way to Mercer. It's a little
+      two-bit town up the river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some grub.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+      companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept silence, however,
+      and then Stevens went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. I never was
+      much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it of necessity. It takes
+      a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. Why, I've been thet
+      sick I was jest achin' fer some ranger to come along an' plug me. Give me
+      a pardner any day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a feller, an' I'm
+      shore not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself sufficient.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you'd like me to go with you?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens grinned. &ldquo;Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be
+      braced with a man of your reputation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense,&rdquo; declared Duane, in some
+      haste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster,&rdquo; replied Stevens. &ldquo;I hate
+      a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're always
+      lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play. Buck, I don't know much about
+      you. But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a lot
+      about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your rep was
+      established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you was
+      lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the figger
+      on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes. Thet's the
+      word thet's gone down the border. It's the kind of reputation most sure to
+      fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the safest, too;
+      I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now you're only a
+      boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now, Buck, I'm not a
+      spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe a little of my
+      society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say you're right,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly. &ldquo;And I'll go to Mercer
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never been
+      much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his companion did
+      not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow, probably glad now
+      to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he
+      thought with a pang of the distinction of name and heritage of blood his
+      father had left to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens, having
+      rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town of
+      Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
+      hang up out here,&rdquo; Stevens was saying, as he mounted. &ldquo;You see, towns an'
+      sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad. They
+      sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb bad. Now,
+      nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been a thousand
+      men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours truly. You
+      jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin' sin will go
+      operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case there'll be&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
+      kind of wild humor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stevens, have you got any money?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money!&rdquo; exclaimed Luke, blankly. &ldquo;Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
+      since&mdash;wal, fer some time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll furnish money for grub,&rdquo; returned Duane. &ldquo;And for whisky, too,
+      providing you hurry back here&mdash;without making trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore you're a downright good pard,&rdquo; declared Stevens, in admiration, as
+      he took the money. &ldquo;I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never
+      broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the
+      town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be a
+      cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures of
+      alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder driving
+      in a meager flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping
+      the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour had
+      elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle, the
+      clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean
+      danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the
+      mesquites.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast. Stevens
+      apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had a steady
+      seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck Duane as
+      admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking
+      back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw several men
+      running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and got into a
+      swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the outlaw caught
+      up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no fun in the dancing
+      eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face seemed a shade paler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was jest comin' out of the store,&rdquo; yelled Stevens. &ldquo;Run plumb into a
+      rancher&mdash;who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll
+      chase us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and
+      when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his
+      companion steadily drew farther away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,&rdquo; called out Stevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode
+      somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of
+      hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the
+      willow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed with
+      sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished that
+      Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low, sandy
+      bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise Duane
+      leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of his
+      shirt was soaked with blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're shot!&rdquo; cried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift&mdash;on
+      this here pack?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount. The
+      outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, why didn't you say so!&rdquo; cried Duane. &ldquo;I never thought. You seemed all
+      right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he
+      doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from his
+      breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low down, and
+      the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding himself and that
+      heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane
+      did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no hope for the outlaw.
+      But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feller's name was Brown,&rdquo; Stevens said. &ldquo;Me an' him fell out over a hoss
+      I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then. Wal,
+      as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown, an'
+      seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't
+      breakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he did&mdash;an'
+      fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's pretty bad,&rdquo; replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful
+      outlaw in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe I
+      can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave me
+      some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave you here alone?&rdquo; asked Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will
+      foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in
+      this game.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you do in my case?&rdquo; asked Duane, curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide,&rdquo; replied Stevens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he
+      decided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,
+      filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his own horse.
+      That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him in the
+      saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard or grassy
+      ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran across a
+      trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark&mdash;till I drop,&rdquo;
+       concluded Stevens, with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded
+      outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tired then
+      and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still
+      spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but asked
+      for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, will you take off my boots?&rdquo; he asked, with a faint smile on his
+      pallid face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did
+      not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I wasn't&mdash;an'
+      dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've a chance to-to get over this,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots&mdash;an' say, pard, if I
+      do go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance of
+      dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done he prepared
+      himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when he lay down to
+      sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens was still
+      alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All was quiet
+      except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile, then rose
+      and went for the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerful
+      as usual, and apparently stronger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help me,
+      will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood this evenin'.
+      Mebbe I've bled all there was in me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,
+      and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a hurry
+      to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would put them
+      beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the
+      hiding-places of the outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, &ldquo;Reckon you can
+      pull on my boots once more.&rdquo; In spite of the laugh accompanying the words
+      Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was broad
+      enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while upholding
+      Stevens in the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
+      were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens. The
+      red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while; darkness
+      set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars brightened.
+      After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept
+      the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane thought the
+      quiet night would never break to dawn, that there was no end to the
+      melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a grayness blotted out the stars
+      and mantled the level of mesquite and cactus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
+      little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one look
+      at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last ride.
+      He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots,&rdquo; he said, and
+      seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
+      Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
+      the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
+      the night before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads to a
+      hole where you'll find men&mdash;a few, mebbe, like yourself&mdash;some
+      like me&mdash;an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's
+      easy livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
+      never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man
+      can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
+      lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in here
+      will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
+      they'll kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not want
+      the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be quiet,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Talking uses up your strength.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, I'll talk till&mdash;I'm done,&rdquo; he replied, doggedly. &ldquo;See here,
+      pard, you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From
+      this camp we'll&mdash;you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will
+      be honest men. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along
+      the river fer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King
+      Fisher&mdash;you know him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among
+      respectable folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with
+      him ant his gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock
+      way up the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed
+      once right in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty
+      well hid. But Bland&mdash;I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use
+      fer him. Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his
+      place sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore
+      there's some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the
+      time. Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't likely to get on with Bland,&rdquo; he resumed, presently. &ldquo;You're
+      too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's got women
+      in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with a gun. Shore
+      I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' he loves his hide.
+      I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer you when you ain't
+      goin' it alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens had
+      been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.
+      Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birds
+      came down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable
+      seat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but
+      with a changed tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feller's name&mdash;was Brown,&rdquo; he rambled. &ldquo;We fell out&mdash;over a
+      hoss I stole from him&mdash;in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one
+      of them sneaks&mdash;afraid of the open&mdash;he steals an' pretends to be
+      honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day&mdash;You an' me are
+      pards now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll remember, if I ever meet him,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his head,
+      but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across the bronzed
+      rough face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them. The
+      outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fell
+      asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duane
+      watching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed
+      clearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+      surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wanted
+      anything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duane
+      realized what it meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pard, you&mdash;stuck&mdash;to me!&rdquo; the outlaw whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise
+      in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he
+      could not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones to
+      mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the
+      weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the
+      trail in the gathering twilight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged the two
+      horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and found himself
+      on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at his feet, the
+      yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great, wild,
+      mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+      likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he had
+      not the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably the
+      inclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent the last
+      two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had ever seen.
+      From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of his travel was
+      yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down to the river.
+      The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood, and nestling
+      down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight and a relief to his
+      tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find a place to rest,
+      Duane began the descent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. He
+      kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a short time
+      he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A stream of
+      clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran into
+      irrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that
+      fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet
+      water. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would be
+      his reception.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.
+      Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good
+      hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle were
+      everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.
+      Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to and fro.
+      Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porch attached.
+      A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. No one else
+      appeared to notice him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of square
+      lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure. Within
+      sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women with children,
+      and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. His advent
+      created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who were lolling in
+      the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and saloon, and
+      from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a
+      loud exclamation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance
+      toward Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?&rdquo; queried the first man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plain as your nose,&rdquo; replied the fellow called Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ain't no doubt about thet, then,&rdquo; laughed another, &ldquo;fer Bosomer's
+      nose is shore plain on the landscape.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he thought
+      they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The man called
+      Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which showed
+      yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch
+      of sandy hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?&rdquo;
+       he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons
+      hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward
+      to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and he
+      remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curious interest
+      in regard to something that leaped inside him and made his breast feel
+      tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which had shot through him
+      often of late, and which had decided him to go out to the meeting with
+      Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, who are you?&rdquo; asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Duane,&rdquo; replied Duane, curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' how'd you come by the hoss?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,
+      during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of his
+      beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,&rdquo;
+       presently said Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mister Duane,&rdquo; began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, &ldquo;I happen to be
+      Luke Stevens's side-pardner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy sombrero.
+      That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' I want the hoss an' them guns,&rdquo; he shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them
+      in. But the pack is mine,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;And say, I befriended your
+      pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Civil? Haw, haw!&rdquo; rejoined the outlaw. &ldquo;I don't know you. How do we know
+      you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened to stumble
+      down here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to take my word, that's all,&rdquo; replied Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped
+      into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,&rdquo; said the man Euchre. He did not
+      appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, and the one
+      in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His manner proclaimed him
+      a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, and clear, cold blue
+      eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in
+      truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws as native to his
+      state.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Bland,&rdquo; said the tall man, authoritatively. &ldquo;Who're you and what're
+      you doing here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief appeared
+      to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story again,
+      this time a little more in detail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you,&rdquo; replied Bland, at once. &ldquo;Think I know when a fellow is
+      lying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon you're on the right trail,&rdquo; put in Euchre. &ldquo;Thet about Luke
+      wantin' his boots took off&mdash;thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal
+      dread of dyin' with his boots on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said Duane&mdash;Buck Duane?&rdquo; queried Bland. &ldquo;Are you a son of that
+      Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never met him, and glad I didn't,&rdquo; said Bland, with a grim humor. &ldquo;So you
+      got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had a fight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fight? Do you mean gun-play?&rdquo; questioned Bland. He seemed eager, curious,
+      speculative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,&rdquo; answered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,&rdquo; went on
+      Bland, ironically. &ldquo;Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in my camp.
+      But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?&rdquo; asked Duane, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly that,&rdquo; said Bland, as if irritated. &ldquo;If this isn't a free
+      place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want to
+      join my band?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an ugly
+      fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to kill somebody all
+      the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer is all one
+      color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the
+      trail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay,&rdquo; returned Duane. Even as he spoke he
+      felt that he did not know himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and as
+      he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like an angry
+      dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had been
+      devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other
+      outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer saw
+      Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change passed quickly in
+      him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the men who had followed
+      him out piled over one another in their hurry to get to one side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, and in
+      Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he had expected
+      a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew he was
+      neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran through him.
+      It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar to him.
+      Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to
+      kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a stranger, he
+      still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his ilk, he was victim of
+      a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane divined that no sudden
+      animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment
+      murder would have been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his
+      pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were absorbed in
+      conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment, his
+      eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thought
+      that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man. Still he
+      would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. When Bosomer's
+      hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only&mdash;both from
+      Duane's gun&mdash;and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.
+      Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the gun
+      with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane would not
+      kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any further
+      madness on his part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to lend
+      friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane and the horses away to a small
+      adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed their saddles.
+      Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had two rooms&mdash;windows without coverings&mdash;bare floors. One
+      room contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the other a stone
+      fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and various
+      blackened utensils.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay,&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;I ain't
+      rich in this world's goods, but I own what's here, an' you're welcome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass.&rdquo; Euchre left Duane
+      alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and mechanically he wiped the
+      sweat from his face. He was laboring under some kind of a spell or shock
+      which did not pass off quickly. When it had worn away he took off his coat
+      and belt and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+      thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it make on the
+      morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future. He
+      felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for the first time he took
+      notice of the outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face
+      clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut from long
+      gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his thin frame denoted
+      strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey a drink or a smoke?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he had
+      used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he felt
+      a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly what he
+      felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood, something
+      that made him fear himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. &ldquo;Reckon you feel a little
+      sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm twenty-three,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre showed surprise. &ldquo;You're only a boy! I thought you thirty anyways.
+      Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin' thet with my own figgerin',
+      I reckon you're no criminal yet. Throwin' a gun in self-defense&mdash;thet
+      ain't no crime!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Huh,&rdquo; replied the old man. &ldquo;I've been on this river fer years, an' I've
+      seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of them, though, was no
+      good. An' thet kind don't last long. This river country has been an' is
+      the refuge fer criminals from all over the states. I've bunked with bank
+      cashiers, forgers, plain thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all of which
+      had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions.
+      He's no Texan&mdash;you seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all
+      over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live fat an'
+      easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves they'd shore grow
+      populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent feller. I heard
+      you tell Bland you wouldn't join his gang. Thet'll not make him take a
+      likin' to you. Have you any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work a
+      decent feller could do. You can't herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men
+      would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows,&rdquo; replied Duane, hopelessly. &ldquo;I'll make my money last as long
+      as possible&mdash;then starve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it struck Duane again&mdash;that something human and kind and eager
+      which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked this
+      quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the outside
+      world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming feature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm much obliged to you, Euchre,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;But of course I won't
+      live with any one unless I can pay my share.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have it any way you like, my son,&rdquo; said Euchre, good-humoredly. &ldquo;You make
+      a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man
+      doesn't live who can beat my bread.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you ever pack supplies in here?&rdquo; asked Duane, thinking of the
+      almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river. Thet river
+      trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to any supply point. Bland
+      has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in from
+      down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this
+      stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's not my secret,&rdquo; replied Euchre, shortly. &ldquo;Fact is, I don't know.
+      I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock
+      with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest had
+      been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and glad to
+      have something to think about. For every once in a while he had a
+      sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the next
+      hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and eating of
+      the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several utensils, put
+      on his hat and turned to go out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come along or stay here, as you want,&rdquo; he said to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll stay,&rdquo; rejoined Duane, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but all the
+      printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on cartridge-boxes
+      and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch. There seemed to be
+      nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want to lie down any
+      more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the room to the other.
+      And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired habit of brooding over
+      his misfortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his
+      gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked at
+      it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty he traced
+      his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was accountable for his
+      act. He discovered, however, that he had a remarkable tendency to drop his
+      hand to his gun. That might have come from the habit long practice in
+      drawing had given him. Likewise, it might have come from a subtle sense,
+      scarcely thought of at all, of the late, close, and inevitable relation
+      between that weapon and himself. He was amazed to find that, bitter as he
+      had grown at fate, the desire to live burned strong in him. If he had been
+      as unfortunately situated, but with the difference that no man wanted to
+      put him in jail or take his life, he felt that this burning passion to be
+      free, to save himself, might not have been so powerful. Life certainly
+      held no bright prospects for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever
+      getting back to his home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to
+      let himself be handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging
+      cowboy, or be shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to
+      add another notch to his gun&mdash;these things were impossible for Duane
+      because there was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only
+      to fate and the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living
+      part of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+      discontinued&mdash;the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business
+      with him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had
+      become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and he
+      set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He stood
+      still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down, put himself
+      in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced throwing his
+      gun&mdash;practiced it till he was hot and tired and his arm ached and his
+      hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every day. It was one
+      thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From this
+      point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different
+      circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful spot.
+      Euchre's shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the wall, and
+      Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley. Assuredly
+      it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans, who, of course,
+      were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous flat-boats, crude of
+      structure, moored along the banks of the river. The Rio Grande rolled away
+      between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in the middle, was stretched
+      over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow, evidently used as a ferry,
+      lay anchored on the far shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big
+      scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim
+      Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost any
+      number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and quick.
+      What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river, and he
+      wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by use of
+      boats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he
+      returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was,&rdquo; he said,
+      by way of greeting. &ldquo;Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready. There's
+      shore one consolin' fact round this here camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too,
+      doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. An'
+      as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is Bland?&rdquo; asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. &ldquo;What do you
+      know about him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don't know who he is or where he hails from,&rdquo; replied Euchre. &ldquo;Thet's
+      always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been a young man
+      when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how years ago he
+      was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is now. Bland ain't
+      likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor you, an' he's shore a
+      knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet rules men. Outlaws are
+      always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if it hadn't been fer the
+      gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men around him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many in his gang now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland
+      has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on the
+      cattle-ranges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How does he control such a big force?&rdquo; asked Duane. &ldquo;Especially when his
+      band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for Bland. And
+      I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper, never
+      made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess Alloway.
+      Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an' some fer
+      nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is because
+      he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich. They say he
+      has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of gold. But he's
+      free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a shipment of cattle.
+      He throws money around. An' the fact is there's always plenty of money
+      where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty, bloody money!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!&rdquo;
+       exclaimed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; replied Euchre, dryly, &ldquo;he's been quicker on the draw than the
+      other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
+      remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speakin' of this here swift wrist game,&rdquo; went on Euchre, &ldquo;there's been
+      considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
+      thet among us fellers&mdash;us hunted men&mdash;there ain't anythin'
+      calculated to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland
+      say this afternoon&mdash;an' he said it serious-like an' speculative&mdash;thet
+      he'd never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an'
+      just couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen
+      you meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
+      any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself. Chess
+      is the captain with a Colt&mdash;or he was. An' he shore didn't like the
+      references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin' it,
+      but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your draw
+      might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different. An'
+      they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears to me I
+      once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago. Wal, I put
+      my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails you locoed
+      gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin' out, blood in
+      his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an' weren't his eyes
+      readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw&mdash;can't you-all see thet's
+      a family gift?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a slap
+      with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself a
+      champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could feel
+      in a young one whom he admired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; he resumed, presently, &ldquo;thet's your introduction to the border,
+      Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let severely alone by real
+      gun-fighters an' men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of the
+      other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, an' onless you
+      cross them they're no more likely to interfere with you than you are with
+      them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river country.
+      They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride into will scare up
+      some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired four-flush gunman or a
+      sheriff&mdash;an' these men will be playin' to the crowd an' yellin' for
+      your blood. Thet's the Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer ever in the
+      brakes or you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this ain't cheerful
+      news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you because I've taken a
+      likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet you ain't border-wise. Let's eat
+      now, an' afterward we'll go out so the gang can see you're not hidin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range of
+      mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to the
+      southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house near
+      at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little Mexican
+      boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The sweet, happy
+      voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boy&mdash;these seemed utterly
+      out of place here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane
+      remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where Bosomer
+      had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should be affected
+      strangely by the sight of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's have a look in here,&rdquo; said Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very
+      large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of
+      rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels
+      lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on posts
+      that sustained the log rafters of the roof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is Benson,&rdquo; said
+      Euchre. &ldquo;He runs the place an' sells drinks. The gang calls him Jackrabbit
+      Benson, because he's always got his eye peeled an' his ear cocked. Don't
+      notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to death of every
+      new-comer who rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason, I take it, is
+      because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from a sheriff or
+      ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like Jackrabbit Benson. He's
+      hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him to kill him. Wal, I'm always
+      expectin' to see some feller ride in here an' throw a gun on Benson. Can't
+      say I'd be grieved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare,
+      gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and dark
+      skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black mustache
+      hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the brow;
+      deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had a
+      restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that served
+      as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's glance he turned
+      hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you got against him?&rdquo; inquired Duane, as he sat down beside
+      Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What
+      did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained,&rdquo; replied Euchre, apologetically. &ldquo;Shore an
+      outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I never stole nothin'
+      but cattle from some rancher who never missed 'em anyway. Thet sneak
+      Benson&mdash;he was the means of puttin' a little girl in Bland's way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girl?&rdquo; queried Duane, now with real attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we get
+      out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be sociable, an' I can't talk
+      about the chief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and
+      Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all
+      gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly and
+      agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all invitations
+      to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a way, as one of
+      their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his affair with
+      Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One outlaw borrowed
+      money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans,
+      most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the
+      Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the
+      drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts&mdash;some of the
+      famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
+      license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
+      him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
+      perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+      gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
+      piles of silver&mdash;Mexican pesos&mdash;as large and high as the crown
+      of his hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States
+      coin. Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and
+      that heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession,
+      an intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly, as
+      befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
+      winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
+      grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
+      drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
+      gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
+      steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
+      was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
+      his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
+      his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
+      contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That seemed
+      to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent heads,
+      from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights, but these
+      served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked unrestrained
+      lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something at once
+      suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's not here to-night,&rdquo; Euchre was saying. &ldquo;He left today on one of
+      his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
+      here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
+      Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off. He's
+      one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn me!
+      there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as Bland's.
+      Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin' he looks.
+      Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see Bland. They're
+      friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser there&mdash;the
+      one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a Mexican bandit.
+      He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin. Next to him is
+      Bill Marr&mdash;the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in
+      the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot more'n any
+      feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because Bill's no
+      troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But he's the best
+      rustler Bland's got&mdash;a grand rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see
+      the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland's gang.
+      Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year out on the
+      border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of Staceytown, took
+      to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong,
+      an' now shore a hard nut.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he happened
+      to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked man in a
+      respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less distinction,
+      according to the record of his past wild prowess and his present
+      possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there, received in
+      careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts, experienced a
+      feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror. Was his being there
+      not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such ruffians? Then in a
+      flash of memory came the painful proof&mdash;he was a criminal in sight of
+      Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
+      heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
+      outside things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased. There
+      was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or action
+      sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and the
+      scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You stacked the cards, you&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say that twice,&rdquo; another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous
+      tone from the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll say it twice,&rdquo; returned the first gamester, in hot haste. &ldquo;I'll say
+      it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered gent!
+      You stacked the cards!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
+      Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
+      was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Run or duck!&rdquo; yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed
+      for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob. Heavy
+      gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with pell-mell out
+      into the darkness. There they all halted, and several peeped in at the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was the Kid callin'?&rdquo; asked one outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bud Marsh,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,&rdquo;
+       went on yet another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many shots?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three or four, I counted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's.38. Listen!
+      There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room.
+      Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night
+      and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The Kid&mdash;young
+      Fuller thet I was tellin' you about&mdash;he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost
+      his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as
+      any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm
+      was knocked up. He only hit a greaser.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened on
+      him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading round the
+      river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out that the
+      trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself to his
+      fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store for him.
+      He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared beyond his
+      power to tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril&mdash;the
+      danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which
+      threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he
+      considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was
+      bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years
+      inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright light of
+      day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at twilight or dusk
+      or in the dark night. By day these visitations became to him what they
+      really were&mdash;phantoms of his conscience. He could dismiss the thought
+      of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe that this strange feat
+      of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless
+      and sick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
+      unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
+      interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
+      possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's life
+      really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
+      clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
+      possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out upon
+      his uncertain way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Buck, I've news for you,&rdquo; he said; and his tone conveyed either
+      pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. &ldquo;Feller named
+      Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
+      ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you
+      plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles south
+      of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I certainly did not,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled with
+      gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems
+      likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an outlaw
+      an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more news.
+      You're goin' to be popular.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Popular? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you rode
+      in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women in
+      camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come in. It's
+      lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the towns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
+      women,&rdquo; rejoined Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
+      hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kid?&rdquo; inquired Duane, in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell you about Jennie&mdash;the girl Bland's holdin' here&mdash;the
+      one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,&rdquo; replied Duane, abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
+      years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
+      drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
+      across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I
+      reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched
+      the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she was
+      only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed. I reckon
+      she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said, was to use
+      her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never went much on
+      Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her&mdash;bought
+      her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from notions of
+      chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was better off with
+      Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept Bland an' the other
+      men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an
+      all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see hell
+      brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why I wish you'd come over
+      with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's invited you. Shore, if she
+      gets sweet on you, as she has on&mdash;Wal, thet 'd complicate matters.
+      But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could help her. Mind, I ain't
+      hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her in your way. You're a man an'
+      can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl once, an' if she'd lived she be
+      as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I wouldn't want her here in Bland's
+      camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go, Euchre. Take me over,&rdquo; replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes upon
+      him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached Bland's
+      cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the pretty woman
+      watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked like. The cabin
+      was the same as the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was
+      larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cottonwoods. In
+      the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman's hand. Through
+      the open door Duane caught a glimpse of bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, Euchre?&rdquo; asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone
+      of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered what
+      she would be like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?&rdquo; answered Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,&rdquo; replied the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw's
+      eyes was added significance to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
+      you about,&rdquo; Euchre said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I can't! I look so&mdash;so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind how you look,&rdquo; interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. &ldquo;It ain't
+      no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no rustler, no
+      thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance
+      shifting from side to side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in
+      the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek. She
+      had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be bashful, Jennie,&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;You an' Duane have a chance to
+      talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad to meet you, Miss&mdash;Miss Jennie,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Euchre didn't
+      mention your last name. He asked me to come over to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes
+      to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes
+      were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He
+      seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her
+      piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence. It
+      was no ordinary moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you come here for?&rdquo; she asked, at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see you,&rdquo; replied Duane, glad to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;Euchre thought&mdash;he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up
+      a bit,&rdquo; replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good
+      to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to
+      hide?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not,&rdquo; replied Duane, trying to smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why are you here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape at
+      home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can't be honest here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different.&rdquo; She kept the
+      strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her
+      youthful face were softening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the
+      unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O God! Maybe you're the man to save me&mdash;to take me away before it's
+      too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's spirit leaped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe I am,&rdquo; he replied, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek
+      flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress. Then
+      the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It can't be. You're only&mdash;after me, too, like Bland&mdash;like all
+      of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at me&mdash;straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a
+      father&mdash;a brother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're dead&mdash;killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was
+      carried away,&rdquo; Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand to
+      him. &ldquo;Forgive me. I believe&mdash;I know you're good. It was only&mdash;I
+      live so much in fear&mdash;I'm half crazy&mdash;I've almost forgotten what
+      good men are like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no. But take me away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll try,&rdquo; said Duane, simply. &ldquo;That won't be easy, though. I must have
+      time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider.
+      Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are you
+      watched&mdash;kept prisoner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have
+      fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me,
+      half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other
+      dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it for
+      love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing jealous.
+      There was' a man came here by the name of Spence&mdash;so he called
+      himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him. She was in
+      love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and that
+      ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with Bland
+      about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland laughs in
+      her face. Then I've heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland to give me
+      to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before Bland went away
+      things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished Mrs. Bland would
+      kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me. Duane, you must be
+      quick if you'd save me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I realize that,&rdquo; replied he, thoughtfully. &ldquo;I think my difficulty will be
+      to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she'd have the whole gang of
+      outlaws on me at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She would that. You've got to be careful&mdash;and quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of woman is she?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's&mdash;she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk
+      sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain. She
+      likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower yourself
+      to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To make love to her?&rdquo; interrupted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here,&rdquo; he said,
+      bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Duane,&rdquo; she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand.
+      &ldquo;Bland will kill you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange
+      tumult in his breast. The old emotion&mdash;the rush of an instinct to
+      kill! He turned cold all over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't,&rdquo; went on Jennie, with her
+      tragic eyes on Duane's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe he will,&rdquo; replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a smile.
+      But he achieved one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, better take me off at once,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Save me without risking so
+      much&mdash;without making love to Mrs. Bland!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait&mdash;a moment,&rdquo; whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. &ldquo;We've
+      settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps
+      through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage. Remember I'll save you
+      somehow. We'll try strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't
+      think less of me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart,&rdquo; she whispered,
+      passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame
+      and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the
+      approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to
+      make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie.
+      When the outlaw's wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall, strong,
+      full-bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+      attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression than with her
+      good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. The
+      situation then took on a singular zest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs. Bland.
+      She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so
+      prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and
+      brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she had
+      white teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to
+      meet her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and
+      rather musical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Duane&mdash;Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buckley,&rdquo; corrected Duane. &ldquo;The nickname's not of my choosing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane,&rdquo; she said, as she took the
+      seat Duane offered her. &ldquo;Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying over
+      at Deger's. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day. When
+      Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it sure takes my
+      time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that slattern girl of
+      mine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of
+      feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been alone,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Haven't seen anybody but a sick-looking
+      girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was Jen,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bland. &ldquo;She's the kid we keep here, and she sure
+      hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that I think of it, he did say something or other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he tell you about me?&rdquo; bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Kate,&rdquo; replied Euchre, speaking for himself, &ldquo;you needn't worry
+      none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested with
+      amusement upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day,&rdquo; went on the woman. &ldquo;It's a
+      common enough story along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted old
+      fool, and Jen has taken him in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct,&rdquo; replied Euchre, dryly,
+      &ldquo;I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bland,
+      amiably. &ldquo;You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I
+      guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with
+      curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland told me about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo; queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind of a man.
+      He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp&mdash;rode in here on the
+      dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. Wish he would.
+      Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him and
+      Chess meet out there in the road.' Then Bland went on to tell how you and
+      Bosomer came together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo; inquired Duane, as she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,&rdquo; she replied, gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; went on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a
+      great blue-eyed sunburned boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane. &ldquo;I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth
+      seeing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm not disappointed,&rdquo; she returned, archly. &ldquo;Duane, are you going to
+      stay long here in camp?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and
+      flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had lent her
+      a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some powerful
+      emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent, Duane
+      imagined, of deep, violent nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you, Duane,&rdquo; she said, earnestly, &ldquo;I'm sure glad if you mean to
+      bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw's wife, and
+      I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in
+      Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married
+      me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business.
+      But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family
+      cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then. I've
+      lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear anything
+      about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here&mdash;buried alive
+      with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being glad to
+      see a young fellow&mdash;a gentleman&mdash;like the boys I used to go
+      with? I tell you it makes me feel full&mdash;I want to cry. I'm sick for
+      somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not stay
+      here. I'm sick of this hole. I'm lonely&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine emotion
+      checked, then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and cried. It
+      seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife&mdash;and a woman who fitted
+      her consort and the wild nature of their surroundings&mdash;should have
+      weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry for you,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be SORRY for me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;That only makes me see the&mdash;the
+      difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these
+      outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me.
+      You'll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie.
+      Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking for
+      somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He explains that
+      gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing&mdash;that it is provoked
+      by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know is that
+      somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before Spence
+      ever saw me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
+      comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in love
+      with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to do
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before she
+      could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
+      conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
+      say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened. He
+      tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had suffered
+      a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter, morbid,
+      overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough, she was a
+      frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing which
+      struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In that,
+      better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had discovered a
+      trait through which he could manage her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
+      the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam of
+      Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching him,
+      listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
+      realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance, he
+      flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her face
+      was wonderful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning &ldquo;Adios&mdash;manana,&rdquo;
+       and was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
+      the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze with
+      hope and gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
+      sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to Euchre
+      for having put something worth while into his mind. During breakfast,
+      however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea of how much or
+      how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware of Euchre's
+      scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; began the old man, at last, &ldquo;how'd you make out with the kid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kid?&rdquo; inquired Duane, tentatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you done
+      the job too well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half crazy. She
+      was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her eyes hurt me. She
+      wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung onto my hands, an'
+      showed every way without speakin' how she wanted to thank me fer bringin'
+      you over. Buck, it was plain to me thet you'd either gone the limit or
+      else you'd been kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to think you'd
+      led Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can trust
+      me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there an' puttin' you wise to
+      my tryin' to help thet poor kid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations with Jennie
+      and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end Euchre set
+      down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion of the story
+      his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat stood out thickly
+      on his brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!&rdquo; he ejaculated, blinking at Duane. &ldquo;Young
+      man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to make your mark on this
+      river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what it means to
+      be a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my heart was in
+      the right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you know what it'll
+      take to do all you promised Jen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't any idea,&rdquo; replied Duane, gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even if she
+      falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't be easy. An'
+      she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't mistaken
+      her none, are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe some
+      others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune time
+      sneak off without any gun-play?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't see how on earth,&rdquo; returned Euchre, earnestly. &ldquo;When Bland's away
+      he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin' the valley trails.
+      They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by them. But when the boss is
+      home there's a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their eyes
+      peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're playin'
+      monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to pick out a
+      good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a couple of
+      hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie with you,
+      an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If you had luck you might pull
+      thet stunt without throwin' a gun. But I reckon the best figgerin' would
+      include dodgin' some lead an' leavin' at least Bland or Alloway dead
+      behind you. I'm figgerin', of course, thet when they come home an' find
+      out you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally look fer results.
+      Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're swift on the draw&mdash;mebbe
+      swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this gun-play business. No one can ever
+      tell who's the swifter of two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a
+      fascination mebbe you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil
+      onless there was reason not to, an' then I don't believe he'd invite
+      himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put you out of
+      the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if you came across him at a bad
+      moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was with Bosomer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll meet what comes,&rdquo; said Duane, quickly. &ldquo;The great point
+      is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick
+      through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll take my chances,&rdquo; replied Euchre, gruffly. &ldquo;I'm goin' to help
+      Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There's only four men in
+      this camp who would shoot me&mdash;Bland, an' his right-hand pards, an'
+      thet rabbit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd
+      stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired&mdash;what's
+      the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even
+      if I am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the right
+      minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now let's figger all
+      the little details.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned, Duane
+      who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and his
+      lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the other
+      outlaws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness to spend a
+      little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day&mdash;Euchre
+      to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to blind the elder
+      woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon, they proceeded to put
+      them into action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+      good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than theirs
+      coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to their lower
+      level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That was why
+      life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. There were
+      men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible inexplicable
+      wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He could not
+      trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a deed, something might
+      call too deeply to that instinct he could no longer control. Jackrabbit
+      Benson was one of these men. Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk
+      Duane could scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden
+      valley, a robbers' den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained
+      red by deeds of wild men. And because of that there was always a charged
+      atmosphere. The merriest, idlest, most careless moment might in the flash
+      of an eye end in ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate
+      characters it could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Duane sensed
+      was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in;
+      the mountaintops were always blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid
+      slowly and majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the horses
+      grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love, freedom,
+      happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with money and speech; they
+      lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled, talked, laughed,
+      whiled away the idle hours&mdash;and all the time life there was wrong,
+      and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most
+      awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brooding shadow
+      over the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the Bland
+      woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never
+      troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It took
+      no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which
+      evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for the
+      moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+      himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always
+      with deference. That was his strong point, and it had made his part easy
+      so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without
+      involving himself any deeper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was playing at a game of love&mdash;playing with life and deaths
+      Sometimes he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or any other
+      man, but at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out
+      of his old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he
+      been haunted by the phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been
+      haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+      able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her was
+      through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses of her
+      every time he went to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to pass door
+      or window, to give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane discovered
+      with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with
+      Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just inside the window,
+      and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was all made for her. So at
+      least she came to know him while as yet she was almost a stranger. Jennie
+      had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to understand that this was
+      Duane's only chance to help keep her mind from constant worry, to gather
+      the import of every word which had a double meaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn up
+      with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference
+      Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The eyes
+      seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that soon it
+      might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a
+      strange fire wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash gone in an
+      instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in any other
+      woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that Jennie's
+      face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him, was
+      responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change he
+      fancied, was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his pale,
+      sickening ghosts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush
+      matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire
+      which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was that
+      while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking. Time
+      hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days passed by
+      without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace
+      than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but empty. He
+      spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on all the trails leading
+      out of the valley; he had a care for the condition of his two horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that they
+      go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin',&rdquo; said Euchre. &ldquo;River gettin' low
+      an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a greaser freight-wagon
+      stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the freighters. Bland's
+      supposed to be in Mexico.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling in
+      the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw
+      offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily freighted
+      wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let
+      alone for the despised Mexicans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre
+      lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in
+      comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane was
+      alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was his belief
+      that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him. Moreover, these
+      rough men were always interesting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's been chased across the river,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Big deal on, hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, that order'll take a year to fill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders
+      bigger 'n thet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the outlaws.
+      He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kid Fuller's goin' to cash,&rdquo; said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad. But
+      he took the fever,&rdquo; rejoined a comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't got
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of the
+      outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will.
+      Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. Wal, it's happened before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane. He
+      did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's name
+      again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in
+      no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class of
+      men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until they
+      wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in the very
+      deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the simplest
+      and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip. There was
+      something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It never seemed to be
+      gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an awkward position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches
+      on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane
+      silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a familiar
+      speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his
+      possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Orful hot, ain't it?&rdquo; remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not keep
+      quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything
+      else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding; a wiry
+      little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black from
+      scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel eye. His shirt
+      was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?&rdquo; he
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!&rdquo; exclaimed a comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to join
+      him in a bath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,&rdquo; went on Bill, discontentedly.
+      &ldquo;Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll gamble?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, you're too good at cards,&rdquo; replied a lanky outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I might
+      take it to heart,&rdquo; replied Black, with a sudden change of tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it was again&mdash;that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to
+      reply would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No offense, Bill,&rdquo; said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
+      Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was out
+      of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?&rdquo; he
+      asked, in disgust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.&rdquo; replied one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game
+      obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest with
+      a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried their
+      luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their supply of
+      two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he offered to bet
+      on anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See thet turtle-dove there?&rdquo; he said, pointing. &ldquo;I'll bet he'll scare at
+      one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some one
+      chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could
+      withstand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take thet. Easy money,&rdquo; said one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's goin' to chuck the stone?&rdquo; asked another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody,&rdquo; replied Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,&rdquo; said the first outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,&rdquo; chimed in the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to
+      the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,&rdquo; he
+      offered, imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to cover
+      Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and they all
+      sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the tree. The
+      minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular remarks anent a
+      fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes had passed a
+      turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an impressive silence
+      while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it hadn't the same dove!&rdquo; exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. &ldquo;This
+      'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, pard? Now
+      I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with one
+      stone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No one offered to take his wager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with
+      one stone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise
+      disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their banding together.
+      The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to that
+      bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind of
+      wager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he appeared
+      at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a little ragged
+      Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly starved and
+      poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him a handful of
+      silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging the money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,&rdquo; declared Bill. &ldquo;I'll
+      bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became sullen
+      and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the fact that he
+      had won considerable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered what
+      was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as unstable
+      as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet
+      peon's packin',&rdquo; said the outlaw called Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon
+      carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted Indian
+      who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had met him
+      often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I'll take you up,&rdquo; replied Black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
+      caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot,&rdquo; said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
+      on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the
+      peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit a
+      moving object so small as a bucket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that
+      Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark
+      with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at
+      the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his
+      hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the
+      same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant and formidable
+      front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the
+      state of his soul!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains;
+      twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet;
+      the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only
+      sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate man
+      had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it threatened
+      so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him to die rather
+      than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate, savage men. But
+      the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed reason, conscience. He
+      could not resist it. He felt something dying in him. He suffered. Hope
+      seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and was driving him into a
+      reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her.
+      He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand
+      between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheered off his morbid
+      introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize that!
+      He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had been
+      stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in the
+      river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, she to be the
+      means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking to the level of her captors.
+      He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her, talk with
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's
+      house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time to
+      compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his
+      destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
+      him on the porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such a
+      shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
+      She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
+      embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
+      that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might have killed you,&rdquo; she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane had
+      ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After all,
+      she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in her
+      experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her advance
+      so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such as she
+      showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain charm. It
+      was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that, whatever
+      her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the lie she
+      made him act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, you love me?&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes,&rdquo; he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
+      he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt a
+      shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
+      promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
+      him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his arms?
+      Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes, thrilled
+      him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, dear,&rdquo; he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the girl.
+      &ldquo;I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill Bland,
+      Alloway, Rugg&mdash;anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged here.
+      You are good&mdash;I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere&mdash;a
+      home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland closed
+      her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart beat
+      against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved him so
+      much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him again,
+      and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy, that's good of you,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;but it's too late. I'm done
+      for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and stop
+      your gun-throwing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the
+      valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered
+      against the silver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his head
+      and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of the valley.
+      The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the narrow, moonlit
+      lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects. Two horses Duane
+      discerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Bland!&rdquo; whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands. &ldquo;You
+      must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's Bland! I know his
+      horse's trot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here,&rdquo; protested Duane.
+      &ldquo;Euchre's with me. It'll be all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe so,&rdquo; she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly
+      she had a great fear of Bland. &ldquo;If I could only think!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell Bland
+      you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your neck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland was herself
+      again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood near the window. Neither
+      spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They were small,
+      trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to convey what he
+      felt&mdash;that he would protect her. She leaned against him, and they
+      looked out of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself. His most
+      pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a curiosity as
+      to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the riders dismount
+      down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy led away the horses. Euchre,
+      the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable ease, considering what
+      he claimed was his natural cowardice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war,&rdquo; he
+      was saying. &ldquo;Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to what it is now. An'
+      times is rougher these days. This gun-throwin' has come to be a disease.
+      Men have an itch for the draw same as they used to have fer poker. The
+      only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I
+      presume Bill is burnin' now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the
+      porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to express
+      surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband warmly and
+      gave welcome to the other man. Duane could not see well enough in the
+      shadow to recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it was Alloway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dog-tired we are and starved,&rdquo; said Bland, heavily. &ldquo;Who's here with
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,&rdquo;
+       replied Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane!&rdquo; he exclaimed. Then he whispered low&mdash;something Duane could
+      not catch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I asked him to come,&rdquo; said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and
+      naturally and made no change in tone. &ldquo;Jen has been ailing. She gets
+      thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw
+      Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let
+      him come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent
+      action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?&rdquo; queried Bland, incredulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did,&rdquo; replied the wife, stubbornly. &ldquo;Why not? Jen's in love with
+      him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be a decent woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's lyin' or she's crazy,&rdquo; replied Alloway, and his voice carried an
+      unpleasant ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to keep
+      his mouth shut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, ho, ho!&rdquo; rolled out Bland's laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was
+      carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, boss?&rdquo; asked Euchre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail. He
+      answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there a dark, silent
+      figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease the
+      situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably successful
+      trip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that Bland and
+      Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed,
+      and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. &ldquo;Jennie,&rdquo; whispered Duane, &ldquo;that was
+      clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be ready!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She pressed close to him, and a barely audible &ldquo;Hurry!&rdquo; came breathing
+      into his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night, Jennie,&rdquo; he said, aloud. &ldquo;Hope you feel better to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the
+      greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Met Jasper as I rode in,&rdquo; said Bland, presently. &ldquo;He told me you made
+      Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off the
+      handle about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane explained the incident. &ldquo;I'm sorry I happened to be there,&rdquo; he went
+      on. &ldquo;It wasn't my business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scurvy trick that 'd been,&rdquo; muttered Bland. &ldquo;You did right. All the same,
+      Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one of us&mdash;that'd
+      be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But I'm not called on to
+      let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my rustlers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane, and if I
+      know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're a
+      born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of them
+      have told me that something exploded in their brain, and when sense came
+      back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a little
+      shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to rid myself
+      of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest at night. That's the
+      gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new man&mdash;he's
+      driven to it to forget the last one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm no gun-fighter,&rdquo; protested Duane. &ldquo;Circumstances made me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; interrupted Bland, with a laugh. &ldquo;Circumstances made me a
+      rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young; you've got a temper; your
+      father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't see any
+      other career for you. Instead of going it alone&mdash;a lone wolf, as the
+      Texans say&mdash;why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live
+      longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of talk. Thet's
+      why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there won't
+      be any more trouble. An' he'd be a grand feller fer the gang. I've seen
+      Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an' Chess
+      here&mdash;all the fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to
+      present company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw is
+      different. You can't see how he does it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence.
+      Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and did
+      not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your
+      band,&rdquo; said Duane, easily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's good enough,&rdquo; replied Bland, shortly. &ldquo;Will you consider the idea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll think it over. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the
+      lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back.
+      Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down
+      under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and quiet,
+      a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life. The beauty
+      of the soaring moon, the ebony canyons of shadow under the mountain, the
+      melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane shudder in the
+      realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of these things.
+      Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His mind was clouded.
+      His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions of nature, but the
+      joy of them had fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead of
+      him there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in thought
+      of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in his. He did
+      not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his feelings. He just
+      had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were interspersed in the
+      constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the
+      moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached him
+      Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely
+      affected Duane. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland kept you pretty long,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait till I git my breath,&rdquo; replied Euchre. He sat silent a little while,
+      fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and then he
+      went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine night,&rdquo; he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with Euchre's
+      quaint humor. &ldquo;Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd noticed that,&rdquo; rejoined Duane, dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland choke his wife
+      till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in the face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; ejaculated Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When I got back
+      to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been too fagged out to
+      figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the house, where they lit up the
+      lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He's not the
+      talkin' kind, an' he's damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland asked me
+      some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them, an' I swore
+      the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always trusted me, an'
+      liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black thet way. But he's a hard
+      man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an' I'd double-cross him any day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little room, an'
+      Bland called her to come out. She said she was undressin'. An' he ordered
+      her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was some
+      surprisin'. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he pointed
+      his big blue Colt right at her, an' he says:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You lied to me,' he roars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made a grab fer
+      her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an' he got her by the
+      throat. He choked her till I thought she was strangled. Alloway made him
+      stop. She flopped down on the bed an' gasped fer a while. When she come to
+      them hardshelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give herself
+      away. I think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick with you an'
+      was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man to have&mdash;to
+      guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave it up after a while. An'
+      then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is worth pinnin' in
+      your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't need much fer
+      thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He was
+      so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin' off one
+      of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist her&mdash;hurt her&mdash;I
+      had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the only time in my life
+      I wished I was a gun-fighter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and
+      stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen her show any.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I believe
+      she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him, an' I want to KNOW.
+      If she's been an' you tell me the truth I'll let you go. I'll send you out
+      to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll give you
+      money.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet I seen
+      death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her. Thet's the
+      strange part of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'No,' said Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'He's been after you?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Yes.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I&mdash;I'm not&mdash;I don't know&mdash;he hasn't told me.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'But you're in love with him?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her! She thronged
+      up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed at sight
+      of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an outlaw cried right out.
+      He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. An' the look of her then
+      was enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the room. I told
+      you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen to him. So
+      even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in fear of your
+      life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love with Duane? She's let
+      him come to see you? There's been nuthin' between them?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Go to bed, you white-faced&mdash;' Bland choked on some word or other&mdash;a
+      bad one, I reckon&mdash;an' he positively shook in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle Euchre
+      ducked his nut out of the door an' come home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long harangue. He
+      experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal
+      worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie perjuring herself to save that
+      abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, there's where our little deal stands now,&rdquo; resumed Euchre,
+      meditatively. &ldquo;You know, Buck, as well as me thet if you'd been some
+      feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a gun you'd now be full of
+      lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as safe
+      on this here border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in this land
+      of the draw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead,
+      thoughtful of the fact that the time for the long-planned action was at
+      hand. It was remarkable that a man as loquacious as Euchre could hold his
+      tongue so long; and this was significant of the deadly nature of the
+      intended deed. During breakfast he said a few words customary in the
+      service of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an end
+      of deliberation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck, the sooner the better now,&rdquo; he declared, with a glint in his eye.
+      &ldquo;The more time we use up now the less surprised Bland'll be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm ready when you are,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, saddle up, then,&rdquo; went on Euchre, gruffly. &ldquo;Tie on them two packs I
+      made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell&mdash;mebbe either hoss will be
+      carryin' double. It's good they're both big, strong hosses. Guess thet
+      wasn't a wise move of your Uncle Euchre's&mdash;bringin' in your hosses
+      an' havin' them ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are.
+      Let me do the rest now,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know, why, I'm in
+      bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He's
+      gettin' wise pretty quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Euchre, you're going with me?&rdquo; queried Duane, suddenly divining the
+      truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was a
+      gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin' a peg at Jackrabbit
+      Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin' while I go nosin' round.
+      It's pretty early, which 's all the better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore a
+      gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane had ever seen the
+      outlaw armed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then carried the
+      saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa in the corral showed
+      that the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost fat during his stay
+      in the valley. He watered them, put on the saddles loosely cinched, and
+      then the bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas water-bottles.
+      That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was no
+      more thinking and planning to do. The hour had arrived, and he was ready.
+      He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take. His thoughts
+      became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and goodness in the
+      hardened old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept glancing at his watch.
+      He hoped to start the thing and get away before the outlaws were out of
+      their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of Euchre's boots on the hard
+      path. The sound was quicker than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so astounded
+      as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat dripped
+      from him. He had a wild look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck ours&mdash;so-fur, Buck!&rdquo; he panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't look it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; asked Duane, startled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I went nosin'
+      round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's. He's thick with the
+      Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions. Anyway, I was sure glad to see him
+      away from Bland's. An' he didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's
+      there wasn't nobody there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was startin'
+      to work. Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he wouldn't
+      give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him have it,
+      plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I reckon I'll never sleep
+      again. But I had to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked sharp. Comin'
+      back I cut across through the cottonwoods past Bland's cabin. I meant to
+      keep out of sight, but somehow I had an idee I might find out if Bland was
+      awake yet. Sure enough I run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends Bland's
+      hosses. Beppo likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said Bland had
+      been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's how I
+      figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore, an' he went after
+      Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as likely he might have went
+      after Jennie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an' Kate must have had it
+      hot an' heavy. We're pretty lucky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems so. Well, I'm going,&rdquo; said Duane, tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most draggin'
+      ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy, sore, an' he won't be
+      expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you walk over to his house. Meet him
+      how you like. Thet's your game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes out an'
+      you want to parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his proposition
+      an' was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have to kill him, an'
+      it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be wise, too, fer it's
+      likely he'll do thet same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the horses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to me
+      you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside by the time I git there.
+      Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or anybody
+      else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit. Thet big
+      black will carry you both.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay&mdash;not to mix any
+      more in this,&rdquo; said Duane, earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give me
+      the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word&mdash;look out fer thet Bland
+      woman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he
+      strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove
+      and field, it was about five minutes' walk up to Bland's house. To Duane
+      it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in restraining
+      his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle change in his
+      feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in conflict. He could have
+      avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of his courting the encounter
+      he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of blood. The motive of
+      this deadly action was not personal, and somehow that made a difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle. Blue
+      columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant smell of
+      it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove. He noted a
+      cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in the sunlight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he entered Bland's lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of man
+      and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey of the
+      surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a
+      little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer through the
+      cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses. There was no
+      indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end. Duane had
+      feared this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch
+      and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!&rdquo; That was panted out in
+      Kate Bland's full voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!&rdquo; replied Bland, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the
+      laugh on her new lover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; cried Kate Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!&rdquo; His voice grew hoarser
+      with passion. &ldquo;Let me go now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the&mdash;the truth out of her&mdash;you'll
+      kill her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The TRUTH!&rdquo; hissed Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't&mdash;murder
+      her&mdash;for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
+      violent straining contact&mdash;the scrape of feet&mdash;the jangle of
+      spurs&mdash;a crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman
+      in pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
+      across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to her
+      feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's room
+      and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
+      shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold. His
+      sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for his
+      gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes the
+      desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland shifted his
+      glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate with the swing
+      of his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
+      floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
+      stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
+      gasped his last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, you've killed him!&rdquo; cried Kate Bland, huskily. &ldquo;I knew you'd have
+      to!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
+      clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half stunned,
+      but showed no grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie!&rdquo; called Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;Duane!&rdquo; came a halting reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Come out. Hurry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
+      Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared the
+      woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was protective,
+      and his movement toward the door equally as significant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Bland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
+      that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane. Kate
+      Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was changing
+      to realization.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where 're you taking Jen?&rdquo; she cried, her voice like a man's. &ldquo;Get out of
+      my way,&rdquo; replied Duane. His look perhaps, without speech, was enough for
+      her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You let
+      me believe&mdash;you swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer about
+      you. All for that girl! But you can't have her. You'll never leave here
+      alive. Give me that girl! Let me&mdash;get at her! She'll never win any
+      more men in this camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off her
+      onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second her
+      fury increased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HELP! HELP! HELP!&rdquo; she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated to
+      the remotest cabin in the valley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go! Let go!&rdquo; cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in his
+      right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward the woman off. His
+      coolness had gone with her shriek for help. &ldquo;Let go!&rdquo; he repeated, and he
+      shoved her fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her strong
+      hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell into
+      the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped upon her. He struck up
+      the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie flashed out of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it with
+      his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed woman off
+      the floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as strong as he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate! Let go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face, or
+      reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not care.
+      She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her lips they
+      seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she fought him; her
+      face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that outlaw life, the
+      wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in such a moment terribly
+      impressed upon Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard a cry from outside&mdash;a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block
+      his plan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go!&rdquo; he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
+      instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle down
+      and discharged it. Duane felt a blow&mdash;a shock&mdash;a burning agony
+      tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully upon
+      the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and seemed
+      stunned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp
+      cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his
+      bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled, and he
+      was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre's
+      ceased. He fell from the horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess
+      Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he
+      saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that
+      slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun
+      went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging
+      bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
+      face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, you've nerve, all right!&rdquo; cried Duane, as he dragged down the
+      horse she was holding. &ldquo;Up with you now! There! Never mind&mdash;long
+      stirrups! Hang on somehow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
+      The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into
+      the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. He heard shouts. But there
+      were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but without
+      stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and reached
+      out to grasp her arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the steep
+      and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No pursuers
+      were in sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, we're going to get away!&rdquo; he cried, exultation for her in his
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back
+      he faced her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!&rdquo; she faltered, pointing with
+      trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With her words Duane became aware of two things&mdash;the hand he
+      instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had
+      sustained a terrible wound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave
+      apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled
+      freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs
+      of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough
+      up a reddish-tinged foam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm badly hurt, Jennie,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I guess I'll stick it out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The woman&mdash;did she shoot you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't quick
+      enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn't have to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo; shivered the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses,
+      which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast time up
+      the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they surmounted
+      the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with no signs of
+      pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken fastnesses before
+      them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that they now had every
+      chance of escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;your&mdash;wound!&rdquo; she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. &ldquo;I
+      see&mdash;the blood&mdash;dripping from your back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware
+      presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But that
+      did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe enough.
+      What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where he could
+      hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire inside his
+      breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for him to take a
+      swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer considerable pain,
+      which increased as the hours went by and then gave way to a numbness. From
+      that time on he had need of his great strength and endurance. Gradually he
+      lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and he realized that if he were to
+      meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should come up with him, he could make
+      only a poor stand. So he turned off on a trail that appeared seldom
+      traveled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his
+      senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he
+      was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she was
+      left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll give out soon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No-I don't mean&mdash;what you
+      think. But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I die&mdash;you ride
+      back to the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail
+      goes to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some
+      rancher will take you in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on, and
+      soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse. He did not know whether
+      they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was conscious when the
+      horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and feeling Jennie's arms
+      before all became dark to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little hut of
+      mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some years old. There
+      were two doors or openings, one in front and the other at the back. Duane
+      imagined it had been built by a fugitive&mdash;one who meant to keep an
+      eye both ways and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire
+      to move. Where was he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time,
+      distance, of something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two packs
+      Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become of her?
+      There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a little blackened
+      coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses or getting
+      water. He thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt tired, and
+      presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way she
+      seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start and turned eagerly
+      to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?&rdquo; he said, finding it a little
+      difficult to talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm all right,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;And you've come to&mdash;your wound's
+      healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness of
+      skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fever? How long have we been here?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine. Nine days,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine days!&rdquo; he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her assured
+      him that she meant what she said. &ldquo;I've been sick all the time? You nursed
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bland's men didn't come along here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are the horses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass and
+      water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you slept any?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day
+      and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all about
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing much to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know, anyway, just what you did&mdash;how you felt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't remember very well,&rdquo; she replied, simply. &ldquo;We must have ridden
+      forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the time. Toward evening
+      you lay on your horse's neck. When we came to this place you fell out of
+      the saddle. I dragged you in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought
+      you'd die that night. But in the morning I had a little hope. I had
+      forgotten the horses. But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them and
+      kept them down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began to
+      breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever that put you
+      back. You raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn't stop you.
+      Anybody trailing us could have heard you a good ways. I don't know whether
+      I was scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was so dark and
+      lonely and still all around. Every day I put a stone in your hat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, you saved my life,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;You saved
+      mine&mdash;more than my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, we're going to get away,&rdquo; he said, with gladness. &ldquo;I'll be well
+      in a few days. You don't know how strong I am. We'll hide by day and
+      travel by night. I can get you across the river.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll find some honest rancher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; she persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he began, slowly, &ldquo;that's as far as my thoughts ever got. It was
+      pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so much. It means your
+      safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be sent to some village or town and
+      taken care of until a relative or friend is notified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you?&rdquo; she inquired, in a strange voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane kept silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What will you do?&rdquo; she went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among
+      respectable people. I'm an outlaw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're no criminal!&rdquo; she declared, with deep passion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a
+      criminal doesn't count for much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness and
+      sweetness&mdash;all that's good about you? Oh, Duane, don't&mdash;don't
+      go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go
+      alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border. What else can I do,
+      Jennie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas&mdash;go
+      far away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide, but
+      a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse.
+      During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main
+      trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they rode
+      out of the canyons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the morning
+      halted at the first water to camp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding during
+      the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was assured of safety for her
+      and great danger for himself. They had crossed into a country he did not
+      know. Somewhere east of the river there were scattered ranches. But he was
+      as liable to find the rancher in touch with the outlaws as he was likely
+      to find him honest. Duane hoped his good fortune would not desert him in
+      this last service to Jennie. Next to the worry of that was realization of
+      his condition. He had gotten up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard,
+      and now he felt that any moment he might fall from his saddle. At last,
+      far ahead over a barren mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied
+      a patch of green and a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse
+      for it and turned a face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's sake. She
+      seemed both happy and sorry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And thrift
+      spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees, corrals,
+      windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all surrounding a neat little adobe
+      house. Some children were playing in the yard. The way they ran at sight
+      of Duane hinted of both the loneliness and the fear of their isolated
+      lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man. The latter looked
+      keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired, freckled Texan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, stranger,&rdquo; he called, as Duane halted. &ldquo;Get down, you an' your
+      woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He
+      thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one
+      sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martha, come out here!&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;This man's sick. No; he's shot, or I
+      don't know blood-stains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared about
+      to faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Air you his wife?&rdquo; asked the rancher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
+      Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane!&rdquo; exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. &ldquo;The man who killed Bland
+      an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and practical
+      essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far gone that he
+      could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and weakly asked for
+      water. When that was given him he found his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself&mdash;just all in. The wounds I
+      got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in&mdash;hide her
+      awhile till the excitement's over among the outlaws?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shore will,&rdquo; replied the Texan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. I'll remember you&mdash;I'll square it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What 're you goin' to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll rest a bit&mdash;then go back to the brakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here&mdash;any rustlers
+      on your trail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think we gave Bland's gang the slip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an' hide
+      both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor is five
+      miles off. We don't have much company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me,&rdquo; said
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
+      outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My horses might betray you,&rdquo; added Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
+      it. Come now, let me help you indoors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a
+      bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
+      cool hands on his hot face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
+      week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
+      After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end of
+      this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his illness
+      he had been silent, moody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jennie, I'll be riding off soon,&rdquo; he said, one evening. &ldquo;I can't impose
+      on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness. His
+      wife, too&mdash;she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will have
+      to say good-by very soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't hurry away,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the girl
+      he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance to say
+      good-by as another indication of her regret that he must go back to the
+      brakes. Yet somehow it made him observe her more closely. She wore a
+      plain, white dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep
+      and good food had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+      outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same paleness, the
+      same strained look, the same dark eyes full of haunting shadows. After
+      Duane's realization of the change in her he watched her more, with a
+      growing certainty that he would be sorry not to see her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's likely we won't ever see each other again,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's strange
+      to think of. We've been through some hard days, and I seem to have known
+      you a long time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to something
+      less personal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to Huntsville.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland outfit,&rdquo; he
+      said, important and full of news. &ldquo;It's some exaggerated, accordin' to
+      what you told me; but you've shore made friends on this side of the
+      Nueces. I reckon there ain't a town where you wouldn't find people to
+      welcome you. Huntsville, you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half the
+      people are crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in praise of
+      you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the boss outlaw
+      of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent citizen. He was tellin' me
+      what a grand job yours was for the border an' honest cattlemen. Now that
+      Bland and Alloway are done for, King Fisher will find rustlin' easier.
+      There's talk of Hardin movie' his camp over to Bland's. But I don't know
+      how true it is. I reckon there ain't much to it. In the past when a big
+      outlaw chief went under, his band almost always broke up an' scattered.
+      There's no one left who could run thet outfit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore,&rdquo; replied
+      Andrews. &ldquo;Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled to go on your
+      trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would be afraid to
+      trail you. An' you could go right in to Huntsville, where you'd be some
+      popular. Reckon you'd be safe, too, except when some of them fool saloon
+      loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it.
+      Them kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two,&rdquo; went on
+      Duane. &ldquo;Then I'll go&mdash;I'd like to talk to you about Jennie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's welcome to a home here with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to get farther
+      away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here. Besides, she may be
+      able to find relatives. She has some, though she doesn't know where they
+      are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd better take
+      her to some town. Go north an' strike for Shelbyville or Crockett. Them's
+      both good towns. I'll tell Jennie the names of men who'll help her. You
+      needn't ride into town at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which place is nearer, and how far is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you
+      ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at night
+      an' go careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said
+      good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane's
+      thanks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what can I do for you?&rdquo; asked Duane. &ldquo;I may come along here again
+      some day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there
+      ain't nothin' I can think of&mdash;I just happen to remember&mdash;&rdquo; Here
+      he led Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in a whisper. &ldquo;Buck,
+      I used to be well-to-do. Got skinned by a man named Brown&mdash;Rodney
+      Brown. He lives in Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on
+      fightin', or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me&mdash;stole all I had. He's a
+      hoss an' cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I
+      reckon I needn't say any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?&rdquo; queried Duane,
+      curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged Stevens
+      through the middle. But the outlaw rode off, an' nobody ever knew for
+      shore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the
+      left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said, Andrews?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shore. An' good luck to you both!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At the moment
+      an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke Stevens and the rancher
+      Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a man named Brown. Duane wished with
+      all his heart that they had not mentioned it, let alone taken for granted
+      the execution of the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men who robbed
+      and men who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the spirit of the
+      country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this Rodney Brown.
+      And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous he really was&mdash;to
+      men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how little stood between
+      his sane and better self and a self utterly wild and terrible. He reasoned
+      that only intelligence could save him&mdash;only a thoughtful
+      understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful views
+      of her future, and presently darkness set in. The sky was overcast with
+      heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression threatened
+      storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him, though his
+      horse had no difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was bothered by the
+      blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible, and any moment he
+      might miss the road that led off to the left. So he was compelled to give
+      all his attention to peering into the thick shadows ahead. As good luck
+      would have it, he came to higher ground where there was less mesquite, and
+      therefore not such impenetrable darkness; and at this point he came to
+      where the road split.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his
+      annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was not well dressed
+      for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat, which in
+      that dry warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his saddle, and he
+      put it on Jennie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker.
+      Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat
+      better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite the
+      discomfort, and soon a gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be built to
+      dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk catching cold. In
+      fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find a shelter in that barren
+      waste seemed a futile task. Quite unexpectedly, however, they happened
+      upon a deserted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did
+      it prove to have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water was
+      available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their condition
+      as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane, however,
+      there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding-place. The rain fell
+      harder all the time, and the wind changed to the north. &ldquo;It's a norther,
+      all right,&rdquo; muttered Duane. &ldquo;Two or three days.&rdquo; And he felt that his
+      extraordinary luck had not held out. Still one point favored him, and it
+      was that travelers were not likely to come along during the storm. Jennie
+      slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant more to him than
+      any task he had ever assumed. First it had been partly from a human
+      feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and partly a motive to establish
+      clearly to himself that he was no outlaw. Lately, however, had come a
+      different sense, a strange one, with something personal and warm and
+      protective in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with bedraggled dress
+      and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep,
+      and her long, dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her
+      fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never before. But for him she
+      might at that very moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying back in
+      that cabin of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his importance
+      in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still young; she would
+      forget and be happy; she would live to be a good wife and mother. Somehow
+      the thought swelled his heart. His act, death-dealing as it had been, was
+      a noble one, and helped him to hold on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once
+      since Jennie had entered into his thought had those ghosts returned to
+      torment him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility of
+      finding her relatives. He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt a
+      pang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always alert, whether
+      he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain pattered steadily on the
+      roof and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the door. The horses
+      were outside in a shed that afforded poor shelter, and they stamped
+      restlessly. Duane kept them saddled and bridled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal and
+      afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never been, in his
+      observation of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, the
+      farthest removed from serenity and poise. That characteristic capacity for
+      agitation struck him as stronger in her this day. He attributed it,
+      however, to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes
+      when her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her freedom,
+      of her future.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where will you be?&rdquo; she asked, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl shuddered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the men of my
+      family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads, a
+      hearth with a fire, a warm bed&mdash;somebody to love them. And you, Duane&mdash;oh,
+      my God! What must your life be? You must ride and hide and watch
+      eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly word, no clean clothes,
+      no woman's hand! Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes&mdash;these must be
+      the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding, killing
+      until you meet&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was amazed,
+      deeply touched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My girl, thank you for that thought of me,&rdquo; he said, with a tremor in his
+      voice. &ldquo;You don't know how much that means to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard tell&mdash;the best of men go to the bad out there. You won't.
+      Promise me you won't. I never&mdash;knew any man&mdash;like you. I&mdash;I&mdash;we
+      may never see each other again&mdash;after to-day. I'll never forget you.
+      I'll pray for you, and I'll never give up trying to&mdash;to do something.
+      Don't despair. It's never too late. It was my hope that kept me alive&mdash;out
+      there at Bland's&mdash;before you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But
+      if I could hope&mdash;so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf.
+      Fight for your life. Stick out your exile&mdash;and maybe&mdash;some day&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep
+      as hers promised to remember her words. In her despair for him she had
+      spoken wisdom&mdash;pointed out the only course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner reasserted
+      itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode, had broken
+      his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the sound of his
+      hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps of mesquite in
+      sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It turned out, however,
+      that he had not done so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near the road. So
+      he put her up on his horse and bade her follow. The rain had ceased for
+      the time being, though evidently the storm was not yet over. The tracks
+      led up a wash to a wide flat where mesquite, prickly pear, and thorn-bush
+      grew so thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was thoroughly
+      concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would soon be
+      night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly through that brake on
+      foot. Therefore he decided to risk leaving her at the edge of the thicket
+      and go in alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a branch he had
+      stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the impatient pound of his horse's
+      hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not wholly satisfied. He was
+      never satisfied in regard to safety; he knew too well that there never
+      could be safety for him in this country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane wondered what
+      had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there was none.
+      Presently he heard the horse tramping along, and then he ran. The mud was
+      deep, and the sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up with the
+      horse, and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh horse-tracks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that they had been
+      made very recently, even since it had ceased raining. They were tracks of
+      well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a cautious glance all around.
+      His instant decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he had come a goodly
+      way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush back. Once or twice
+      he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but did not halt to make
+      sure. Certain he was now that some kind of danger threatened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off somewhere
+      to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane leaped
+      forward, tore his way through the thorny brake. He heard Jennie cry again&mdash;an
+      appealing call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right, and he plunged
+      that way. He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire and ground covered
+      with footprints and tracks showed that campers had lately been. Rushing
+      across this, he broke his passage out to the open. But he was too late.
+      His horse had disappeared. Jennie was gone. There were no riders in sight.
+      There was no sound. There was a heavy trail of horses going north. Jennie
+      had been carried off&mdash;probably by outlaws. Duane realized that
+      pursuit was out of the question&mdash;that Jennie was lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's deeds, far up
+      where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs, stood
+      a small deserted shack of covered mesquite poles. It had been made long
+      ago, but was well preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail, and another
+      faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border fugitives from
+      law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged never lived in
+      houses with only one door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except for the
+      outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave for most of the
+      other wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the gorge there was
+      never-failing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady retreats,
+      deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of narrow-twisting,
+      deep canyon full of broken rocks and impenetrable thickets. The scream of
+      the panther was heard there, the squall of the wildcat, the cough of the
+      jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring blossoms, and, it seemed,
+      scattered honey to the winds. All day there was continuous song of birds,
+      that of the mocking-bird loud and sweet and mocking above the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On clear days&mdash;and rare indeed were cloudy days&mdash;with the
+      subsiding of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around the little
+      hut. Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually to fade
+      with the shading of light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in the
+      westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west and listener to
+      the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three years before,
+      Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of circumstances
+      that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had marked, if not a change,
+      at least a cessation in Duane's activities. He had trailed Sellers to kill
+      him for the supposed abducting of Jennie. He had trailed him long after he
+      had learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted absolute assurance of
+      Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and there, unauthenticated
+      stories, were all Duane had gathered in years to substantiate his belief&mdash;that
+      Jennie died shortly after the beginning of her second captivity. But Duane
+      did not know surely. Sellers might have told him. Duane expected, if not
+      to force it from him at the end, to read it in his eyes. But the bullet
+      went too unerringly; it locked his lips and fixed his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a friend, and when
+      he recovered from the wound Sellers had given him he started with two
+      horses and a pack for the lonely gorge on the Nueces. There he had been
+      hidden for months, a prey to remorse, a dreamer, a victim of phantoms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky fastness. And work,
+      action, helped to pass the hours. But he could not work all the time, even
+      if he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments and at night his task
+      was to live with the hell in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little
+      hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's presence. It was not
+      as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her
+      death. He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that
+      intense hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to
+      that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had found
+      things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of ribbon
+      Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No wandering outlaw or
+      traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further endeared it to
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of it&mdash;the
+      failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim it&mdash;to deaden
+      the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of
+      visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as
+      clearly as if she had stood there in the flesh. For hours he did that,
+      dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would taste.
+      He saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged dress in
+      which he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in Mexican
+      sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and swelling
+      throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark eyes. He
+      remembered every look she had given him, every word she had spoken to him,
+      every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty and sweetness, of
+      the few things which had come to mean to him that she must have loved him;
+      and he trained himself to think of these in preference to her life at
+      Bland's, the escape with him, and then her recapture, because such
+      memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had to fight suffering because
+      it was eating out his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his
+      white-haired mother. He saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by
+      dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he would
+      send out a voiceless cry no less poignant because it was silent: &ldquo;Poor
+      fool! No, I shall never see mother again&mdash;never go home&mdash;never
+      have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over!
+      These dreams torture me! What have I to do with a mother, a home, a wife?
+      No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am an outlaw,
+      an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am alone&mdash;alone.
+      Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall go mad thinking! Man,
+      what is left to you? A hiding-place like a wolf's&mdash;lonely silent
+      days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or the trail and the road with their
+      bloody tracks, and then the hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride to some
+      hole in rocks or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't I end it
+      all? What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the gun-fighter
+      to live&mdash;to hang on to miserable life&mdash;to have no fear of death,
+      yet to cling like a leach&mdash;to die as gun-fighters seldom die, with
+      boots off! Bain, you were first, and you're long avenged. I'd change with
+      you. And Sellers, you were last, and you're avenged. And you others&mdash;you're
+      avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering
+      round him, escorted him to his bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers, or
+      passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and exhaustion
+      made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually he required
+      less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little by little his
+      phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the saving power of
+      his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How many times he had said to himself: &ldquo;I am an intelligent man. I'm not
+      crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All this is fancy&mdash;imagination&mdash;conscience.
+      I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no hope&mdash;and my mind is obsessed,
+      thronged with images. And these images naturally are of the men with whom
+      I have dealt. I can't forget them. They come back to me, hour after hour;
+      and when my tortured mind grows weak, then maybe I'm not just right till
+      the mood wears out and lets me sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was
+      star-bright above the canyon-walls, darkly shadowing down between them. The
+      insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick song, low and
+      monotonous. Slow-running water splashed softly over stones in the
+      stream-bed. From far down the canyon came the mournful hoot of an owl. The
+      moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these things
+      weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In truth, they
+      did not constitute loneliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached out
+      to touch a cold, bright star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this star-studded,
+      velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of wild country between El
+      Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory&mdash;a refuge for
+      outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a book
+      with names and records of outlaws&mdash;three thousand known outlaws. Yet
+      these could scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had been
+      recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from camp to camp,
+      den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he knew these men. Most of
+      them were hopeless criminals; some were avengers; a few were wronged
+      wanderers; and among them occasionally was a man, human in his way, honest
+      as he could be, not yet lost to good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But all of them were akin in one sense&mdash;their outlawry; and that
+      starry night they lay with their dark faces up, some in packs like wolves,
+      others alone like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not make much
+      difference in Duane's thought of them that the majority were steeped in
+      crime and brutality, more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a
+      fine feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not realize his
+      moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted wretches who knew it.
+      He believed he could enter into their minds and feel the truth of all
+      their lives&mdash;the hardened outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who
+      murdered as Bill Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing,
+      who craved money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and, like
+      that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, &ldquo;Let her rip!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure; the cowboys
+      with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge that they
+      were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the North, defaulters,
+      forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, flat-chested men not fit for that
+      wilderness and not surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand and glove with
+      outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled, bow-legged genuine
+      rustlers&mdash;all these Duane had come in contact with, had watched and
+      known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as their lives were
+      bad, sooner or later to end dismally or tragically, so they must pay some
+      kind of earthly penalty&mdash;if not of conscience, then of fear; if not
+      of fear, then of that most terrible of all things to restless, active men&mdash;pain,
+      the pang of flesh and bone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the
+      internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by no means small
+      class of which he was representative. The world that judged him and his
+      kind judged him as a machine, a killing-machine, with only mind enough to
+      hunt, to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three endless years for
+      Duane to understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that the
+      gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who were evil and
+      had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis, had something far more
+      torturing to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and sleep and
+      peace; and that something was abnormal fear of death. Duane knew this, for
+      he had shot these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow in eyes, the
+      presentiment that the will could not control, and then the horrible
+      certainty. These men must have been in agony at every meeting with a
+      possible or certain foe&mdash;more agony than the hot rend of a bullet.
+      They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear, by every victim calling from
+      the grave that nothing was so inevitable as death, which lurked behind
+      every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep in the dark tube of every gun.
+      These men could not have a friend; they could not love or trust a woman.
+      They knew their one chance of holding on to life lay in their own
+      distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by the very nature of
+      their lives, could not be lasting. They had doomed themselves. What, then,
+      could possibly have dwelt in the depths of their minds as they went to
+      their beds on a starry night like this, with mystery in silence and
+      shadow, with time passing surely, and the dark future and its secret
+      approaching every hour&mdash;what, then, but hell?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would
+      have been glad to lay down the burden of life, providing death came
+      naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,
+      superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of
+      an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that
+      this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for
+      ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing domination of these
+      haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or
+      brutality or murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they
+      knew more than when they were alive, had learned that life was a divine
+      mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their
+      voiceless clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inaction of
+      his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather than to
+      hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The moment he
+      rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. A
+      strange warmth stirred in him&mdash;a longing to see the faces of people,
+      to hear their voices&mdash;a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it
+      was only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal vigilance.
+      When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all except his deeper,
+      better self; when he escaped from this into the haunts of men his force
+      and will went to the preservation of his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends there.
+      Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of the village there
+      was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered post which marked
+      it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He had never read the
+      inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other than the erstwhile
+      ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the stockmen and
+      ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he or his outlaws
+      had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane when sore in need.
+      Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village, called him every name
+      known to border men, taunted him to draw, and killed him in the act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father,
+      and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice of
+      a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his gun,
+      good wholesome food, and change of clothes&mdash;these things for the time
+      being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often speak. The
+      price of his head and the weight of his burden made him silent. But
+      eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In the years of his
+      absence from home he had never heard a word about his mother or uncle.
+      Those who were his real friends on the border would have been the last to
+      make inquiries, to write or receive letters that might give a clue to
+      Duane's whereabouts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight fell
+      was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain overnight.
+      It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early in the evening,
+      while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and hero-worshiping sons of the
+      house, Jones returned from a quick visit down to the post-office.
+      Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored under intense excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, there's rangers in town,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;It's all over town, too,
+      that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw you. I
+      don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the women
+      might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows&mdash;devils
+      with the women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What company of rangers?&rdquo; asked Duane, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name in
+      the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders. He's
+      cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
+      hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
+      man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
+      you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
+      find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
+      but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
+      Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
+      Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
+      officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact
+      of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've already fixed up a pack of grub,&rdquo; went on Jones. &ldquo;I'll slip out to
+      saddle your horse. You watch here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded
+      on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet
+      clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared nearer
+      he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He slowed his
+      stride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Burt Jones live here?&rdquo; he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?&rdquo; replied Jones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands
+      up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the
+      river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after
+      dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?&rdquo; exclaimed Jones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A new one on me,&rdquo; replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor
+      tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross
+      anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he
+      must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without
+      bloodshed,&rdquo; observed Duane. &ldquo;Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about this,
+      Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer things.
+      Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his intentions, his
+      presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you hit the road and put
+      some miles between you the amiable Captain before daylight. To-morrow I'll
+      go out there and ask him what in the devil he meant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That messenger he sent&mdash;he was a ranger,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing you
+      that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that. Pretty
+      odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark
+      rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane
+      back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into
+      swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of mesquite,
+      dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a little grass. Here he
+      staked his horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a pillow, his
+      saddle-blanket for covering, he went to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days he
+      paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And in each
+      some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made Duane
+      profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call upon
+      these friends and left this message, &ldquo;Tell Buck Duane to ride into Captain
+      MacNelly's camp some time after night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new
+      ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill Buck
+      Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse, the
+      daring of which might appeal to certain outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it did not,
+      however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a
+      hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Here he
+      heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never but once
+      ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had been compelled to
+      shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the few ranchers and
+      their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both outlaws and Mexican
+      raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these ranchers. Being
+      unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed on into the heart of
+      this district, when all the time he really believed he was traveling
+      around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberate attempt to kill
+      him because he was an unknown rider in those parts, discovered to Duane
+      his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuaded him to return to his
+      old methods of hiding by day and traveling by night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering much
+      ground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice he came
+      to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick as
+      chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided
+      must be the lower Nueces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw the
+      lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unable to
+      because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to the outskirts
+      of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go round to the right.
+      Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so it was well after
+      midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or more then by
+      daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a road which appeared
+      to be well worn from travel. He passed several thickets where he would
+      have halted to hide during the day but for the fact that he had to find
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or
+      clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So he
+      kept on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here and
+      there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he
+      mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he could not
+      see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which was
+      down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse
+      heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough to
+      reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more, a
+      little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump of
+      cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of men facing him, and two dark, limp,
+      strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never before
+      found himself so unpleasantly close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hoarse voice pealed out: &ldquo;By hell! there's another one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!&rdquo; yelled another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be continuous. Duane
+      was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left
+      forearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightened
+      horse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the
+      road saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet steed
+      wend down the long hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief
+      concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the bones
+      were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was
+      an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,
+      Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand
+      tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more
+      coming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a
+      quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane needed
+      only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-riding cowboys in
+      a land where all riders were good. They would not have owned any but
+      strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers had
+      suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws. Duane
+      had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynching party at a
+      time of all times when any stranger would be in danger and any outlaw put
+      to his limit to escape with his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy piece of
+      ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon his pursuers.
+      When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to check a little
+      that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big, strong, fast;
+      but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test. And that worried
+      Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep one horse very long at a
+      time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had only one plan&mdash;the only plan possible in this case&mdash;and
+      that was to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in
+      the willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, and
+      this was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closely
+      pressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+      little in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It was
+      decidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane pondered
+      over this, looking backward several times to see if their horses were
+      stretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only one reason
+      presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with him headed
+      straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to force the
+      running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road turning off to
+      right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted and yucca-spired
+      country extended away on either side. Duane believed that he would be
+      compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was certain&mdash;he had
+      to go round the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the
+      village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes
+      strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon
+      descried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to the fact
+      that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene. More
+      than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did not keep
+      them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see this new
+      factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a muttered curse,
+      he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There were
+      patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite, and he
+      found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was impossible
+      for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he decided, and
+      take to his tracks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right into
+      a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get a horse over. He
+      wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to a
+      harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of
+      mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poor
+      cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw moving
+      dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile away,
+      and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved that they had
+      entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts,
+      straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this was seemingly made
+      impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feel
+      cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an
+      outlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. But
+      reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless, the
+      strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward he lost
+      sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant now to try to
+      reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though still saving him for
+      a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus, washes&mdash;all
+      operated against his following a straight line. Almost he lost his
+      bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies had not good
+      fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-over stretch of
+      ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within
+      gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horse
+      into that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never had Duane
+      bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about to accomplish
+      the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior to any horse in
+      pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough to spare a little
+      in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly terrorized, he kept the
+      pace through thickets that almost tore Duane from his saddle. Something
+      weighty and grim eased off Duane. He was going to get out in front! The
+      horse had speed, fire, stamina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here,
+      right in his path, within pistol-range, stood horsemen waiting. They
+      yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his
+      horse&mdash;faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing his
+      ground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figures hanging
+      from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw than do
+      anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. His horror of
+      hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion compared to his
+      gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duane
+      could scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across his
+      eyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of the
+      nearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did they shoot at
+      him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have been the cracking of
+      dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he handled the rein
+      with his right; and most of the time he hung low over the pommel. The gray
+      walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rush of wind, the heavy,
+      rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of his horse&mdash;these vied in
+      sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the rack of his wound, the
+      cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also was dull, raging fury. He
+      had to run when he wanted to fight. It took all his mind to force back
+      that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers, of this race for his useless
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long stretch
+      of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled his horse
+      upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out in front.
+      His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of breaking.
+      Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers&mdash;he could not count how many&mdash;were
+      loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them, and with
+      teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from corrals,
+      and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher running, and he
+      felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in the chase. Duane's
+      steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a lack of former
+      smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride which showed he
+      was almost done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner than
+      he expected. Then he made a discovery&mdash;he had entered the zone of
+      wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to ride
+      through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers were half
+      a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to intercept him in
+      his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and began to
+      labor. Duane did not believe he would last long enough to go through the
+      village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means
+      new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in his
+      heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the place,
+      and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was about to get
+      into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a foot in the
+      stirrup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine's done&mdash;but not killed,&rdquo; he panted. &ldquo;Trade with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,&rdquo; drawled the man. &ldquo;But
+      ain't you a little swift?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Duane&mdash;Buck Duane,&rdquo; he cried, menacingly. &ldquo;Will you trade?
+      Hurry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I'll trade,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snorted in
+      fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane flashed
+      by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But the road
+      ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for he had
+      ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert. When he
+      reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find six
+      horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high
+      sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see
+      extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it was to
+      his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his
+      hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to the
+      dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn beast
+      into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane cared to
+      risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So he
+      had to abandon the horse&mdash;a circumstance that only such sore straits
+      could have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the narrow
+      aisles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers
+      piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into
+      the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!&rdquo; called one, evidently to the man Duane had
+      forced into a trade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',&rdquo;
+       replied a voice from the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,&rdquo; said the first speaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS
+      BUCK DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a
+      rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can't git across the river, I tell you,&rdquo; came to Duane's ears. &ldquo;He's
+      corralled in the brake. I know thet hole.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no
+      more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading a
+      passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and
+      nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied by
+      an Indian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas
+      ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.
+      Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the
+      willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
+      an inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above, these
+      wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray and
+      yellow&mdash;a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were a
+      few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries&mdash;the
+      jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was clay and unusually dry,
+      sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a growth
+      of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there usually
+      was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender poles with
+      stems so close together that they almost touched, and with the leafy
+      foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake Duane had
+      penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle of the day
+      the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the foliage, then
+      slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green mantle and danced
+      like gold on the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and likewise
+      he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always seemed to him
+      to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any unwounded
+      creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided under the
+      low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard to conceal
+      tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could hunt each
+      other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and never know it.
+      The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then, hunted men and
+      animals survived on very little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping in the
+      brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more hospitable.
+      Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river, Duane had his
+      doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put the river
+      between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to be favored,
+      as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the willows, he
+      slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There were narrow aisles
+      and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by animals, all of which
+      he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling, stooping any way to get
+      along. To keep in a straight line was not easy&mdash;he did it by marking
+      some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and when he reached it looked
+      straight on to mark another. His progress necessarily grew slower, for as
+      he advanced the brake became wilder, denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to
+      whine about his head. He kept on without pause. Deepening shadows under
+      the willows told him that the afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear
+      he had wandered in a wrong direction. Finally a strip of light ahead
+      relieved his anxiety, and after a toilsome penetration of still denser
+      brush he broke through to the bank of the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank
+      extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance the
+      futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish
+      water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all
+      quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He
+      could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+      solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked
+      down. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from the high
+      bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there apparently
+      was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any hope of
+      crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would be just the
+      same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the pole and
+      lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his way back to
+      where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on up-stream till
+      the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling around for a place big
+      enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time being he was as safe
+      there as he would have been beyond in the Rim Rock. He was tired, though
+      not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain in his arm he dropped at
+      once into sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly so thick and
+      heavy as to have substance blanketed the black willow brake. He could not
+      see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even his hand before his eyes. He
+      lay there waiting, listening, sure that he had been awakened by an unusual
+      sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the wilderness never disturbed his
+      rest. His faculties, like those of old fugitives and hunted creatures, had
+      become trained to a marvelous keenness. A long low breath of slow wind
+      moaned through the willows, passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast
+      trotted by him in the darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a
+      fox barked lonesomely in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken
+      his slumber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound. Quickly
+      Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made him aware of his
+      crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. Silence enfolded
+      him again, all the more oppressive and menacing in his suspense.
+      Bloodhounds had been put on his trail, and the leader was not far away.
+      All his life Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he knew that if
+      the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he would be held at
+      bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising to his feet, prepared
+      to flee as best he could, he waited to be sure of the direction he should
+      take.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, full-toned, ringing
+      bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant in its power. It caused a cold
+      sweat to ooze out all over Duane's body. He turned from it, and with his
+      uninjured arm outstretched to feel for the willows he groped his way
+      along. As it was impossible to pick out the narrow passages, he had to
+      slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding stems. He made such a
+      crashing that he no longer heard the baying of the hounds. He had no hope
+      to elude them. He meant to climb the first cottonwood that he stumbled
+      upon in his blind flight. But it appeared he never was going to be lucky
+      enough to run against one. Often he fell, sometimes flat, at others upheld
+      by the willows. What made the work so hard was the fact that he had only
+      one arm to open a clump of close-growing stems and his feet would catch or
+      tangle in the narrow crotches, holding him fast. He had to struggle
+      desperately. It was as if the willows were clutching hands, his enemies,
+      fiendishly impeding his progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches
+      and his flesh suffered many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept
+      on until he brought up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly exhausted as he had
+      ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn and burning, his breast
+      laboring, his legs stinging from innumerable bruises. While he leaned
+      there to catch his breath he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a long
+      time there was no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive him into
+      any hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a trail, and
+      others that ran mostly silent. The former were more valuable to their
+      owner and the latter more dangerous to the fugitive. Presently Duane's
+      ears were filled by a chorus of short ringing yelps. The pack had found
+      where he had slept, and now the trail was hot. Satisfied that they would
+      soon overtake him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood, which in his
+      condition was difficult of ascent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up,
+      and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
+      the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the brake,
+      and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these were
+      bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult on that
+      side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he imagined he saw
+      more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be sure. While he sat
+      there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds, the mist and the
+      gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded was east and meant
+      that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score, he descended to the
+      first branch of the tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so hopeless
+      as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and he would kill
+      them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of possibility that any
+      men could have followed running hounds through that brake in the night.
+      The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the bonfires. He had gathered
+      from the words of one of his pursuers that the brake was a kind of trap,
+      and he began to believe there was only one way out of it, and that was
+      along the bank where he had entered, and where obviously all night long
+      his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further conjecture on this point,
+      however, was interrupted by a crashing in the willows and the rapid patter
+      of feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the ground,
+      nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would not be needed
+      to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush through the
+      willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above crash of brush
+      and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's pursuers far off to
+      the south would hear that and know what it meant. And at daybreak, perhaps
+      before, they would take a short cut across the brake, guided by the baying
+      of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
+      vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
+      had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually the
+      obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of the
+      hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader of the
+      pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That stopped
+      the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and fled, its
+      course easily marked by the howls of the crippled members. Duane reloaded
+      his gun, and, making certain all the hounds had gone, he descended to the
+      ground and set off at a rapid pace to the northward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his first halt
+      some miles north of the scene where he had waited for the hounds. A
+      barrier to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky bluff, rose
+      sheer from the willow brake. He skirted the base of the cliff, where
+      walking was comparatively easy, around in the direction of the river. He
+      reached the end finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape
+      from the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by some
+      hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where he could fill
+      his sombrero with water. After quenching his thirst he had a look at his
+      wound. It was caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off the arm was
+      seen to be inflamed and swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed it,
+      experiencing a soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged it as
+      best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated the pain
+      of the injured member and held it in a quiet and restful position, where
+      it had a chance to begin mending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His great strength
+      and endurance had always made fatigue something almost unknown to him.
+      However, tramping on foot day and night was as unusual to him as to any
+      other riders of the Southwest, and it had begun to tell on him. Retracing
+      his steps, he reached the point where he had abruptly come upon the bluff,
+      and here he determined to follow along its base in the other direction
+      until he found a way out or discovered the futility of such effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to listen. But
+      he was always listening, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness had
+      become second nature with him, so that except in extreme cases of caution
+      he performed it while he pondered his gloomy and fateful situation. Such
+      habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was facing south.
+      The bluff had petered out from a high, mountainous wall to a low abutment
+      of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough nature and afforded no
+      crack or slope where quick ascent could have been possible. He pushed on,
+      growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding that as he neared
+      the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper into the willows. In
+      the afternoon he reached a point where he could see men pacing to and fro
+      on the bluff. This assured him that whatever place was guarded was one by
+      which he might escape. He headed toward these men and approached to within
+      a hundred paces of the bluff where they were. There were several men and
+      several boys, all armed and, after the manner of Texans, taking their task
+      leisurely. Farther down Duane made out black dots on the horizon of the
+      bluff-line, and these he concluded were more guards stationed at another
+      outlet. Probably all the available men in the district were on duty.
+      Texans took a grim pleasure in such work. Duane remembered that upon
+      several occasions he had served such duty himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the land. For
+      several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He took stock of those
+      careless guards. They had rifles, and that made vain any attempt to pass
+      them in daylight. He believed an attempt by night might be successful; and
+      he was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there till dark and then
+      try it, when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards on the
+      bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he was lustily
+      true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together and begin to talk
+      excitedly and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him to slip away
+      under the willows. He made no noise, and he assured himself he must be
+      invisible. Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of rifles, and
+      bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The day was hot
+      and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he touched a willow stem,
+      even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent a quiver among the
+      leaves. Through this the guards had located his position. Once a bullet
+      hissed by him; another thudded into the ground before him. This shooting
+      loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from these men, and he hated them
+      and himself because of it. Always in the fury of such moments he wanted to
+      give back shot for shot. But he slipped on through the willows, and at
+      length the rifles ceased to crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept on,
+      wondering what the next mile would bring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a hot
+      fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape with no more
+      than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
+      and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had come
+      down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the blockade
+      of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and after the
+      brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to creep out of
+      the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff, here only a
+      bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of a shadow when a
+      hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the willows was as
+      perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he had accomplished
+      it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles, he felt that he had
+      indeed been favored by Providence. This time men followed him a goodly
+      ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead through the willows sounded
+      on all sides of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his mind
+      clamped between two things&mdash;whether to try again to escape or wait
+      for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
+      intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape. He
+      had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
+      attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound him.
+      There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench decision
+      out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not yet. He
+      had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his run he
+      found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms of
+      vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low and
+      near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang and
+      hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered his
+      head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a long and
+      wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but in a
+      dreadful state of mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
+      but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish, and
+      therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed. That
+      morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting to cross
+      the river. If he could find a light log it was within the bounds of
+      possibility that he might ford the shallow water and bars of quicksand.
+      But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next night,
+      he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff; and every hour forced
+      upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass. There
+      arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers at the extreme southern
+      corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows, driven to what
+      he believed was his last stand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him! Let him
+      fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But these hunters, eager
+      as they were to get him, had care of their own skins. They took few risks.
+      They had him cornered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive, threatening storm.
+      Like a snake Duane crawled into a little space in the darkest part of the
+      thicket and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, from the river,
+      seemingly from all sides. But he heard voices only from in front and
+      toward his left. Even if his passage to the river had not been blocked, it
+      might just as well have been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on fellers&mdash;down hyar,&rdquo; called one man from the bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got him corralled at last,&rdquo; shouted another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,&rdquo; taunted
+      another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seen him, I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, thet was a deer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he's winged we needn't hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on thar, you boys,&rdquo; came a shout in authoritative tones from farther
+      up the bluff. &ldquo;Go slow. You-all air gittin' foolish at the end of a long
+      chase.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than
+      somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be huntin' us soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's surround this corner an' starve him out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the brake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear
+      his doom. This, then, was the end he had always expected, which had been
+      close to him before, yet never like now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God!&rdquo; whispered Duane, &ldquo;the thing for me to do now&mdash;is go out&mdash;meet
+      them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him. In that
+      moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die, that was the way
+      for him to die. What else could be expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
+      knees and drew his gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he held
+      what spare ammunition he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to
+      the edge of the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there was
+      a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had rifles. The
+      fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live on earth who could
+      make such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting them suddenly he
+      could kill a man for every shot in his gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate&mdash;to meet this
+      end. But when he tried to step forward something checked him. He forced
+      himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that opposed his will was as
+      insurmountable as it had been physically impossible for him to climb the
+      bluff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim and ghastly
+      dignity that had been his a moment before fell away from him. He lay there
+      stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He wondered was he afraid; had
+      he, the last of the Duanes&mdash;had he come to feel fear? No! Never in
+      all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet men face to face. It
+      was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding, this eternal
+      vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the situation was
+      that if he went out to meet these men there was absolutely no doubt of his
+      doom. If he clung to his covert there was a chance, a merest chance, for
+      his life. These pursuers, dogged and unflagging as they had been, were
+      mortally afraid of him. It was his fame that made them cowards. Duane's
+      keenness told him that at the very darkest and most perilous moment there
+      was still a chance for him. And the blood in him, the temper of his
+      father, the years of his outlawry, the pride of his unsought and hated
+      career, the nameless, inexplicable something in him made him accept that
+      slim chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the burning
+      sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe, sweating and bleeding. His
+      uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his flesh. Blotched and
+      swollen from the never-ending attack of flies and mosquitoes his face
+      seemed twice its natural size, and it ached and stung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the old hell,
+      terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought and
+      imagination had never been so swift. If death found him presently, how
+      would it come? Would he get decent burial or be left for the peccaries and
+      the coyotes? Would his people ever know where he had fallen? How wretched,
+      how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was monstrous for him to
+      cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in his heart, the hellish
+      hate of these men on his trail&mdash;that was like a scourge. He felt no
+      longer human. He had degenerated into an animal that could think. His
+      heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved; and this internal strife
+      seemed to thunder into his ears. He was now enacting the tragedy of all
+      crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in their dens. Only his tragedy
+      was infinitely more terrible because he had mind enough to see his plight,
+      his resemblance to a lonely wolf, bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling,
+      fire-eyed in a last instinctive defiance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching, listening
+      intensity so supreme that it registered impressions which were creations
+      of his imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not there; he saw
+      shadowy moving figures that were only leaves. A hundred times when he was
+      about to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from a
+      distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other sounds real
+      enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real from the false. There
+      were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering breath
+      down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching army.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in itself
+      was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading clouds. A
+      storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air was like steam.
+      If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common though rare to the
+      country, Duane believed he might slip away in the fury of wind and rain.
+      Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged again. He hailed it with a
+      bitterness that was sickening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention. He heard
+      a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening in the
+      thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while that beast came into full
+      view was an age. The dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had a trail or a
+      scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the inevitable
+      discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him in that thicket.
+      Voices from outside could be heard urging on the dog. Rover they called
+      him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog entered the little shaded covert.
+      Duane expected a yelping, a baying, or at least a bark that would tell of
+      his hiding-place. A strange relief swiftly swayed over Duane. The end was
+      near now. He had no further choice. Let them come&mdash;a quick fierce
+      exchange of shots&mdash;and then this torture past! He waited for the dog
+      to give the alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a yelp.
+      Duane could not believe the evidence of his senses. He thought he had
+      suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to and fro
+      among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all sound from
+      him ceased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thar's Rover,&rdquo; called a voice from the bluff-side. &ldquo;He's been through
+      thet black patch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nary a rabbit in there,&rdquo; replied another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah! Thet pup's no good,&rdquo; scornfully growled another man. &ldquo;Put a hound at
+      thet clump of willows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching,
+      listening spell. After all, it was not to end just now. His chance still
+      persisted&mdash;looked a little brighter&mdash;led him on, perhaps, to
+      forlorn hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else
+      Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be caused by the approaching
+      storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder still
+      muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at
+      this time of overcast sky night was at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He would yet
+      elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he seized the significance of
+      all these fortunate circumstances which had aided him. Without haste and
+      without sound he began to crawl in the direction of the river. It was not
+      far, and he reached the bank before darkness set in. There were men up on
+      the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he half yielded
+      to a temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close in under the
+      willows. But when he raised himself to peer out he saw that an attempt of
+      this kind would be liable to failure. At the same moment he saw a
+      rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged against some willows. The end
+      of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him. Quick as a flash
+      he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he tied his gun in an
+      oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to splash
+      into the water. There was a willow growing back some few feet from the
+      edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over the water so
+      that when he released it there would be no springing back. Then he trusted
+      his weight to it, with his feet sliding carefully down the bank. He went
+      into the water almost up to his knees, felt the quicksand grip his feet;
+      then, leaning forward till he reached the plank, he pulled it toward him
+      and lay upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end
+      appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows. Very carefully
+      then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand. It
+      seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a movement
+      upward, and he pulled with all the power he dared use. It came slowly and
+      at length was free. The left one he released with less difficulty. The
+      next few moments he put all his attention on the plank to ascertain if his
+      weight would sink it into the sand. The far end slipped off the willows
+      with a little splash and gradually settled to rest upon the bottom. But it
+      sank no farther, and Duane's greatest concern was relieved. However, as it
+      was manifestly impossible for him to keep his head up for long he
+      carefully crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an arm and
+      shoulder upon the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous with fires.
+      There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the bluff, another a hundred
+      paces beyond. A great flare extended over the brake in that direction.
+      Duane heard a roaring on the wind, and he knew his pursuers had fired the
+      willows. He did not believe that would help them much. The brake was dry
+      enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the bonfires he
+      discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood, were keeping up
+      the light with oil and stuff from the village. A dozen men kept watch on
+      the bluff scarcely fifty paces from where Duane lay concealed by the
+      willows. They talked, cracked jokes, sang songs, and manifestly considered
+      this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the bright light lasted Duane
+      dared not move. He had the patience and the endurance to wait for the
+      breaking of the storm, and if that did not come, then the early hour
+      before dawn when the gray fog and gloom were over the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he
+      waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of withstanding any
+      strain endurable by the human frame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the willows,
+      carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down over the river, and
+      lightning began to flash. Then the rain fell in heavy sheets, but not
+      steadily. The flashes of lightning and the broad flares played so
+      incessantly that Duane could not trust himself out on the open river.
+      Certainly the storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on the
+      bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain and cramp
+      and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it had come, and the long
+      night set in. There were times when Duane thought he was paralyzed, others
+      when he grew sick, giddy, weak from the strained posture. The first paling
+      of the stars quickened him with a kind of wild joy. He watched them grow
+      paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow hovered down, rested upon
+      the river, and gradually thickened. The bonfire on the bluff showed as
+      through a foggy veil. The watchers were mere groping dark figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction, began to
+      move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at length overcame a
+      paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the sand and holding the
+      plank with his knees, he edged it out into the river. Inch by inch he
+      advanced until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy
+      figures of the men on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him, feared
+      that they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+      heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a little gurgle
+      and splash in the water. Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It
+      got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking
+      sound. There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered
+      straight advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the bang
+      of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look backward, but
+      failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving shadows a little
+      darker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling. Bringing
+      feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place. This way he
+      made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping
+      him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with
+      the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred patches of light.
+      But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit and
+      waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and when at last he
+      discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save
+      him. He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed
+      north through the willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he
+      reached familiar country and found a rancher who had before befriended
+      him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a couple
+      of weeks he was himself again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his friend
+      reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles south, near
+      the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain cross-road a reward
+      for Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had
+      never seen one. His friend's reluctance and refusal to state for what
+      particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's curiosity. He had
+      never been any closer to Shirley than this rancher's home. Doubtless some
+      post-office burglary, some gun-shooting scrape had been attributed to him.
+      And he had been accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride
+      over there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first time
+      he had ever deliberately hunted trouble. Introspection awarded him this
+      knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces and while
+      he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless
+      bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope. All the
+      power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back from his
+      fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be what
+      he was credited with being&mdash;that is to say, to embrace evil. He had
+      never committed a crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? He
+      reasoned finally that the desperation of crime had been forced upon him,
+      if not its motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+      possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable actions
+      of certain noted outlaws&mdash;why they had returned to the scene of the
+      crime that had outlawed them; why they took such strangely fatal chances;
+      why life was no more to them than a breath of wind; why they rode straight
+      into the jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting rangers,
+      vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such bitterness as this
+      that drove these men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green fields
+      and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be Shirley. And
+      at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersecting road. There was a
+      placard nailed on the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and
+      leaned close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD OR
+      ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded print, Duane learned
+      that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff Aiken at her ranch near
+      Shirley. The month September was named, but the date was illegible. The
+      reward was offered by the woman's husband, whose name appeared with that
+      of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the
+      horror of his fate, wild with passion at those misguided fools who could
+      believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland, and, as
+      always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had
+      gone abroad that he had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to
+      fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often. Probably he bore
+      on his shoulders a burden of numberless crimes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm shakes
+      the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with clouded brow and piercing
+      eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight toward the
+      village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of some
+      railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by trees and
+      commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick. A large plaza
+      shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central location.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting,
+      before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a
+      spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of lazy
+      shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such placid,
+      lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their attitude so
+      swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for
+      an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them recognized
+      him, had a hint of his identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Buck Duane,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I saw that placard&mdash;out there on a
+      sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
+      see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
+      he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was simple
+      enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were tears in his
+      eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to
+      his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate. This
+      ignominy was the last straw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among these
+      villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the shuffle of
+      rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked his gun from its
+      holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf,
+      confronted him with his own gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!&rdquo; he roared, waving the gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
+      his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
+      not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt man,
+      and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy. He made
+      no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him,
+      emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of his
+      arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even if
+      Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from his
+      saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old men,
+      cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew. The
+      increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of girls
+      ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got to
+      Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of them
+      lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the
+      racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little time
+      before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up, will you-all?&rdquo; he was yelling. &ldquo;Give us a chance to hear
+      somethin'. Easy now&mdash;soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt.
+      Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
+      personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, put the gun down,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It might go off. Here, give it to me.
+      Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking
+      hand and pointed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet thar feller&mdash;he's Buck Duane!&rdquo; he panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!&rdquo; cried an
+      excited villager.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane! Buck Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hang him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cowboy silenced these cries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?&rdquo; he asked, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;he said so,&rdquo; replied the man called Abe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; came the exclamation, incredulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a tarnal fact,&rdquo; panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was an
+      old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his deed.
+      &ldquo;He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off, says he
+      was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring as
+      the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had
+      restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope
+      over his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up with him!&rdquo; screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,&rdquo; ordered Abe's
+      interlocutor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former
+      statement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?&rdquo; bluntly
+      queried the cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;he set down thar&mdash;an' he kind of hid his face on his hand.
+      An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates
+      likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Buck Duane, all right.&rdquo; said Duane, quietly. &ldquo;It was this way&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left
+      his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out
+      in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out a
+      powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
+      ought to know that. You mean it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters?
+      Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad,
+      huh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a
+      little off his head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an'
+      all his doings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did.
+      That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward.
+      Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed
+      for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to
+      send for Jeff Aiken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?&rdquo;
+       queried the cowboy in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess that's it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or
+      what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen
+      him onct would never forget him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want to see Aiken for?&rdquo; asked the cowboy Sibert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I'm innocent, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you; what
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he won't believe me&mdash;why, then my case's so bad&mdash;I'd be
+      better off dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,&rdquo; replied a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out
+      above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a number
+      of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with hard faces,
+      like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these seemed
+      agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances
+      upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck. Women were
+      more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed
+      fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old women who
+      were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's
+      wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A
+      soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,&rdquo; called a man, loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart
+      build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Jeff,&rdquo; he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He spoke
+      so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's face.
+      At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken and Sibert
+      were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many
+      bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands&mdash;again the insane tumult was
+      about to break out&mdash;the demand for an outlaw's blood, the call for a
+      wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's bloody soil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat
+      and cuffed in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeff, will you listen?&rdquo; broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the other
+      man's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of
+      themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that
+      dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of
+      bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of death
+      he felt it then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure this 's your game, Aiken,&rdquo; said Sibert. &ldquo;But hear me a minute.
+      Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck Duane. He seen the
+      placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shirley. He says he's Buck
+      Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff Aiken. That's all clear enough. You know
+      how these gunfighters go lookin' for trouble. But here's what stumps me.
+      Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe Strickland grab his
+      gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives me some strange talk
+      about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's innocent, he'd better be
+      dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't drunk or crazy or locoed. He
+      doesn't strike me as a man who rode in here huntin' blood. So I reckon
+      you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his gaze
+      upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to passion.
+      Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have judge him in
+      a critical moment like this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's, &ldquo;I'm Buck
+      Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into outlawry.
+      I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed men to save my
+      own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode thirty miles
+      to-day&mdash;deliberately to see what this reward was, who made it, what
+      for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of my soul. So I
+      rode in here to find you&mdash;to tell you this: I never saw Shirley
+      before to-day. It was impossible for me to have&mdash;killed your wife.
+      Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper Nueces.
+      I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't murder a woman.
+      I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my hands. It's just
+      that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons you have for holding
+      me responsible. I only know&mdash;you're wrong. You've been deceived. And
+      see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man. I'm about broken, I
+      guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything. If you can't look me
+      in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I say&mdash;why, by God! you can
+      kill me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken heaved a great breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't matter.
+      You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear. The thing is
+      we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my wife's
+      assailant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody&mdash;you, Sibert&mdash;go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
+      voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he did
+      not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which might
+      be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image of
+      a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
+      Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then
+      he fetched her closer to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?&rdquo; asked Aiken, huskily
+      and low. &ldquo;Is he the one&mdash;who came in the house that day&mdash;struck
+      you down&mdash;and dragged mama&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken's voice failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
+      sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
+      moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence&mdash;of suspense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's ain't him!&rdquo; cried the child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
+      bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,&rdquo; burst out
+      the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. &ldquo;You-all are a lot of wise
+      rangers. Haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like again.
+      And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane's
+      named for&mdash;which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's his
+      hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the horse,
+      which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a lift as he
+      went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say&mdash;hit that road quick!&rdquo; he
+      said, frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they
+      escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn to
+      follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously
+      probably, he still held the gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, a word with you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I believe you're not so black as
+      you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this,
+      anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not,&rdquo; replied Duane, in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,&rdquo; went on Aiken, hurriedly.
+      &ldquo;He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him&mdash;argued
+      with him. We almost had hard words over it. Now&mdash;I'm sorry. The last
+      thing he said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my
+      camp after dark!' He meant something strange. What&mdash;I can't say. But
+      he was right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed
+      you. Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever.
+      Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics.
+      I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you further as he did
+      this day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long, Buck!&rdquo; called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over
+      his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the
+      sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of
+      decision in favor of that direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt up
+      Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain. In
+      Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out
+      of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be
+      Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village
+      limits on the other side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival.
+      Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared to
+      the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern Texas. As
+      Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street, he heard the
+      tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as
+      Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to
+      make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness.
+      Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a
+      grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding
+      darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+      horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who goes there?&rdquo; came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One man&mdash;alone,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm trying to find the ranger camp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've struck it. What's your errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to see Captain MacNelly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can
+      see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He
+      saw a dully bright object&mdash;a gun&mdash;before he discovered the man
+      who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail.
+      Here Duane halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,&rdquo; the guard ordered,
+      curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light
+      from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business
+      with the Captain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp&mdash;after
+      dark,&rdquo; finally said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had
+      been alert, and now it became tense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, one of you men, quick,&rdquo; he called, without turning in the
+      least toward the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! What's up, Pickens?&rdquo; came the swift reply. It was followed by a
+      rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
+      the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
+      Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
+      second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peaceful&mdash;friendly
+      if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come here&mdash;after dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the
+      camp-fire heard what he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,&rdquo; replied an authoritative voice.
+      Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
+      camp-fire and hurried out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better be foxy, Cap,&rdquo; shouted a ranger, in warning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up&mdash;all of you,&rdquo; was the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers who
+      were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm MacNelly,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you're my man, don't mention your name&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
+      happened lately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met Jeff Aiken to-day,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;He sent me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've met Aiken!&rdquo; exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. &ldquo;By all that's
+      bully!&rdquo; Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers slowly withdrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane! It's you?&rdquo; he whispered, eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I give my word you'll not be arrested&mdash;you'll be treated fairly&mdash;will
+      you come into camp and consult with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,&rdquo; went on MacNelly; and he extended his
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand
+      and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet
+      you,&rdquo; said Duane, soberly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
+      present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pickers, go back on duty,&rdquo; he ordered, &ldquo;and, Beeson, you look after this
+      horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
+      the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
+      the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small
+      adobe house at one side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk,&rdquo; said
+      MacNelly. &ldquo;I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
+      hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
+      before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way he could
+      account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that MacNelly hoped
+      to get useful information out of him. Still that would hardly have made
+      this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and Duane could scarcely
+      wait for it to be solved. While eating he had bent keen eyes around him.
+      After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no more attention
+      to him. They were all veterans in service&mdash;Duane saw that&mdash;and
+      rugged, powerful men of iron constitution. Despite the occasional joke and
+      sally of the more youthful members, and a general conversation of
+      camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about the fact that his advent
+      had been an unusual and striking one, which had caused an undercurrent of
+      conjecture and even consternation among them. These rangers were too well
+      trained to appear openly curious about their captain's guest. If they had
+      not deliberately attempted to be oblivious of his presence Duane would
+      have concluded they thought him an ordinary visitor, somehow of use to
+      MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense that must have been due to a
+      hint of his identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in and have a chair,&rdquo; said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
+      occupant of the room to rise. &ldquo;Leave us, Russell, and close the door. I'll
+      be through these reports right off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen in
+      the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
+      dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong, yet
+      not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers, fussed
+      with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up he pushed
+      a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to smoke he took a
+      cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then, settling back in
+      his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to hide what must have
+      been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years,&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane smiled a little&mdash;a smile that felt strange on his face. He had
+      never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more than ordinarily
+      difficult.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly must have felt that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
+      changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've lots to say, but where to begin,&rdquo; he mused. &ldquo;Duane, you've had a
+      hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met you before, don't know
+      what you looked like as a boy. But I can see what&mdash;well, even ranger
+      life isn't all roses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?&rdquo; he asked, abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never a word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not one,&rdquo; replied Duane, sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately your
+      mother, sister, uncle&mdash;all your folks, I believe&mdash;were well.
+      I've kept posted. But haven't heard lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his
+      throat, and then said, &ldquo;It's worth what I went through to-day to hear
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war&mdash;but
+      let's get down to the business of this meeting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to see
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three times, I remember,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't you hunt me up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take a
+      dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was natural, I suppose,&rdquo; went on MacNelly. &ldquo;You didn't know me,
+      otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you. But
+      the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious. Duane,
+      you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border.
+      But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his
+      infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also. But I've found hundreds of men
+      in southwest Texas who're your friends, who swear you never committed a
+      crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes. What I want to
+      know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal? Tell me the
+      truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan. And when I say
+      crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable Texan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That way my hands are clean,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when you
+      needed him bad&mdash;never anything like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I'm damn glad!&rdquo; MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. &ldquo;Glad
+      for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
+      Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
+      existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
+      probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what kept me on the dodge all these years,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo; MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and glittered.
+      The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned closer to
+      Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to this,&rdquo; he whispered, hoarsely. &ldquo;If I place a pardon in your
+      hand&mdash;make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
+      infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you&mdash;will you swear
+      yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
+      MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; burst from Duane. &ldquo;What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
+      earnest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
+      do you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
+      outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
+      Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
+      fugitive mounting assurance of victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
+      sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness. He
+      held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men unconsciously
+      give in moments of stress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
+      fumbled for another cigar&mdash;he had bitten the other into shreds&mdash;and,
+      lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He had
+      the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable cost. His
+      next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and extract from
+      it several folded papers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's your pardon from the Governor,&rdquo; he said, quietly. &ldquo;You'll see,
+      when you look it over, that it's conditional. When you sign this paper I
+      have here the condition will be met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along a
+      dotted line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It was
+      with difficulty that he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane&mdash;how
+      strange the name looked!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gunfighter,&rdquo; said
+      MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane's fingers and
+      wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. Then with a smile he
+      handed it to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's it!&rdquo; burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+      bewilderment. &ldquo;You want me for ranger service?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. That's it,&rdquo; replied the Captain, dryly. &ldquo;Now to hear what that
+      service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as you
+      may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you that
+      political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a good
+      deal of friction in the Department of State in regard to whether or not
+      the ranger service is any good&mdash;whether it should be discontinued or
+      not. I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I contend
+      that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce
+      results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break up
+      the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there yet
+      because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant I needed. You, of course,
+      are the man I had in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio Grande and
+      begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw of the times.
+      He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang who are operating on
+      the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's my private opinion, but it's
+      not been backed up by any evidence. Cheseldine doesn't leave evidences.
+      He's intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have seen him&mdash;to know
+      what he looks like. I assume, of course, that you are a stranger to the
+      country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of your ground. There's
+      a little town over there called Fairdale. It's the nest of a rustler gang.
+      They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who the leader is. I want you
+      to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is best you will proceed to act
+      upon. You are your own boss. You know such men and how they can be
+      approached. You will take all the time needed, if it's months. It will be
+      necessary for you to communicate with me, and that will be a difficult
+      matter. For Cheseldine dominates several whole counties. You must find
+      some way to let me know when I and my rangers are needed. The plan is to
+      break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest job on the border. Arresting
+      him alone isn't to be heard of. He couldn't be brought out. Killing him
+      isn't much better, for his select men, the ones he operates with, are as
+      dangerous to the community as he is. We want to kill or jail this choice
+      selection of robbers and break up the rest of the gang. To find them, to
+      get among them somehow, to learn their movements, to lay your trap for us
+      rangers to spring&mdash;that, Duane, is your service to me, and God knows
+      it's a great one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have accepted it,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no one
+      except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off the job.
+      You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to acquaint Texas
+      with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's no date on that
+      paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the service. Perhaps we
+      can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry has really been good
+      service to the state. At that, I'll believe it'll turn out so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his
+      brows together in a dark frown, and went on. &ldquo;No man on the border knows
+      so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a thousand to one
+      that you'll be killed. I'd say there was no chance at all for any other
+      man beside you. Your reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe that
+      and your nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping so. But
+      it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's not the point,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;But in case I get killed out there&mdash;what&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave that to me,&rdquo; interrupted Captain MacNelly. &ldquo;Your folks will know at
+      once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you lose your life out there
+      I'll see your name cleared&mdash;the service you render known. You can
+      rest assured of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am satisfied,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;That's so much more than I've dared to
+      hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll start
+      as soon as you like&mdash;the sooner the better. I hope to think of other
+      suggestions, especially about communicating with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased round
+      the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring into the blackness,
+      marveling over the strange events of the day. He was humble, grateful to
+      the depths of his soul. A huge and crushing burden had been lifted from
+      his heart. He welcomed this hazardous service to the man who had saved
+      him. Thought of his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his home, of old
+      friends came rushing over him the first time in years that he had
+      happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them would now be
+      removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life of the past, and its
+      probable tragic end in future service as atonement changed their aspects.
+      And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming the
+      vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated in the
+      blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to
+      breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting and
+      stamping of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out of his blankets
+      and made good use of the soap and towel and razor and brush near by on a
+      bench&mdash;things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The face he
+      saw in the mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so hard to
+      recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the
+      ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fellows,&rdquo; said MacNelly, &ldquo;shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret
+      ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you all hump soon! Mind
+      you, keep mum about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth of which
+      he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their
+      ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain
+      hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in their
+      welcome to show Duane their respect and appreciation, while not forgetting
+      his lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that circle, now one
+      of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike straight
+      for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then go to Valentine.
+      That's near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge of the Rim
+      Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the north is
+      the town Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the rocks. Only
+      after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border towns on his
+      staff, or scared of him, and these places we want to know about,
+      especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin. I don't have
+      to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Ride a hundred, two
+      hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll start at once,&rdquo; he said, extending his hand to the Captain. &ldquo;I wish&mdash;I'd
+      like to thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hell, man! Don't thank me!&rdquo; replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered
+      hand. &ldquo;I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're
+      another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by
+      Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing. No,
+      not good-by&mdash;Adios, Duane! May we meet again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      BOOK II. THE RANGER
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region, barren in the
+      north where the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile in the
+      south along the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course across
+      five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and towns lay on
+      or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western Texas, and
+      despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the pioneers
+      pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; then his
+      neighbors in near and far valleys; then the hamlets; at last the railroad
+      and the towns. And still the pioneers came, spreading deeper into the
+      valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was mesquite-dotted,
+      cactus-covered desert, but rich soil upon which water acted like magic.
+      There was little grass to an acre, but there were millions of acres. The
+      climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and ranchers prospered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a
+      thousand miles, and then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north, to
+      make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut across
+      this bend, and all that country bounded on the north by the railroad and
+      on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains. It contained
+      not one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as if to isolate it,
+      stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount Ord, Cathedral Mount, and
+      Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks above their fellows. In the valleys of
+      the foothills and out across the plains were ranches, and farther north
+      villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas was a
+      world in itself&mdash;a world where the riches of the rancher were ever
+      enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this
+      outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the dark
+      peak that loomed some miles to the south. It had been settled originally
+      by Mexicans&mdash;there were still the ruins of adobe missions&mdash;but
+      with the advent of the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants were shot or
+      driven away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and evil sway there
+      were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their choice between
+      holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or furnishing target practice for
+      that wild element.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in a
+      community where all men were remarkable for one reason or another he
+      excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and most engaging
+      attention&mdash;horses in that region being apparently more important than
+      men. This particular horse did not attract with beauty. At first glance he
+      seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough despite the care
+      manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body, ponderous of limb, huge in
+      every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand head. True, if only
+      his head had been seen he would have been a beautiful horse. Like men,
+      horses show what they are in the shape, the size, the line, the character
+      of the head. This one denoted fire, speed, blood, loyalty, and his eyes
+      were as soft and dark as a woman's. His face was solid black, except in
+      the middle of his forehead, where there was a round spot of white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?&rdquo; asked a ragged urchin, with born
+      love of a horse in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bullet,&rdquo; replied the rider.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?&rdquo; whispered the youngster to
+      another. &ldquo;Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican make, a
+      lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a tarpaulin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his horse. His
+      apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without vanity, and it was
+      torn and travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an intimate
+      acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, this man was a giant in stature,
+      but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking thing about
+      him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair white over the
+      temples. He packed two guns, both low down&mdash;but that was too common a
+      thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer, however, would
+      have noted a singular fact&mdash;this rider's right hand was more bronzed,
+      more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove on that right
+      hand!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide,
+      high-boarded front the sign, &ldquo;Hotel.&rdquo; There were horsemen coming and going
+      down the wide street between its rows of old stores, saloons, and houses.
+      Ord certainly did not look enterprising. Americans had manifestly
+      assimilated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel had a wide
+      platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk. Upon it, and
+      leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages, most of them
+      slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were booted, belted,
+      and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all wore vests. The guns in
+      that group would have outnumbered the men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature did not
+      appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and boisterous kind natural
+      to the cowboy or rancher in town for a day. These men were idlers; what
+      else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this arriving
+      stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an atmosphere never
+      associated with work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely detached
+      himself from the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, stranger,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and
+      nodded. Then: &ldquo;I'm thirsty!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting. One
+      and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark,
+      ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head. A
+      bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Line up, gents,&rdquo; said the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and oaths
+      and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear so
+      thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the
+      motions, he did not drink at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Jim Fletcher,&rdquo; said the tall man with the drooping, sandy
+      mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that showed
+      he expected to be known. Something went with that name. The stranger did
+      not appear to be impressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name might be Blazes, but it ain't,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;What do you call
+      this burg?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes, clear as
+      crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded
+      close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise,
+      according to how the tall interrogator marked the new-comer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it?
+      Funny trails hereabouts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How fur was you goin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon I was goin' as far as I could,&rdquo; replied the stranger, with a
+      hard laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the men
+      exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed
+      thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place,&rdquo; he said, presently. &ldquo;Sure you've heerd
+      of the Big Bend country?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it,&rdquo; replied the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. &ldquo;Knell, come
+      in heah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than a
+      boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless
+      face, thin and sharp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell, this heah's&mdash;&rdquo; Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. &ldquo;What'd you
+      call yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless,
+      indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present knew, that this show
+      of Fletcher's, this pretense of introduction, was merely talk while he was
+      looked over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+      relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than he had
+      appeared upon the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any business here?&rdquo; he queried, curtly. When he spoke his expressionless
+      face was in strange contrast with the ring, the quality, the cruelty of
+      his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of friendliness, of
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; replied the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Know anybody hereabouts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nary one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jest ridin' through?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slopin' fer back country, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and
+      drew himself up disdainfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down here in
+      this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes&mdash;I am in on the
+      dodge,&rdquo; he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From west of Ord&mdash;out El Paso way, mebbe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A-huh! Thet so?&rdquo; Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. &ldquo;You're
+      from way down the river. Thet's what they say down there&mdash;'on the
+      dodge.'... Stranger, you're a liar!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving Knell
+      and the stranger in the center.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve.
+      Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger
+      suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before
+      manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him.
+      His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a compass-needle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I lied,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;so I ain't takin' offense at the way you called
+      me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one
+      of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are&mdash;go
+      ahead an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers
+      till they go fer theirs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the
+      least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here was metal which
+      rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight or
+      withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner
+      characteristic of only the genuine gunman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stranger, I pass,&rdquo; he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the
+      incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger, and
+      now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again&mdash;an' if you can't be
+      friendly, be careful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El Paso he
+      bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise outfitted
+      to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely he rode from town
+      to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk and his
+      occupation to the impression he wanted to make upon different people whom
+      he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman, a stock-buyer, a
+      boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the wild and
+      inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting into new
+      territory. He passed on leisurely because he wanted to learn the lay of
+      the country, the location of villages and ranches, the work, habit,
+      gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he came in contact.
+      The one subject most impelling to him&mdash;outlaws&mdash;he never
+      mentioned; but by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and cattle
+      story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In this game
+      time was of no moment; if necessary he would take years to accomplish his
+      task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it showed in the slow, wary
+      preparation. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced Knell he knew he had
+      reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on the fringe of the grazing
+      country, of doubtful honesty, from which, surely, winding trails led down
+      into that free and never-disturbed paradise of outlaws&mdash;the Big Bend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and several
+      other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and then, after having a
+      care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to a grove he
+      had marked, and there, well hidden, he prepared to spend the night. This
+      proceeding served a double purpose&mdash;he was safer, and the habit would
+      look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to see in him
+      the lone-wolf fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned
+      victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been; but
+      the inner life had tremendously changed. He could never become a happy
+      man, he could never shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had once
+      been his despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible for any
+      man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow strangely and
+      wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness of how
+      passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his former
+      infamy. The iron fetters no more threatened his hands; the iron door no
+      more haunted his dreams. He never forgot that he was free. Strangely, too,
+      along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force of
+      imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms. He never
+      called them outlaws&mdash;but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers,
+      criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, and
+      sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in
+      this ranger service, it was the old, terrible inherited killing instinct
+      lifting its hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure. He
+      dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving, yet
+      not improbably even more potent of new significance to life, was the
+      imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him from
+      place to place, to beat and spur and goad mercilessly in flight; now this
+      giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend, a brother,
+      a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden with an
+      intense appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years the
+      daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the ruddy
+      close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or willow brake
+      or deserted hut, had been hated because it augmented danger of pursuit,
+      because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding; now the dawn was
+      a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan, to remember, and
+      sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky&mdash;all were joys to him, somehow speaking
+      his freedom. For years the night had been a black space, during which he
+      had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to peer with cat-eyes through
+      gloom for the moving shape that ever pursued him; now the twilight and the
+      dusk and the shadows of grove and canyon darkened into night with its train
+      of stars, and brought him calm reflection of the day's happenings, of the
+      morrow's possibilities, perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old
+      phantoms, then sleep. For years canyons and valleys and mountains had been
+      looked at as retreats that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an
+      outlaw; now he saw these features of the great desert with something of
+      the eyes of the boy who had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against
+      the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared
+      itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder that
+      Duane gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in its corrugated
+      sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret stronghold of the
+      master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane had
+      heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, his
+      widely separated raids, of his flitting here and there like a
+      Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his
+      appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north,
+      riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been used
+      occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west, this
+      northern direction led him into totally unfamiliar country. While he
+      passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the future
+      he would know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced that way
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills gradually
+      leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing country, upon which till
+      noon of that day Duane did not see a herd of cattle or a ranch. About that
+      time he made out smoke from the railroad, and after a couple of hours'
+      riding he entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford. It was
+      the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated must have a
+      thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including Mexicans. He
+      decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for a while, being
+      the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he hitched his horse in
+      front of a store and leisurely set about studying Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions concerning
+      Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one long row of
+      saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane visited them
+      all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to that of the
+      old river camp of Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was forced upon
+      him that the farther west one traveled along the river the sparser the
+      respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard characters, and in
+      consequence the greater the element of lawlessness. Duane returned to his
+      lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's task of cleaning up the
+      Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he reflected, a company of
+      intrepid and quick-shooting rangers could have soon cleaned up this
+      Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and
+      wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had
+      penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning toward
+      companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel
+      Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no
+      comment about himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, it's all one to me,&rdquo; he said, blandly, waving his hand. &ldquo;I have
+      traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier and
+      just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion. You
+      might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El
+      Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not
+      have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was a
+      good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out
+      to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had
+      been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,&rdquo; said Colonel Webb. &ldquo;And
+      I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't want to
+      expiate my sins there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Colonel swore lustily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was
+      wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun, and
+      he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work to
+      offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws
+      alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs,
+      sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know anything about the service?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of men,
+      sir, and the salvation of Texas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice for
+      a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a while, and
+      of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit
+      from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that here was just the
+      kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen that he had been trying
+      to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to be agreeable and interesting;
+      and he saw presently that here was an opportunity to make a valuable
+      acquaintance, if not a friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a stranger in these parts,&rdquo; said Duane, finally. &ldquo;What is this outlaw
+      situation you speak of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just
+      wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
+      honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know, the
+      rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to get
+      rid of big bunches&mdash;that's the hard job. The gang operating between
+      here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where the
+      stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of it goes to
+      several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New Orleans, also
+      to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and Marfa and
+      Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray cattle out
+      in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and stragglers are
+      not rounded up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wholesale business, eh?&rdquo; remarked Duane. &ldquo;Who are these&mdash;er&mdash;big
+      stock-buyers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
+      penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
+      accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
+      freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
+      subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that any
+      man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
+      Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
+      person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine, and
+      those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in descriptions
+      of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to the outlaw only
+      further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as there was no one
+      who could identify him, so there was no one who could prove he had
+      actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the Big Bend country,
+      and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact remained there were no
+      eye-witnesses to connect any individual called Cheseldine with these deeds
+      of violence. But in striking contrast to this mystery was the person,
+      character, and cold-blooded action of Poggin and Knell, the chief's
+      lieutenants. They were familiar figures in all the towns within two
+      hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record, but as gunman with an
+      incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme. If Poggin had a friend no
+      one ever heard of him. There were a hundred stories of his nerve, his
+      wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for gambling, his love of a horse&mdash;his
+      cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out of his path any man that crossed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name,&rdquo; said Colonel Webb. &ldquo;Sometimes I
+      wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where does the brains of this
+      gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this border
+      pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and Knell. Of
+      all the thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the last twenty
+      years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down between the
+      Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many bad men. But I
+      doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane, ever equaled
+      Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, a little,&rdquo; replied Duane, quietly. &ldquo;I'm from southern Texas. Buck
+      Duane then is known out here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, man, where isn't his name known?&rdquo; returned Colonel Webb. &ldquo;I've kept
+      track of his record as I have all the others. Of course, Duane, being a
+      lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like Cheseldine. Out
+      here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible some of them. But
+      despite them a sort of romance clings to that Nueces outlaw. He's killed
+      three great outlaw leaders, I believe&mdash;Bland, Hardin, and the other I
+      forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had friends there. Bland had a
+      hard name at Del Rio.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?&rdquo;
+       inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men. I
+      understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties swear by him&mdash;secretly,
+      of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his head. His fame in
+      this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play and his enmity
+      toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I wish to God that
+      Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred pesos to see him and
+      Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how jealous these great
+      outlaws are of each other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed, all about them is singular,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;Has
+      Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's
+      unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock that's being
+      shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,
+      too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not heard
+      of at all for a spell. These lulls are pretty surely indicative of a big
+      storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer and
+      farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some people
+      who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the bank-robberies and
+      train-holdups during the last few years in this country. But that's poor
+      reasoning. The jobs have been too well done, too surely covered, to be the
+      work of greasers or ordinary outlaws.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will
+      the outlaw ever be driven out?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All the armies
+      in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that fifteen hundred miles
+      of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is enjoyed by these great
+      leaders, will sooner or later be past. The criminal element flock to the
+      Southwest. But not so thick and fast as the pioneers. Besides, the outlaws
+      kill themselves, and the ranchers are slowly rising in wrath, if not in
+      action. That will come soon. If they only had a leader to start the fight!
+      But that will come. There's talk of Vigilantes, the same hat were
+      organized in California and are now in force in Idaho. So far it's only
+      talk. But the time will come. And the days of Cheseldine and Poggin are
+      numbered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long trail was
+      growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new ideas. It came to
+      Duane in surprise that he was famous along the upper Rio Grande. Assuredly
+      he would not long be able to conceal his identity. He had no doubt that he
+      would soon meet the chiefs of this clever and bold rustling gang. He could
+      not decide whether he would be safer unknown or known. In the latter case
+      his one chance lay in the fatality connected with his name, in his power
+      to look it and act it. Duane had never dreamed of any sleuth-hound
+      tendency in his nature, but now he felt something like one. Above all
+      others his mind fixed on Poggin&mdash;Poggin the brute, the executor of
+      Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the gunman. This in itself was a
+      warning to Duane. He felt terrible forces at work within him. There was
+      the stern and indomitable resolve to make MacNelly's boast good to the
+      governor of the state&mdash;to break up Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was
+      not in Duane's mind before a strange grim and deadly instinct&mdash;which
+      he had to drive away for fear he would find in it a passion to kill
+      Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word to MacNelly, but for himself.
+      Had his father's blood and the hard years made Duane the kind of man who
+      instinctively wanted to meet Poggin? He was sworn to MacNelly's service,
+      and he fought himself to keep that, and that only, in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from Bradford
+      toward the north. There was a stage which made the journey twice a week.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale. He rode
+      leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the country. There
+      were few ranches. The farther he traveled the better grazing he
+      encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer herds of cattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that marked
+      the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had learned,
+      was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number of
+      loungers greeted him laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beat the stage in, hey?&rdquo; remarked one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There she comes now,&rdquo; said another. &ldquo;Joel shore is drivin' to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a lumbering
+      coach. When he had looked after the needs of his horse he returned to the
+      group before the inn. They awaited the stage with that interest common to
+      isolated people. Presently it rolled up, a large mud-bespattered and dusty
+      vehicle, littered with baggage on top and tied on behind. A number of
+      passengers alighted, three of whom excited Duane's interest. One was a
+      tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the other two were ladies, wearing
+      long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard the proprietor of the inn address
+      the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as the party entered the inn Duane's
+      quick ears caught a few words which acquainted him with the fact that
+      Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready. At
+      table he found himself opposite the three who had attracted his attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,&rdquo; Longstreth was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm crazy to ride bronchos,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other girl's deep
+      voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had beauty as
+      he had never seen it in another woman. She was slender, but the
+      development of her figure gave Duane the impression she was twenty years
+      old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen. She did
+      not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She looked tired,
+      quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face; clear, olive-tinted
+      skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal, beautiful to look into;
+      a slender, straight nose that had something nervous and delicate about it
+      which made Duane think of a thoroughbred; and a mouth by no means small,
+      but perfectly curved; and hair like jet&mdash;all these features
+      proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed her a descendant of one of
+      the old French families of eastern Texas. He was sure of it when she
+      looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent gaze. There were pride,
+      fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt himself blushing in confusion.
+      His stare at her had been rude, perhaps, but unconscious. How many years
+      had passed since he had seen a girl like her! Thereafter he kept his eyes
+      upon his plate, yet he seemed to be aware that he had aroused the interest
+      of both girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open fire
+      place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow. Duane
+      took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper, began to read.
+      Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced men, strangers who had
+      not appeared before, and were peering in from a doorway. When they saw
+      Duane had observed them they stepped back out of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas in
+      the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded. Duane
+      pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men. The
+      doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
+      dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks to
+      the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
+      whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
+      outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect, it
+      was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on the
+      border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character, or at
+      least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these strangers
+      were dishonest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey somethin'?&rdquo; one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thanks, I don't drink,&rdquo; Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
+      with interest. &ldquo;How's tricks in the Big Bend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to recognize a
+      type of ruffian most frequently met along the river. These strangers had
+      that stamp, and their surprise proved he was right. Here the innkeeper
+      showed signs of uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his customers. No
+      more was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, boss, do you know those fellows?&rdquo; Duane asked the innkeeper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which way did they come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today,&rdquo; he
+      replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked at Duane. &ldquo;They
+      nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the
+      stage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was absent,
+      also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had
+      vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss Longstreth. Duane went
+      directly to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; said Duane, addressing them. &ldquo;I want to tell you there are a
+      couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen them. They mean evil.
+      Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors&mdash;bar your windows
+      to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Ruth, very low. &ldquo;Ray, do you hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; we'll be careful,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The rich
+      color had faded in her cheek. &ldquo;I saw those men watching you from that
+      door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really danger&mdash;here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so,&rdquo; was Duane's reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His
+      hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into her
+      chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls were
+      staring at some one behind Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn around!&rdquo; ordered the harsh voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade
+      in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked
+      gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him,
+      and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out his
+      roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and took
+      it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another weapon.
+      That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish satisfaction
+      that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of
+      game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who
+      stood there frightened, speechless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git a move on, Bill,&rdquo; called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance
+      backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had
+      horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with
+      brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to
+      search them. The robber in the doorway called &ldquo;Rustle!&rdquo; and disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the
+      other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his
+      searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well
+      remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle,
+      stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his
+      bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched,
+      but the little girl appeared about to faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't yap, there!&rdquo; he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to
+      Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a
+      plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold
+      glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in his
+      pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any money, jewelry, diamonds!&rdquo; ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with her
+      hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to mean that
+      she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had instinctively
+      pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come out with it!&rdquo; he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't dare touch me!&rdquo; she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She
+      had nerve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had
+      been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted, and
+      that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped Duane,
+      yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man made at
+      her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull ripped it
+      asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not shaken
+      Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half her waist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself he
+      could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held
+      dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow
+      made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a
+      magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He
+      bellowed something again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It was a kind
+      of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot Longstreth.
+      Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth's torn waist loosened its
+      hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped till it pointed
+      to the floor. That was Duane's chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and he
+      could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into the
+      ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood
+      spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small
+      bullet had glanced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported her.
+      It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half carried
+      her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through the bar to
+      the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled
+      horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot. His comrade
+      had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a condition
+      approaching pandemonium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out at
+      the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel, the
+      stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The woman,
+      wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The girls were
+      still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and Duane
+      guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing that
+      struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such passion.
+      Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a quieter
+      moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear
+      to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them fellers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ought to kill you anyhow!&rdquo; replied Longstreth. And his voice now
+      astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber's
+      temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed,
+      had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of
+      returning consciousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drag him out of here!&rdquo; ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and
+      gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other men.
+      Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay
+      Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane did
+      not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very still,
+      with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, now that
+      he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and kind. He
+      talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, said she must
+      learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I be of any service?&rdquo; asked Duane, solicitously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened
+      girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,&rdquo; he
+      replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he went
+      out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the
+      other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange
+      thrill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved my life,&rdquo; she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; Duane exclaimed. &ldquo;He might have struck you, hurt you, but no
+      more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I
+      couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was in
+      peril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you kill him?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no. He's not badly hurt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm very glad he's alive,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My intention was bad enough,&rdquo; Duane went on. &ldquo;It was a ticklish place for
+      me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go off.
+      Fool careless he was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you say you didn't save me,&rdquo; Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let it go at that,&rdquo; Duane responded. &ldquo;I saved you something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me all about it?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of
+      view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of nothing&mdash;watching
+      for nothing except a little moment when you might draw your gun?&rdquo; asked
+      Miss Ruth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess that's about it,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, &ldquo;it was fortunate for us
+      that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts&mdash;laughs at
+      danger. He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it
+      came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go with us all the way to Fairdale&mdash;please?&rdquo; asked Miss Ruth,
+      sweetly offering her hand. &ldquo;I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray
+      Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm traveling that way,&rdquo; replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not
+      know how to meet the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night,
+      which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls, he
+      led them away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured
+      robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he was
+      gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said that he
+      left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had he come to?&rdquo; inquired Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. He asked for whisky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say anything else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Colonel Longstreth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame
+      fer that two-bit of a hold-up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you make of the old gent's rage?&rdquo; asked Duane, watching the
+      innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane
+      believed in his honesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's either
+      crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More nerve, maybe,&rdquo; Duane replied. &ldquo;Show me a bed now, innkeeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the several
+      events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup and
+      carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under circumstances
+      where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put
+      it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on the action of the
+      robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian,
+      as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encountered, had, from some
+      cause or other, been startled. From whatever point Duane viewed the man's
+      strange indecision he could come to only one conclusion&mdash;his start,
+      his check, his fear had been that of recognition. Duane compared this
+      effect with the suddenly acquired sense he had gotten of Colonel
+      Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that desperate robber lowered
+      his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fairdale?
+      This was not answerable. There might have been a number of reasons, all to
+      Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane could not understand. Longstreth
+      had not appeared to see danger for his daughter, even though she had been
+      roughly handled, and had advanced in front of a cocked gun. Duane probed
+      deep into this singular fact, and he brought to bear on the thing all his
+      knowledge and experience of violent Texas life. And he found that the
+      instant Colonel Longstreth had appeared on the scene there was no further
+      danger threatening his daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not
+      answer. Then his rage, Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS
+      daughter being assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a
+      thought-disturber, but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more
+      careful consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It was
+      larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street and
+      back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and
+      dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane
+      heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake hands
+      with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he spoke with
+      force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The fellow laughed,
+      yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly he espied Miss
+      Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his sombrero. Duane went
+      closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, did you come with the teams?&rdquo; asked Longstreth, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,&rdquo; was the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later.&rdquo; Then Longstreth turned to
+      his daughter. &ldquo;Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to
+      play with him ten years ago&mdash;Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter&mdash;and
+      my niece, Ruth Herbert.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game
+      to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant
+      personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples&mdash;dark, smooth-shaven,
+      with lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
+      strong and bitter, and a square chin&mdash;a reckless, careless, handsome,
+      sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace of a
+      gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice. Duane
+      doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to the
+      frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not quite
+      effaced the mark of good family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter
+      and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this
+      meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready
+      for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a
+      wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To
+      the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday, and
+      to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. The
+      driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered ground
+      rapidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the
+      horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to cowboys
+      who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster of adobe and
+      stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named
+      after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few
+      ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
+      patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
+      sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization
+      than its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast
+      western third of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to
+      settle there and establish places like Fairdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's ranch.
+      The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and it was
+      not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the town. It
+      was a low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and covered
+      what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about it,
+      except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed gray
+      and red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the town
+      with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The street
+      he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was a solid
+      row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched all along
+      the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here and there
+      breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other frontier
+      towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the afternoon
+      was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his horse.
+      Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject
+      most in mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon he has,&rdquo; replied the lad. &ldquo;Doan know how many cowboys. They're
+      always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much movement of stock these days?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stock's always movin',&rdquo; he replied, with a queer look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rustlers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lively place, I hear&mdash;Fairdale is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who
+      were arrested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins&mdash;they
+      belong heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk into
+      other channels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
+      darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
+      watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
+      rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
+      ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going&mdash;a
+      dusty-booted crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a
+      while, with wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most
+      of the guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted
+      by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up by
+      tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
+      southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
+      some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for a
+      while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+      conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
+      conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, what's the stranger's name?&rdquo; asked one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He didn't say,&rdquo; replied the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
+      cattleman, him. How'd you size him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a
+      man for years&mdash;to kill him when he found him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin' for
+      Long&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'S&mdash;sh!&rdquo; interrupted Laramie. &ldquo;You must be half drunk, to go talkie'
+      that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and
+      presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself
+      agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not
+      communicative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's
+      visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane
+      inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong
+      about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was
+      a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper
+      Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that
+      night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of her&mdash;how
+      strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him remember that
+      long-past time when girls had been a part of his life. What a sad and dark
+      and endless void lay between that past and the present! He had no right
+      even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray Longstreth. That conviction,
+      however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed perversely to make her grow
+      more fascinating. Duane grew conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger,
+      a something that was like a pang in his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to the
+      taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented himself
+      with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he decided
+      Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the
+      track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much the same
+      way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. The
+      innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that. He would
+      answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn that
+      Laramie had seen better days&mdash;that he was now broken, bitter, and
+      hard. Some one had wronged him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to
+      Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the stores
+      unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to find out
+      that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling, drinking, and
+      fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town
+      full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in any place Duane
+      had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon that spoke forcibly of
+      easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided that Sanderson, Bradford, and
+      Ord were but notorious outposts to this Fairdale, which was a secret
+      center of rustlers and outlaws. And what struck Duane strangest of all was
+      the fact that Longstreth was mayor here and held court daily. Duane knew
+      intuitively, before a chance remark gave him proof, that this court was a
+      sham, a farce. And he wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his
+      was equivalent to suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached
+      himself. Then he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter.
+      Inquiry had brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live
+      with her father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana,
+      where his family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich
+      rancher; he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large
+      scale. Floyd Lawson was his lieutenant and associate in deals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he returned
+      to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed to have a
+      rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside Laramie was
+      lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to
+      be dangerously hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,&rdquo; said Laramie,
+      laboring to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you hurt much?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before
+      without that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll take a look after Bo,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of the town. He
+      did not see any one he could take for the innkeeper's assailant. Then he
+      looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow about a block away,
+      hurrying along and gazing back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him. Snecker broke
+      into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him. There were two motives in
+      Duane's action&mdash;one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend
+      of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained rapidly
+      upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get out of sight.
+      Then he took to the open country and ran straight for the green hill where
+      Longstreth's house stood. Duane had almost caught Snecker when he reached
+      the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him. But Duane kept him in sight,
+      in the shade, on the paths, and up the road into the courtyard, and he saw
+      Snecker go straight for Longstreth's house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He did not
+      stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate had directed him to
+      the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane entered the first open door on
+      that side of the court. It opened into a corridor which led into a plaza.
+      It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in the
+      center. Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+      Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was giving a little
+      party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the porch
+      roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably, expressing amazement,
+      consternation, then fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her dress. The
+      young women present stared in astonishment, if they were not equally
+      perturbed. There were cowboys present who suddenly grew intent and still.
+      By these things Duane gathered that his appearance must be disconcerting.
+      He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His big gun-sheath showed plainly
+      at his hip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was
+      plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no one but her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth&mdash;I came&mdash;to search&mdash;your house,&rdquo; panted
+      Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he realized
+      that that should have been the last thing for him to say. He had
+      blundered. But he was not used to women, and this dark-eyed girl made him
+      thrill and his heart beat thickly and his wits go scattering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Search my house!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the white
+      in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry. &ldquo;What for? Why, how dare
+      you! This is unwarrantable!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man&mdash;Bo Snecker&mdash;assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie,&rdquo; replied
+      Duane, hurriedly. &ldquo;I chased Snecker here&mdash;saw him run into the
+      house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the absence
+      of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you to search.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray, don't be bothered now,&rdquo; he said, to his cousin. &ldquo;This fellow's
+      making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you clear out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him,&rdquo; replied Duane,
+      quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah! That's all a bluff,&rdquo; sneered Lawson. &ldquo;I'm on to your game. You just
+      wanted an excuse to break in here&mdash;to see my cousin again. When you
+      saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the
+      worse for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he felt that he
+      was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable to put this Ray
+      Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her eyes now. And
+      somehow that checked his embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;I regret to say&mdash;I'll do so without your permission.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll not dare!&rdquo; she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, yes, I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; she demanded, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a Texas Ranger,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A TEXAS RANGER!&rdquo; she echoed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses,&rdquo; said Duane.
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your permission. A ruffian has
+      taken refuge here&mdash;in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere. May
+      I look for him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are indeed a ranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better
+      place for women and children. I don't wonder at your resentment. But to
+      doubt me&mdash;insult me. Some day you may be sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys
+      and go with this&mdash;this Texas Ranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. &ldquo;Perhaps you'll be able
+      to find Snecker quicker than I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he
+      was a man of fierce quick passions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't quarrel,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth. &ldquo;Floyd, you go with him. Please
+      hurry. I'll be nervous till&mdash;the man's found or you're sure there's
+      not one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They started with several cowboys to search the house. They went through
+      the rooms searching, calling out, peering into dark places. It struck
+      Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the calling. He was hurried,
+      too, tried to keep in the lead. Duane wondered if he knew his voice would
+      be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was Duane who
+      peered into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said &ldquo;Come out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He came forth into the flare&mdash;a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing
+      sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him before any of the others
+      could move and held the gun close enough to make him shrink. But he did
+      not impress Duane as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a
+      clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a shock. He
+      peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to him, then
+      into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld relief it was then.
+      That was all Duane needed to know, but he meant to find out more if he
+      could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who're you?&rdquo; asked Duane, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo Snecker,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you hide here for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He appeared to grow sullen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ranger, what'll you do with him?&rdquo; Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
+      the capture was made.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see to that,&rdquo; replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him
+      out into the court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
+      Longstreth in the court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men
+      there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane
+      had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near him sat
+      a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford Owens,
+      county judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with
+      a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a huge silver
+      shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs. There were four
+      other men whom Duane knew by sight, several whose faces were familiar, and
+      half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was
+      unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided,
+      and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored Duane gathered
+      that he had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you break in here for,&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?&rdquo; interrogated
+      Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his
+      intense interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've arrested a criminal,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arrested a criminal!&rdquo; ejaculated Longstreth. &ldquo;You? Who're you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a ranger,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A significant silence ensued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery&mdash;if
+      not murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it
+      keeps a record.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,&rdquo; said
+      Longstreth, gruffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had shuffled
+      forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but not the
+      boldness even of a rustler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It ain't so, Longstreth,&rdquo; he began, loudly. &ldquo;I went in Laramie's place
+      fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit
+      Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger
+      chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's
+      hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy
+      nodded his great bushy head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bo, you're discharged,&rdquo; said Longstreth, bluntly. &ldquo;Now the rest of you
+      clear out of here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duane&mdash;his
+      slap in the face to an interfering ranger service. If Longstreth was
+      crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost decided he was
+      above suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his
+      authoritative assurance&mdash;these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes
+      were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his
+      mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin. In that momentary lull Duane's
+      scrutiny of Longstreth gathered an impression of the man's intense
+      curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of silence,
+      shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on!&rdquo; called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a
+      bullet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,&rdquo; said Duane, his voice still
+      ringing. &ldquo;What has the court to say to that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger
+      service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a lie, Longstreth,&rdquo; retorted Duane. &ldquo;I've letters from Fairdale
+      citizens all begging for ranger service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared
+      about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed black and
+      thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable
+      outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should
+      reasonably have had for anger. Longstreth shoved him back with a curse and
+      a warning glare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?&rdquo; shouted Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of the
+      power of Texas Rangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had been
+      waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to force Longstreth's
+      hand and show the town his stand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane backed clear of everybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men! I call on you all!&rdquo; cried Duane, piercingly. &ldquo;I call on you to
+      witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by Longstreth, Mayor of
+      Fairdale. It will be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General at
+      Austin. Longstreth, you'll never prevent another arrest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, you've shown your hand,&rdquo; said Duane, in a voice that carried
+      far and held those who heard. &ldquo;Any honest citizen of Fairdale can now see
+      what's plain&mdash;yours is a damn poor hand! You're going to hear me call
+      a spade a spade. In the two years you've been Mayor you've never arrested
+      one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for rustlers! You've never
+      sent a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to Austin. You have no jail. There
+      have been nine murders during your office&mdash;innumerable street-fights
+      and holdups. Not one arrest! But you have ordered arrests for trivial
+      offenses, and have punished these out of all proportion. There have been
+      lawsuits in your court-suits over water-rights, cattle deals, property
+      lines. Strange how in these lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to
+      you were always involved! Strange how it seems the law was stretched to
+      favor your interest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both outside and
+      inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men.
+      Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he betray anything but rage at this
+      interloper?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale,&rdquo; went on Duane. &ldquo;I
+      don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say STRANGE! Law here has
+      been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to me&mdash;yet.
+      But I call your hand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down the
+      street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen
+      ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot
+      trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely that
+      Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting
+      eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of Ray
+      Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended. He
+      might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young woman.
+      The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him, and then he
+      was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the disgrace he
+      might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked inside Duane's
+      heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the
+      worse for his injury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Laramie?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected,&rdquo; replied Laramie. His
+      head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had
+      been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was a good crack Snecker gave you,&rdquo; remarked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't accusin' Bo,&rdquo; remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane
+      thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I accuse him. I caught him&mdash;took him to Longstreth's court.
+      But they let him go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Laramie,&rdquo; went on Duane, &ldquo;in some parts of Texas it's policy to
+      be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I want
+      you to know I lean on your side of the fence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his
+      gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but
+      even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out
+      of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough.
+      Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day.
+      It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale. I
+      was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
+      Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore&mdash;ha,
+      ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So
+      joint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He owns considerable property hereabouts,&rdquo; replied Laramie,
+      constrainedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town, you're
+      afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight, Laramie. I
+      don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause I'd throw a
+      gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk's cheap,&rdquo; replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red
+      was deeper in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I know that,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;And usually I don't talk. Then it's not
+      well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't
+      connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that we
+      don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them. But
+      Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope So
+      place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. &ldquo;Didn't
+      you hear I used to run it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Did you?&rdquo; Duane said, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
+      years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll be doggoned.&rdquo; It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised, and
+      with the surprise came a glimmering. &ldquo;I'm sorry you're not there now. Did
+      you sell out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Just lost the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie was bursting for relief now&mdash;to talk, to tell. Sympathy had
+      made him soft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was two years ago-two years last March,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I was in a big
+      cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock&mdash;an' my share, eighteen
+      hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come
+      to a lawsuit&mdash;an' I&mdash;was ruined.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down his
+      cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. He had
+      failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had been swindled. All
+      that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had the man's spirit
+      not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now the secret of his
+      bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse Longstreth, the secret
+      of his reticence and fear&mdash;these Duane thought best to try to learn
+      at some later time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hard luck! It certainly was tough,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;But you're a good loser.
+      And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need your advice. I've
+      got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest some. Buy some
+      stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I want you to steer
+      me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of ranchers, if there
+      happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with ranchers who ride in
+      the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is full of them. Now,
+      Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must know a couple of men
+      above suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God I do,&rdquo; he replied, feelingly. &ldquo;Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my
+      friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You can
+      gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me&mdash;don't invest
+      money in stock now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker 'n
+      he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen&mdash;these are
+      easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy enough
+      pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't know
+      anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd fight
+      if they&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; Duane put in, as he paused. &ldquo;If they knew who was rustling the
+      stock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they had the nerve?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not thet so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then? What'd make them fight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A leader!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy thar, Jim,&rdquo; boomed a big voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Morton,&rdquo; replied Laramie. &ldquo;I'd introduce you to my guest here, but
+      I don't know his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Morton,&rdquo; put in Duane, &ldquo;Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good man
+      to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like to
+      invest it in stock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton smiled broadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm on the square,&rdquo; Duane said, bluntly. &ldquo;If you fellows never size up
+      your neighbors any better than you have sized me&mdash;well, you won't get
+      any richer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant with
+      meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith held
+      aloof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you
+      start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle
+      now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go back
+      across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had more'n
+      twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang
+      on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton,&rdquo; replied Duane, with
+      impatience. &ldquo;You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county.
+      Who heads the gang, anyway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his big
+      jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these
+      rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly
+      honest men&mdash;they CAN'T last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single steer
+      left,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one of
+      the rustlers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his
+      whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,
+      something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not so funny,&rdquo; Duane went on. &ldquo;If you're going to pretend a yellow
+      streak, what else will I think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretend?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different from those
+      in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand it's all
+      bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men around Fairdale
+      who're afraid of their shadows&mdash;afraid to be out after dark&mdash;afraid
+      to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you claim these
+      rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to help the
+      popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out here is some
+      new blood. Savvy what I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon I do,&rdquo; he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
+      him. &ldquo;Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I come to town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze fixed
+      again on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal,&rdquo; he replied, speaking low. &ldquo;You've picked the right men. Now, who in
+      the hell are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the
+      lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object flashed as he shoved it,
+      pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;RANGER!&rdquo; he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. &ldquo;You sure rung
+      true to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers
+      hereabouts?&rdquo; asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him to come
+      sharp to the point. His voice&mdash;something deep, easy, cool about him&mdash;seemed
+      to steady Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does anybody know?&rdquo; went on Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you have your suspicions?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons&mdash;the
+      regulars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jest a bad lot,&rdquo; replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of knowledge.
+      &ldquo;Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in. Some of them
+      work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob, anythin' for a
+      little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with
+      this gang here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever
+      seen Cheseldine&mdash;an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle
+      Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggin
+      doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around all
+      over west of the Pecos.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I'm puzzled over this,&rdquo; said Duane. &ldquo;Why do men&mdash;apparently
+      honest men&mdash;seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only
+      my impression?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a sure fact,&rdquo; replied Laramie, darkly. &ldquo;Men have lost cattle an'
+      property in Fairdale&mdash;lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been
+      proved. An' in some cases when they talked&mdash;hinted a little&mdash;they
+      was found dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't
+      talk! Thet's why we're close mouthed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not intolerable.
+      Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of the hordes of
+      rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret, murderous hold on
+      a little struggling community was something too strange, too terrible for
+      men to stand long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs interrupted
+      him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got down. Floyd Lawson
+      entered. He called for tobacco.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence. But Lawson
+      showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from the
+      eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leaned
+      easily against the counter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, that was a bad break of yours,&rdquo; Lawson said. &ldquo;If you come fooling
+      round the ranch again there'll be hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten years
+      could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk. It
+      certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldom
+      intolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmen
+      of the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost
+      gentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of French
+      extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in anything, and
+      who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the face of a
+      situation like this made him simply a fool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
+      Longstreth,&rdquo; Lawson sneered. &ldquo;Mind you, if you come up there again
+      there'll be hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're right. But not the kind you think,&rdquo; Duane retorted, his voice
+      sharp and cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,&rdquo;
+       said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention to
+      rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. &ldquo;I'll call you right.
+      You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering, conceited
+      ranger!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
+      beautiful cousin,&rdquo; replied Duane, in slow speech. &ldquo;But let me return your
+      compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush&mdash;damned,
+      bull-headed RUSTLER!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
+      working passion-blackened face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
+      His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
+      chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't draw!&rdquo; warned Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, git away from your gun!&rdquo; yelled Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
+      with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
+      hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you wing him for?&rdquo; he wailed. &ldquo;He was drawin' on you. Kickin' men
+      like him won't do out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right
+      into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides, shooting
+      him would have been murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo; exclaimed Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, for me,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may be true&mdash;whoever you are&mdash;but if Lawson's the man you
+      think he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't
+      sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laramie, what are your eyes for?&rdquo; demanded Duane. &ldquo;Watch out. And now
+      here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
+      approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
+      need your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
+      watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and
+      speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he
+      stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were open;
+      and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's
+      big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up
+      and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in the bushes,
+      so well screened that he could get but a fleeting glimpse of Longstreth as
+      he went in. For all Duane could see, he appeared to be a calm and quiet
+      man, intense beneath the surface, with an air of dignity under insult.
+      Duane's chance to observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house
+      without speaking and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset between
+      step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane waited there in
+      the darkness with patience born of many hours of hiding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something's happened surely, Ruth,&rdquo; he heard Miss Longstreth say,
+      anxiously. &ldquo;Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed pale,
+      worried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,&rdquo; said Ruth. &ldquo;For once he didn't
+      try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a bad day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life
+      miserable for me. And he teases you unmer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,&rdquo; declared Ruth,
+      emphatically. &ldquo;He'd run after any woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,&rdquo; laughed Ray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care,&rdquo; replied Ruth, stubbornly, &ldquo;it's so. He's mushy. And when
+      he's been drinking and tries to kiss me&mdash;I hate him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were steps on the hall floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, girls!&rdquo; sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, what's the matter?&rdquo; asked Ray, presently. &ldquo;I never saw papa as he
+      is to-night, nor you so&mdash;so worried. Tell me, what has happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,&rdquo; replied Lawson, with a blunt, expressive
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jar?&rdquo; echoed both the girls, curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had to submit to a damnable outrage,&rdquo; added Lawson, passionately, as
+      if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. &ldquo;Listen, girls; I'll tell
+      you-all about it.&rdquo; He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed
+      he had been drinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his
+      muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all
+      acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently
+      uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his
+      clue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It happened at the town hall,&rdquo; began Lawson, rapidly. &ldquo;Your father and
+      Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from out
+      of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow
+      who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on
+      a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously innocent, he
+      was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his insults. Law was a
+      farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There was no law. Your father's
+      office as mayor should be impeached. He made arrests only for petty
+      offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was
+      afraid or&mdash;he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat
+      ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled for every
+      one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father, Ray, insulted in his own
+      court by a rowdy ranger!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger service wants to rule western Texas,&rdquo; went on Lawson. &ldquo;These
+      rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they hunt.
+      Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became rangers.
+      This is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent, smooth, and
+      that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He wanted to
+      kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he would have
+      shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil&mdash;the born gunman. My God, any
+      instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!&rdquo; cried Ray Longstreth, passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety. He made
+      that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He
+      tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was the
+      worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?&rdquo; said Ray
+      Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. &ldquo;After a moment's
+      thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell papa
+      not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
+      reputation by&mdash;by an adventurer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he can be injured,&rdquo; replied Floyd, quickly. &ldquo;The frontier is a queer
+      place. There are many bitter men here&mdash;men who have failed at
+      ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger has
+      dropped poison, and it'll spread.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, new to
+      Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waiting
+      atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.
+      Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by
+      rowdies carousing in the streets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain
+      the opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be a target
+      for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they did happen so, it
+      was more accident than design. But at night he was not idle. He met
+      Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; a secret club had
+      been formed; and all the members were ready for action. Duane spent hours
+      at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed when he was not up
+      at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least the house was, by
+      strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious&mdash;all that kindly
+      disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane had not been able
+      to recognize any of these night visitors; and he did not think the time
+      was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them. Nevertheless, he was sure
+      such an event would discover Lawson, or some one in that house, to be in
+      touch with crooked men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,
+      in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar of
+      his restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
+      found who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon the
+      bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: &ldquo;All
+      friends of rangers look for the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. None of
+      Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or the
+      unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were held
+      in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband's death
+      was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with five
+      children. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and
+      moved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse
+      and friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meant
+      business. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly glad
+      of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great
+      speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the
+      wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he was
+      a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He had
+      killed thirty men&mdash;wildest rumor of all&mdash;it was actually said of
+      him he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious
+      element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action
+      calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at the
+      bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: &ldquo;Who's thet ranger
+      after? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin' to
+      draw on him fust&mdash;an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be
+      found somewheres full of lead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest
+      stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,
+      then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot at in
+      the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the gunman,
+      was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise up in a mass
+      to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemies of the law
+      awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to the frontier. The
+      ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if formidable. He would
+      have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to play and drink with the
+      men who knew they were under suspicion. There was a rude kind of good
+      humor even in their open hostility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held the
+      undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and quarrels
+      except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were rife in
+      them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usual run of
+      strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone or was
+      under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of Poggin, yet
+      he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the habitues of
+      the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble were unusually
+      mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull, however, did not
+      deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so
+      long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon while
+      he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the door. They
+      carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's trouble.
+      Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room rather than
+      meet them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little room was not very light, there being only one window and the
+      doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,
+      hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been a woman
+      of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there to read in
+      her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter lines that
+      had characterized her husband's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.
+      Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?&rdquo; queried the woman, with her bright,
+      black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Miss Longstreth, simply. &ldquo;This is my cousin, Ruth Herbert.
+      We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in any way
+      you'll let us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you look a little like Longstreth,&rdquo; finally said Mrs. Laramie, &ldquo;but
+      you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. Miss
+      Longstreth, I don't know if I can&mdash;if I ought accept anything from
+      you. Your father ruined my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; replied the girl, sadly. &ldquo;That's all the more reason you
+      should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will&mdash;mean so much to
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in the
+      warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's idea was that
+      the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftly succeeded by
+      that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had started well
+      with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk to the children
+      than both they and the mother were won. The opening of that big basket was
+      an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings seemed too easily
+      roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim Laramie's slayer if he
+      could have laid eyes on him then. However, Miss Longstreth and Ruth, after
+      the nature of tender and practical girls, did not appear to take the sad
+      situation to heart. The havoc was wrought in that household.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action&mdash;and these
+      the girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?&rdquo; presently asked Miss Longstreth.
+      Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight, if
+      any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of Ray
+      Longstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ranger!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he's taken care of us all since&mdash;since&mdash;&rdquo; Mrs. Laramie
+      choked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! So you've had no help but his,&rdquo; replied Miss Longstreth, hastily. &ldquo;No
+      women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll come myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be good of you,&rdquo; went on the older woman. &ldquo;You see, Jim had few
+      friends&mdash;that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to help us&mdash;afraid
+      they'd get what poor Jim&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's awful!&rdquo; burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. &ldquo;A brave lot of
+      friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.
+      Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's on hind side before,&rdquo; declared Ruth. &ldquo;I guess Mr. Ranger hasn't
+      dressed many babies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did the best he could,&rdquo; said Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;Lord only knows what would
+      have become of us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he is&mdash;is something more than a ranger?&rdquo; queried Miss
+      Longstreth, with a little break in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's more than I can tell,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;He buried Jim. He paid
+      our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for us and
+      fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first two
+      nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so kind, so
+      gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near. Sometimes I'd
+      wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how false were all these
+      tales Jim heard about him and believed at first. Why, he plays with the
+      children just&mdash;just like any good man might. When he has the baby up
+      I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they say. He's good, but he
+      isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far off sometimes when the
+      children climb round him. They love him. His life is sad. Nobody need tell
+      me&mdash;he sees the good in things. Once he said somebody had to be a
+      ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like him!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was thoughtful of you,&rdquo; Duane said. &ldquo;Womankind are needed here. I
+      could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad. And
+      here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying to puzzle
+      out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I tell you&mdash;friends
+      would come? So will the brighter side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've more faith than I had,&rdquo; replied Mrs. Laramie. &ldquo;Granger
+      Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's death
+      I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of my
+      little ones? But I'm gaining courage to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,&rdquo; said Miss Longstreth.
+      &ldquo;I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, that's fine!&rdquo; exclaimed Duane. &ldquo;It's what I'd have&mdash;expected
+      of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
+      burned out in a beautiful blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come,&rdquo; added Duane. &ldquo;Let me
+      thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
+      task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
+      ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's risk.
+      And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again to-night.
+      Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Ranger, wait!&rdquo; called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was white
+      and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have wronged you,&rdquo; she said, impulsively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?&rdquo; he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see&mdash;I
+      wronged you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
+      wronging me. I have been a&mdash;a gunman, I am a ranger&mdash;and much
+      said of me is true. My duty is hard on others&mdash;sometimes on those who
+      are innocent, alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an honor.
+      I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please&mdash;please don't, Miss Longstreth,&rdquo; interrupted Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, sir, my conscience flays me,&rdquo; she went on. There was no other sound
+      like her voice. &ldquo;Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
+      Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
+      sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied or
+      real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could have
+      resisted her then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman,&rdquo; she said, and
+      now her speech came swiftly. &ldquo;When she was all alone and helpless you were
+      her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't the only
+      unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how I may soon
+      need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm terribly worried.
+      I fear&mdash;I fear&mdash;Oh, surely I'll need a friend soon&mdash;soon.
+      Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. I want to help
+      you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone&mdash;all alone?
+      Will you&mdash;will you be&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to
+      suspect&mdash;that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers they
+      pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook him
+      deeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. And
+      with the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there came
+      realization of a dangerous situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must be true to my duty,&rdquo; he said, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;I'll do anything for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied&mdash;he
+      lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me to go
+      back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, I know
+      something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if&mdash;if&mdash;Will
+      you help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying. The night was
+      dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane bent
+      his steps toward the Longstreth's ranchhouse. He had so much to think
+      about that he never knew where the time went. This night when he reached
+      the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps and saw
+      Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the darkness.
+      Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was dark again
+      outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be interesting
+      to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but could hear only a
+      murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. He went round the
+      corner of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the
+      back and larger part. There was a narrow passage between the houses,
+      leading from the outside through to the patio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to avail
+      himself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on very
+      stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage. In
+      the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack in
+      the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he
+      entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew a
+      very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the
+      thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best by
+      working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in
+      reaching a vantage-point. When he did get there the crack he had marked
+      was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in
+      the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+      other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care what risk
+      he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his
+      brow was clouded. Lawson's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted by
+      some indomitable resolve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll settle both deals to-night,&rdquo; Lawson was saying. &ldquo;That's what I came
+      for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But suppose I don't choose to talk here?&rdquo; protested Longstreth,
+      impatiently. &ldquo;I never before made my house a place to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your
+      nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why, she's a woman,
+      and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. I told you I was
+      willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Ray hasn't any
+      use for you now. She liked you at first. But now she doesn't. So what can
+      I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can make her marry me,&rdquo; replied Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be done even if I
+      tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't the highest opinion of you
+      as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray loved you I would consent.
+      We'd all go away together before this damned miserable business is out.
+      Then she'd never know. And maybe you might be more like you used to be
+      before the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your own game
+      with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd you want to let her come out here for?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, hotly.
+      &ldquo;It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over her. I'll have her or die.
+      Don't you think if she was my wife I'd soon pull myself together? Since
+      she came we've none of us been right. And the gang has put up a holler.
+      No, Longstreth, we've got to settle things to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,&rdquo; replied
+      Longstreth, rising. &ldquo;Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself
+      and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But he
+      could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had thought
+      him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he was worse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have
+      been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally he
+      heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leaden-faced, humiliated.
+      Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode the room; he
+      cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now appreciably calmer. Duane could not
+      but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection of Lawson's
+      proposal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't fuss about it, Floyd,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You see I can't help it. We're
+      pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter and give her to you as
+      I would an unruly steer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me,&rdquo; declared Lawson, thickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know the hold I got on you&mdash;the deal that made you boss of this
+      rustler gang?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't likely I'd forget,&rdquo; replied Longstreth, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it broadcast&mdash;tell
+      this ranger&mdash;unless she'd marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had no
+      shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Longstreth gazed with dark,
+      controlled fury at this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong,
+      unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed
+      Lawson to be the wild and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also
+      how during all the years of association this strong man had upheld the
+      weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on Longstreth's
+      part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great majority of evil and
+      unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where influence was
+      futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a
+      rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border,&rdquo;
+       replied Longstreth, impressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred to
+      him. But he was not long at a loss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now
+      there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes. Mark what I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's a
+      boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor. Also
+      I think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to certain
+      property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+      mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared himself as if
+      this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed an
+      absence of his usual nervous excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, that may well be true,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No doubt all you say is
+      true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her&mdash;I
+      reckon we'll all go to hell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly had
+      something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely
+      perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head
+      down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long
+      experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means to
+      vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right then
+      and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson. For Duane's
+      part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a conclusion before.
+      Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put Longstreth in conflict
+      with himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to talk.
+      He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking to
+      smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the fateful
+      significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided than if
+      he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself. How, Duane
+      wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so far among
+      the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was, perhaps, that
+      Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The coming of Ray
+      Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're too impatient,&rdquo; concluded Longstreth. &ldquo;You'll ruin any chance of
+      happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am
+      she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate
+      you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her. Cut
+      out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out here&mdash;stock,
+      ranch, property&mdash;and leave the country. Then you'd have a show with
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you we've got to stick,&rdquo; growled Lawson. &ldquo;The gang won't stand for
+      our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them here
+      to face whatever comes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean just that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm bad enough, but not that bad,&rdquo; returned Longstreth. &ldquo;If I can't get
+      the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same,
+      Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years
+      have been YOURS?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had
+      cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached our
+      limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle&mdash;at a time when
+      rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then
+      came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before
+      we knew it&mdash;before I knew it&mdash;we had shady deals, holdups, and
+      MURDERS on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all
+      think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing can
+      be proved. We're too strong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's where you're dead wrong,&rdquo; rejoined Longstreth, emphatically. &ldquo;I
+      imagined that once, not long ago. I was bullheaded. Who would ever connect
+      Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? I've changed my mind. I've begun
+      to think. I've reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we can't last. It's
+      the nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow better. The wise
+      deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the country, all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you and I have all the stock&mdash;all the gain,&rdquo; protested Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll split mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't&mdash;that settles that,&rdquo; added Lawson, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince
+      this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more
+      than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your stock and property will last a long time&mdash;do you lots of good
+      when this ranger&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to
+      powder. &ldquo;Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon&mdash;any time&mdash;same as
+      Laramie is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you mentioned the&mdash;the supposition,&rdquo; replied Longstreth,
+      sarcastically. &ldquo;I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to
+      be brought about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gang will lay him out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've
+      packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they
+      killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in all
+      that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough to see
+      him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only way to
+      get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he's
+      going to drop some of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did drop
+      some of them,&rdquo; declared Lawson; and now he was sarcastic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To tell you the truth, I wouldn't,&rdquo; returned the other, bluntly. &ldquo;I'm
+      pretty sick of this mess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to his
+      intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen a
+      vainer or more arrogant man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, I don't like your talk,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do,&rdquo; replied
+      Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of eyes
+      and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, after all, that's neither here nor there,&rdquo; went on Lawson,
+      unconsciously cowed by the other. &ldquo;The thing is, do I get the girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not by any means except her consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll not make her marry me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. No,&rdquo; replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Then I'll make her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that he wasted
+      no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that was that
+      Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use it. Then
+      heavy footsteps sounded outside tramping upon the porch. Duane might have
+      been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps saved Lawson's life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There they are,&rdquo; said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big man
+      with burly shoulders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others stood
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a
+      nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man&mdash;a stranger
+      to Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from this band,
+      of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of
+      these men. There was power here, and he was bound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others
+      gathered around him close to the table. There were evidently some signs of
+      membership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads were bent over the
+      table. Low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. By straining his ears
+      Duane caught a word here and there. They were planning, and they were
+      brief. Duane gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present convention,
+      got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had come, and was followed by
+      his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet smoke. Lawson seemed
+      uncommunicative and unsociable. He smoked fiercely and drank continually.
+      All at once he straightened up as if listening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he called, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must be a rat,&rdquo; replied Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rustle became a rattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,&rdquo; said Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the
+      adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. But
+      the rattle inside Longstreth's room was mingling with little dull thuds of
+      falling dirt. The adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane
+      distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+      his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in the hell!&rdquo; exclaimed Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I smell dust,&rdquo; said Lawson, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite his
+      care he made a noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear a step?&rdquo; queried Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud.
+      Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's somebody between the walls!&rdquo; thundered Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to
+      squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hear him!&rdquo; yelled Lawson. &ldquo;This side!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he's going that way,&rdquo; yelled Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of desperation. He was
+      not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was another
+      matter. He almost tore his clothes off in that passage. The dust nearly
+      stifled him. When he burst into the patio it was not a single instant too
+      soon. But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up, gun in hand,
+      running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps turned him back.
+      While there was a chance to get away he did not want to fight. He thought
+      he heard someone running into the patio from the other end. He stole
+      along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it might lead, he
+      softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth sitting
+      on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her to be
+      silent he turned to close the door. It was a heavy door without bolt or
+      bar, and when Duane had shut it he felt safe only for the moment. Then he
+      gazed around the room. There was one window with blind closely drawn. He
+      listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating, dying away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the bed, half to
+      her knees, and was holding out trembling hands. She was as white as the
+      pillow on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with warning hand
+      commanding silence, Duane stepped softly forward, meaning to reassure her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to faint.
+      When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood the strange, dark
+      expression in them. She was terrified because she believed he meant to
+      kill her, or do worse, probably worse. Duane realized he must have looked
+      pretty hard and fierce bursting into her room with that big gun in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get away&mdash;to
+      save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on&mdash;on your father and his
+      men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was listening.
+      They're after me now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening
+      windows of thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a
+      woman in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me now. You were spying on my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not
+      omitting a terse word as to the character of the men he had watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong here&mdash;with
+      him&mdash;with the place&mdash;the people. And right off I hated Floyd
+      Lawson. Oh, it'll kill me if&mdash;if&mdash;It's so much worse than I
+      dreamed. What shall I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's attention,
+      reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted more with him, made clear
+      the probability of being discovered in her room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have to get out of here,&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Didn't you say they were hunting for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They sure are,&rdquo; he returned, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got away. Stay.
+      If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the light. I'll meet them at
+      the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets down, if we have to wait
+      till morning. Then you can slip out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to&mdash;I won't,&rdquo; Duane replied,
+      perplexed and stubborn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every room
+      and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't start a
+      fight. You might be hurt. Then&mdash;the fact of my being here&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the
+      door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him.
+      She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been
+      either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make
+      Duane weak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up yet, Ray?&rdquo; came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to
+      be natural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I'm in bed reading. Good night,&rdquo; instantly replied Miss Longstreth,
+      so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between man
+      and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He slipped
+      in, but the door would not close altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you alone?&rdquo; went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Ruth went to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half
+      entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and
+      indistinctly another man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as
+      well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced
+      around he went out and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent once more.
+      Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard her quick breathing. How
+      long did she mean to let him stay hidden there? Hard and perilous as his
+      life had been, this was a new kind of adventure. He had divined the
+      strange softness of his feeling as something due to the magnetism of this
+      beautiful woman. It hardly seemed possible that he, who had been outside
+      the pale for so many years, could have fallen in love. Yet that must be
+      the secret of his agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss
+      Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared to be in
+      distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I can go now&mdash;safely,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me&mdash;this
+      finding out&mdash;and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't understand
+      myself well. But I want you to know&mdash;if I were not an outlaw&mdash;a
+      ranger&mdash;I'd lay my life at your feet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! You have seen so&mdash;so little of me,&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my coming
+      caused you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not fight my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you spied upon him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And oh! I am a rustler's daughter,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;That's so much more
+      terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he was
+      engaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions aroused.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How? Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange a meeting
+      for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to go. Floyd
+      taunted him with a name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What name?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was Cheseldine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What difference does that make?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same,&rdquo; whispered Duane,
+      hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gathered so much myself,&rdquo; she replied, miserably. &ldquo;But Longstreth is
+      father's real name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part
+      in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she betrayed the secret
+      Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a
+      great flood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable,&rdquo; he whispered.
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here to get. He's only a
+      name. Your father is the real man. I've sworn to get him. I'm bound by
+      more than law or oaths. I can't break what binds me. And I must disgrace
+      you&mdash;wreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I&mdash;I love
+      you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How fatal&mdash;terrible&mdash;this
+      is! How things work out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't kill him?&rdquo; she implored. &ldquo;If you care for me&mdash;you won't
+      kill him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. That I promise you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to the
+      court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
+      his relief equaled his other feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
+      soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
+      But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
+      throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
+      Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have a
+      vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he could
+      save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try to
+      find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men Duane
+      wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine, was the
+      brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who needed to
+      be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane experienced a
+      strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more than thought of
+      success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over this emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
+      for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
+      in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let his
+      mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
+      Bradford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
+      express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
+      messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
+      away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and engineer
+      and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men and
+      citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up before
+      the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane had the
+      sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to find; and,
+      acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford unobserved.
+      As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the direction of Ord,
+      he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope that he might be
+      taken for a train-robber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak of Ord
+      Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and slept
+      until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his time cooking
+      breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and, leaving the
+      trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put his horse to the
+      rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough, roundabout, and
+      difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill of a long-hunted
+      fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded and covered with lather.
+      It added considerable to his arrival that the man Duane remembered as
+      Fletcher and several others saw him come in the back way through the lots
+      and jump a fence into the road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard. He
+      was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morning drink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy, Dodge,&rdquo; said Fletcher, laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as
+      might happen to ride up curious-like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haw! haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in the
+      'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev to rustle
+      water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and left
+      him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the group of men
+      had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before. Without
+      comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever one of the
+      tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This procedure was
+      attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Dodge,&rdquo; remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, &ldquo;thet's safer 'n
+      prayin' fer rain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect that
+      a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They all joined
+      him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most assuredly
+      not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it
+      probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at that time these men had
+      nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern. Evidently they were
+      poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed they could borrow a peso
+      occasionally from the bartender. Duane set out to make himself agreeable
+      and succeeded. There was card-playing for small stakes, idle jests of
+      coarse nature, much bantering among the younger fellows, and occasionally
+      a mild quarrel. All morning men came and went, until, all told, Duane
+      calculated he had seen at least fifty. Toward the middle of the afternoon
+      a young fellow burst into the saloon and yelled one word:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Posse!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing
+      action was rare in Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the hell!&rdquo; muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,
+      compact bunch of horses and riders. &ldquo;Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!
+      We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was here
+      or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted in a
+      bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men, all
+      heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbed cowboy.
+      Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence of the sheriff
+      who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was out in another
+      direction with a different force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Jim Fletcher,&rdquo; called the cowboy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Howdy,&rdquo; replied Fletcher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before the
+      posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The outlaw
+      was different now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.
+      Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit into
+      the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us. Think he
+      went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the rest of the
+      way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last night or
+      early this mornin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; replied Fletcher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently
+      the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the
+      posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference of
+      opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?&rdquo;
+       protested an old hawk-faced rancher. &ldquo;Them hoss tracks we follored ain't
+      like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so sure of that,&rdquo; replied the leader.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life&mdash;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent fer
+      election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this
+      road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through
+      town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some greasers
+      has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the
+      greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no
+      ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine
+      an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his
+      gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did
+      the killin'&mdash;he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old
+      cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons
+      Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me&mdash;I tell you what&mdash;I'd
+      take a chance an' clean up this hole!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,&rdquo; he said. The menace
+      was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can&mdash;an' be damned to you, Fletcher!&rdquo; called Guthrie, as the
+      horses started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the
+      posse out of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here,&rdquo; he said, as they disappeared.
+      Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away
+      from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it was
+      somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal, seein'
+      I staved off Guthrie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it. First
+      he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledge whatever of
+      the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself. Then at
+      Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show of friendliness
+      he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swell with pride, though
+      still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent will-power and seemed
+      to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and grew silent, then surly.
+      Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory, desisted for the time being;
+      however, in his solicitous regard and close companionship for the rest of
+      that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse and
+      make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.
+      Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I
+      hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now. I
+      tell you, Dodge, it ain't square.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll square it. I pay my debts,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;But I can't put up here
+      all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What gang?&rdquo; asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cheseldine's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane laughed. &ldquo;I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,
+      he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I had
+      for bein' on earth or some such like&mdash;why, I up an' told him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher appeared staggered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white.
+      &ldquo;Cheseldine&mdash;Longstreth!&rdquo; he whispered, hoarsely. &ldquo;Gord Almighty! You
+      braced the&mdash;&rdquo; Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw.
+      He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he
+      could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this
+      rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement, the
+      proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a master
+      of men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHO AIR YOU?&rdquo; queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore it
+      hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin' in
+      need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he
+      returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness&mdash;all
+      without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and mesquite
+      to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night. His mind was
+      so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing his game. He
+      sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end, always haunting,
+      had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the approach that needed
+      all his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail
+      and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
+      disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
+      expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
+      Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently well
+      known and liked by his fellows, and Duane heard him say, before he could
+      possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss of
+      money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of this
+      report. He pretended not to have heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
+      and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to a
+      log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took out
+      a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
+      handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through the
+      roll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five hundred!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
+      considerin' the job wasn't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Considerin' nothin',&rdquo; interrupted Duane. &ldquo;I'm makin' no reference to a
+      job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If thet
+      doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher was won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
+      history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
+      laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
+      that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
+      then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
+      boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a stroke
+      with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any influence on
+      Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all the rest he was
+      bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved anything else. He
+      could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by
+      Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed to
+      know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory! Cheseldine's
+      hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep, high-walled
+      valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job, where he met
+      and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed he basked in
+      the sunshine before one or another of the public places he owned. He was
+      there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the biggest job yet. It
+      was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as yet been advised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details
+      pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering a
+      period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith was
+      unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in its
+      brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and grasp
+      of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was stunned. Compared
+      to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher, stock-buyer,
+      cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane had ever known
+      sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned Duane; the strange
+      fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate inside working of his
+      great system was equally stunning. But when Duane recovered from that the
+      old terrible passion to kill consumed him, and it raged fiercely and it
+      could not be checked. If that red-handed Poggin, if that cold-eyed,
+      dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But they were not, and Duane with
+      help of time got what he hoped was the upper hand of himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a leashed
+      hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he was
+      bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold, wild brow
+      of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for Knell and
+      Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A
+      messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do with
+      Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful moods
+      and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a striking
+      contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+      communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw.
+      Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few words
+      whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger or
+      fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger, a lean,
+      dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy Guthrie, left
+      the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the west. This west
+      mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south beyond Mount Ord.
+      Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not at present with the
+      leader on the mountain. After the messenger left Fletcher grew silent and
+      surly. He had presented a variety of moods to Duane's observation, and
+      this latest one was provocative of thought. Fletcher was dangerous. It
+      became clear now that the other outlaws of the camp feared him, kept out
+      of his way. Duane let him alone, yet closely watched him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher
+      manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then he
+      went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape both
+      to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep close
+      until he returned. Then he mounted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Dodge,&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher walked
+      his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log bridge, when
+      he halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;An' it 'pears I'm the cause of
+      friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but
+      Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, an' here
+      it's been held up because of this scrap. He's waitin' over there on the
+      mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's showin' up.
+      I've got to stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the prospects.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the trouble about, Jim?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge,&rdquo; said Fletcher, dryly. &ldquo;Knell
+      hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer a man onless he
+      can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with my
+      say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethin' about you
+      that'll make both the boss an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But he's
+      keepin' quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better go back
+      to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, I'll light a
+      fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you don't see
+      it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks
+      to his pals. So long, Dodge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he rode away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been working
+      out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not know which
+      way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to Bradford.
+      Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open hostility
+      between one of them and another of the chief's right-hand men! Among
+      outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such matters were
+      settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from disaster.
+      Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band had already begun.
+      But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around the idea with doubts
+      and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this stranger in Ord, this
+      new partner of Fletcher's, was no less than Buck Duane. Well, it was about
+      time, thought Duane, that he made use of his name if it were to help him
+      at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope. He had anchored all his scheme
+      to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to ride off after Fletcher and stay
+      with him. This, however, would hardly be fair to an outlaw who had been
+      fair to him. Duane concluded to await developments and when the gang rode
+      in to Ord, probably from their various hiding-places, he would be there
+      ready to be denounced by Knell. Duane could not see any other culmination
+      of this series of events than a meeting between Knell and himself. If that
+      terminated fatally for Knell there was all probability of Duane's being in
+      no worse situation than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here
+      Duane accused himself again&mdash;tried in vain to revolt from a judgment
+      that he was only reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his mountain
+      retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than he was hurrying for his
+      horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of sight, he turned
+      off the road, circled through the brush, and several miles south of town
+      he struck a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told him led to
+      Cheseldine's camp. The horse tracks along this trail were not less than a
+      week old, and very likely much more. It wound between low, brush-covered
+      foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with mesquite, cottonwood,
+      and scrub-oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he got a
+      view of the rolling, black-spotted country, partly desert, partly fertile,
+      with long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away to grow dim in the
+      distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the open,
+      downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to find the
+      trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress. Finally he climbed
+      into a region of all rock benches, rough here, smooth there, with only an
+      occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide him. Many times he had to go
+      ahead and then work to right or left till he found his way again. It was
+      slow work; it took all day; and night found him half-way up the mountain.
+      He halted at a little side-canyon with grass and water, and here he made
+      camp. The night was clear and cool at that height, with a dark-blue sky
+      and a streak of stars blinking across. With this day of action behind him
+      he felt better satisfied than he had been for some time. Here, on this
+      venture, he was answering to a call that had so often directed his
+      movements, perhaps his life, and it was one that logic or intelligence
+      could take little stock of. And on this night, lonely like the ones he
+      used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and memorable of them because of a
+      likeness to that old hiding-place, he felt the pressing return of old
+      haunting things&mdash;the past so long ago, wild flights, dead faces&mdash;and
+      the places of these were taken by one quiveringly alive, white, tragic,
+      with its dark, intent, speaking eyes&mdash;Ray Longstreth's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than he had
+      followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the head of the canyon,
+      there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar fenced him
+      in. Then he went back and took up the trail on foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts,
+      wide canyons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along precipices&mdash;a
+      long, hard climb&mdash;till he reached what he concluded was a divide.
+      Going down was easier, though the farther he followed this dim and winding
+      trail the wider the broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black
+      fringe of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow, like
+      a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great escarpments, he
+      saw the lower country beyond the range, and beyond this, vast and clear as
+      it lay in his sight, was the great river that made the Big Bend. He went
+      down and down, wondering how a horse could follow that broken trail,
+      believing there must be another better one somewhere into Cheseldine's
+      hiding-place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and presently
+      came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen
+      through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two sides he could
+      see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet below him; and, plain as all the other
+      features of that wild environment, there shone out a big red stone or
+      adobe cabin, white water shining away between great borders, and horses
+      and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful scene. Duane
+      could not help grinding his teeth at the thought of rustlers living there
+      in quiet and ease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a niche, he
+      settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He made note of the
+      position of the sun and saw that if anything developed or if he decided to
+      descend any farther there was small likelihood of his getting back to his
+      camp before dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would be vain
+      effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
+      structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been built by outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting for the
+      rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with mud, the valley was
+      as wild, probably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to have been
+      watching for a long time before he saw any sign of man, and this one
+      apparently went to the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the darker
+      places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer to that cabin.
+      What had he taken this arduous climb for? He held back, however, trying to
+      evolve further plans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he
+      was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And
+      suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the
+      valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment of
+      rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and stopped
+      at the stream for a long drink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as fast as he
+      could without making noise. It did not take him long to reach the valley
+      floor. It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and there clumps of
+      bushes. Twilight was already thick down there. Duane marked the location
+      of the trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through the grass and
+      from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he made out the dark
+      outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry whistle, a coarse
+      song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He smelled fragrant
+      wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light. Evidently there
+      was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus was
+      able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward the
+      back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make no
+      noise, and he could scarcely be seen&mdash;if only there was no watch-dog!
+      But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life at
+      stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an Indian.
+      He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their shadows,
+      for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their tops. From
+      there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He saw
+      a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He saw an
+      open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the fire. Voices
+      came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther along&mdash;all
+      the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only the flare of
+      light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he paused at the crack
+      again, saw that no man was in the room, and then he went on round that end
+      of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There were bushes, an old shed, a
+      wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that corner. He did not even need to
+      crawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
+      close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from that
+      he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no dread.
+      There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the same. Then
+      he looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while he
+      handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against the wall,
+      with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second glance, not
+      so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men, three in the
+      shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one right
+      over the mountain,&rdquo; one outlaw was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's eatin' you, Panhandle?&rdquo; ejaculated another. &ldquo;Blossom an' me rode
+      from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said
+      nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well,&rdquo;
+       spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth's voice&mdash;Cheseldine's voice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here they were&mdash;Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle
+      Smith, Boldt&mdash;how well Duane remembered the names!&mdash;all here,
+      the big men of Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest&mdash;Poggin. Duane
+      had holed them, and his sensations of the moment deadened sight and sound
+      of what was before him. He sank down, controlled himself, silenced a
+      mounting exultation, then from a less-strained position he peered forth
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might have been
+      that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane listened with eager
+      ears, waiting for the business talk that he felt would come. All the time
+      he watched with the eyes of a wolf upon its quarry. Blossom Kane was the
+      lean-limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt was a giant in
+      stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the red-faced cook,
+      merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling many rustlers Duane had
+      known, particularly Luke Stevens. And Knell, who sat there, tall, slim,
+      like a boy in build, like a boy in years, with his pale, smooth,
+      expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And Longstreth, who leaned
+      against the wall, handsome, with his dark face and beard like an
+      aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana planter Duane had met. The
+      sixth man sat so much in the shadow that he could not be plainly
+      discerned, and, though addressed, his name was not mentioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully
+      called out: &ldquo;If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed
+      you with a spoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to
+      their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept round to the
+      other side of the cabin. After he became used to the dark again he
+      ventured to steal along the wall to the window and peeped in. The outlaws
+      were in the first room and could not be seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded. Longstreth
+      entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of cigars from the table,
+      he carried it out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Knell, come on in
+      now. Let's get it over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his booted
+      feet on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished. There
+      must have been a good trail, he thought, else how could all that stuff
+      have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come over the
+      trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside, and their
+      voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated himself without
+      any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as always, cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?&rdquo; queried Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway,
+      an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept him, I reckon, more
+      than anythin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago&mdash;weeks&mdash;a
+      stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he owned the place. He
+      seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I left,
+      tryin' to place him in my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'd he look like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard face, eyes
+      like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he walked an' stood an'
+      swung his right hand showed me what he was. You can't fool me on the
+      gun-sharp. An' he had a grand horse, a big black.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've met your man,&rdquo; said Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise expressed by this
+      man that did not in the least show it in his strange physiognomy. Knell
+      laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. &ldquo;Boss, this here big gent drifts into
+      Ord again an' makes up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is easy led. He
+      likes men. An' when a posse come along trailin' a blind lead, huntin' the
+      wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim&mdash;he up an' takes
+      this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to him. Got money out
+      of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more. What's this man's game? I
+      happen to know, boss, that he couldn't have held up No. 6.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I did the job myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break
+      like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to
+      kill me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake. I got the
+      country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I just couldn't help it.
+      You know what idleness means to one of us. You know also that this very
+      life breeds fatality. It's wrong&mdash;that's why. I was born of good
+      parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the end,
+      that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine wise talk from you, Knell,&rdquo; said Longstreth, scornfully. &ldquo;Go on with
+      your story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're
+      together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he knew an' then some.
+      A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over from
+      Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new man
+      for the gang. Poggin, you know, is always ready for any new man. He says
+      if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather liked the
+      way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always hit it up
+      together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was already in the gang,
+      without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin' hard. Just
+      where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never had seen him,
+      which accounts for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget any man I'd seen. I
+      dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over them. Letters,
+      pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty good notion what
+      I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of. At last I found it.
+      An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin. Oh no! I want to have
+      some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be wilder than a trapped
+      wolf. I sent Blossom over to Ord to get word from Jim, an' when he
+      verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a message calculated to
+      make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for Jim, an' I could come
+      over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet me in Ord.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale
+      eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell to a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; demanded Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed
+      Bland, Alloway&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' Hardin.&rdquo; Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the
+      apparent circumstance demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows&mdash;Buck Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache seemed
+      outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood each
+      other without more words. It was enough that Buck Duane was there in the
+      Big Bend. Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from which he
+      drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell,&rdquo; began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, &ldquo;I gathered you
+      have some grudge against this Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men
+      would&mdash;don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a
+      Texas Ranger now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The hell you say!&rdquo; exclaimed Knell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and
+      they'll fix even Buck Duane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't run into him!&rdquo; Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of its
+      passion and command. He wiped his face, drank again from the flask, sat
+      down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket he
+      began to study it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm glad that's settled,&rdquo; he said, evidently referring to the Duane
+      matter. &ldquo;Now for the new job. This is October the eighteenth. On or before
+      the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of gold reach the Rancher's Bank
+      of Val Verde. After you return to Ord give Poggin these orders. Keep the
+      gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle Smith, and Boldt to be
+      in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll leave Ord on the
+      twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till you get within sight
+      of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from Bradford to Val Verde&mdash;about the
+      same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val Verde on the morning
+      of the twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than trot your horses. At two
+      o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town and up to the Rancher's
+      Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been any holdups there. Town
+      feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job. That's all. Have you got
+      the details?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never can tell what'll come off,&rdquo; continued Knell. &ldquo;I'll do my best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I say
+      again&mdash;look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry
+      the job through. But I want both of you in it. Break for the hills, and
+      when you get up in the rocks where you can hide your tracks head for Mount
+      Ord. When all's quiet again I'll join you here. That's all. Call in the
+      boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the level toward
+      the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung wire. For a little while
+      his mind was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, from which,
+      like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The
+      game was now in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat was
+      improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford, forty miles
+      from the foothills before eight o'clock next morning. He must telegraph
+      MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty-fifth. He must ride back to Ord,
+      to intercept Knell, face him be denounced, kill him, and while the iron
+      was hot strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as he had wholly won
+      Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws alone to bide their
+      time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job in Val Verde. In the
+      mean time he must plan to arrest Longstreth. It was a magnificent outline,
+      incredible, alluring, unfathomable in its nameless certainty. He felt like
+      fate. He seemed to be the iron consequences falling upon these doomed
+      outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags
+      showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was merely a grayness
+      between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not seem
+      steep. His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and, looking
+      down into the ebony gulf pierced by one point of light, he lifted a
+      menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter till he
+      reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there was none;
+      but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches of rock above.
+      Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of broken
+      walls the moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the
+      mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to magic silver light. It
+      seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a transparent
+      sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes, and, like a
+      goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew his way and lost no
+      time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then had all downhill
+      before him. Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of his memory of the
+      landmarks. He did not remember having studied them in the ascent, yet here
+      they were, even in changed light, familiar to his sight. What he had once
+      seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as a deer striking for home, he
+      reached the canyon where he had left his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle and pack,
+      cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The worst was now to come.
+      Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weathered slopes, narrow black
+      gullies, a thousand openings in a maze of broken stone&mdash;these Duane
+      had to descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked
+      the loose fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+      down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great opportunity. But he
+      could not quell that self in him which reached back over the lapse of
+      lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He who had been worse than
+      dead was now grasping at the skirts of life&mdash;which meant victory,
+      honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind.
+      Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,
+      his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true
+      course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time a
+      spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had left
+      her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with the trap
+      to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not dispel
+      memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and the dark
+      eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and toil were
+      nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to the
+      other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks, with
+      the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work of the
+      long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down to Ord. The
+      little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of houses, lay
+      silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on the lower trail,
+      headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He watched the dying
+      moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time to spare, so he saved
+      the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous about the time Duane
+      turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset they would meet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west. The
+      stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the world,
+      thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it lightened,
+      until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the
+      tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard the
+      clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An operator sat
+      inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked up with startled
+      glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message he
+      had carefully composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send this&mdash;repeat it to make sure&mdash;then keep mum. I'll see you
+      again. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse a
+      couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day. The
+      east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord he
+      saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew what
+      that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he could
+      ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make his power
+      felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That would be
+      fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a presence
+      he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities held them.
+      He knew what to exaggerate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance
+      that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the
+      tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed two
+      guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the right
+      side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and
+      stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's
+      pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom
+      Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were
+      familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or
+      heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+      great and evil deeds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table
+      upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a
+      huge gold-mounted gun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you gents lookin' for me?&rdquo; asked Duane. He gave his voice all the
+      ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back, free
+      of anything, with the outlaws all before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other
+      outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?&rdquo; he said, plaintively, and
+      slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He
+      meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, Fletcher!&rdquo; called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody,&rdquo; said Fletcher. &ldquo;Let me talk,
+      seein' I'm in wrong here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead. Talk,&rdquo; said Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher turned to Duane. &ldquo;Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet
+      enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my fault. I'll stand by
+      you if you let me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Jim,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what'd you come fer without the signal?&rdquo; burst out Fletcher, in
+      distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a
+      rude dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd make
+      him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer him than fer me. Now,
+      what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life. Here's my
+      pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to be hell if
+      you don't. An' us with a big job on hand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his gaze
+      riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He was
+      tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But looked at
+      closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that thing which
+      shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that swelled and
+      rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and face of the
+      cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal and
+      hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward quaking
+      fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within him and
+      numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed, but did
+      not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper than
+      thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim, I ante up,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big
+      hand&mdash;why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set in the game.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one
+      hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an
+      assurance which made him master of the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, you're a gambler, you are&mdash;the ace-high, straight-flush hand
+      of the Big Bend,&rdquo; he said, with stinging scorn. &ldquo;I'll bet you my roll to a
+      greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil, you're talkin' wild,&rdquo; growled Poggin, with both advice and menace
+      in his tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody else
+      when he's not. Thet so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Jim's new pard&mdash;this man Dodge&mdash;he's not who he seems.
+      Oh-ho! He's a hell of a lot different. But <i>I</i> know him. An' when I
+      spring his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get
+      me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be lightnin'&mdash;All
+      because you'll realize you've been standin' there five minutes&mdash;five
+      minutes ALIVE before him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested itself
+      in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust before
+      Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could be
+      plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either
+      way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center of the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spring his name, then, you&mdash;&rdquo; said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce. He
+      leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat
+      expressive of what his face disguised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo; he yelled, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's
+      passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought to
+      bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's manner,
+      the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held
+      Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly was
+      surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin, had been about
+      to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated and feared by all
+      outlaws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility in
+      an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the great
+      Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE! Yes,&rdquo; he broke out, hotly. &ldquo;The Nueces gunman! That two-shot,
+      ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I&mdash;we've heard a thousand times of
+      him&mdash;talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you! Poggin, you
+      were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd fooled you both but
+      for me. But <i>I</i> know him. An' I know why he drifted in here. To flash
+      a gun on Cheseldine&mdash;on you&mdash;on me! Bah! Don't tell me he wanted
+      to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself. Don't you
+      always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to meet a real
+      man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I know it.
+      Well, Duane faced you&mdash;called you! An' when I sprung his name, what
+      ought you have done? What would the boss&mdash;anybody&mdash;have expected
+      of Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
+      froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love to
+      have. Because he's great&mdash;meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+      he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
+      damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
+      we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
+      Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
+      lesser man&mdash;me&mdash;who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once
+      to every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm
+      glad! Here's once I show you up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he
+      hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?&rdquo; he asked, in scarcely audible voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's attitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You met him&mdash;forced him to draw&mdash;killed him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hardin was the best pard I ever had.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words had passed.
+      In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually stiffened, and at
+      last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a soul-piercing fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought&mdash;the breaking of
+      Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's
+      bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild thing
+      in agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a
+      stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!&rdquo; he yelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+      twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he could think
+      of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was slowly
+      but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what love was and
+      also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode like one possessed down the
+      rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through the brush, with a
+      sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the wind. Something dragged
+      at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other was
+      a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of sensations.
+      He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily, he hurried
+      faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive; it eased the
+      weight. But the farther he went on the harder it was to continue. Had he
+      turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life itself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of
+      himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed
+      haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under
+      which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed up,
+      then stopped, only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a low ridge,
+      Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the sight was a
+      conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and Duane sought the
+      shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot, glary sun and no wind.
+      Here Duane had to have out his fight. Duane was utterly unlike himself; he
+      could not bring the old self back; he was not the same man he once had
+      been. But he could understand why. It was because of Ray Longstreth.
+      Temptation assailed him. To have her his wife! It was impossible. The
+      thought was insidiously alluring. Duane pictured a home. He saw himself
+      riding through the cotton and rice and cane, home to a stately old
+      mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed him welcome, and a woman looked for
+      him and met him with happy and beautiful smile. There might&mdash;there
+      would be children. And something new, strange, confounding with its
+      emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There would be children! Ray
+      their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast always yearned for and
+      never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was then
+      there was something cold and death-like in Duane's soul. For he knew,
+      whatever happened, of one thing he was sure&mdash;he would have to kill
+      either Longstreth or Lawson. Longstreth might be trapped into arrest; but
+      Lawson had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a panther
+      and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+      consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore&mdash;in the most
+      fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. He had
+      fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams, now rendered poignant by
+      reason of love. He drove away those dreams. In their places came the
+      images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the dark,
+      evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister
+      the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for
+      the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
+      He found them at length, restless, somber, anxious, but unaware of the
+      part he had played at Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was
+      possible that Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might need
+      them, and then with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth's ranch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch he
+      heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were quarreling
+      again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of action, but
+      his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions. He meant to
+      take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men were out on the
+      porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery and crouched low
+      to watch for his opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he
+      had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid on a table near the
+      wall. He wore no belt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink,
+      though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate man
+      in his last stand. It was his last stand, though he was ignorant of that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings,&rdquo; said Lawson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,&rdquo; replied Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the rush
+      of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane awaited his
+      chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should your daughter meet this ranger?&rdquo; demanded Lawson, harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's in love with him, and he's in love with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the
+      force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was his game?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You damned selfish fool!&rdquo; cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. &ldquo;All
+      you think of is yourself&mdash;your loss of the girl. Think once of ME&mdash;my
+      home&mdash;my life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently dawned upon
+      the other. Somehow through this girl her father and cousin were to be
+      betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he could not tell how true it
+      was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To hell with you!&rdquo; burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied. &ldquo;I'll
+      have her, or nobody else will!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never will,&rdquo; returned Longstreth, stridently. &ldquo;So help me God I'd
+      rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of hate
+      and menace in his mien.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawson, you made me what I am,&rdquo; continued Longstreth. &ldquo;I backed you&mdash;shielded
+      you. YOU'RE Cheseldine&mdash;if the truth is told! Now it's ended. I quit
+      you. I'm done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;GENTLEMEN!&rdquo; Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out. &ldquo;YOU'RE
+      BOTH DONE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They wheeled to confront Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!&rdquo; he warned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned from
+      gray to ashen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'ye mean?&rdquo; yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
+      obey a command, to see impending death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his left
+      hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed
+      brightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer
+      impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke
+      his action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped
+      behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the gun
+      from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself with
+      the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke; he heard
+      quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like wind, light
+      of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him. The hot rend
+      of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode, yet his mind
+      kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the
+      hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the loads
+      in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane waited, cool
+      and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer
+      toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering the peril of
+      exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent peering at Duane
+      under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side. Longstreth's eyes
+      were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was never any mistaking
+      the strange and terrible light of eyes like those. More than once Duane
+      had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Longstreth's head, at a strip
+      of his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before
+      Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered
+      him, called piercingly to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane
+      saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced
+      Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that gun.
+      He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Longstreth, listen,&rdquo; cried Duane, swiftly. &ldquo;The game's up. You're done.
+      But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life&mdash;I'll try to get you
+      freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed&mdash;all the
+      proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid.
+      Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+      persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for
+      Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man!
+      Your answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I refuse?&rdquo; he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
+      death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second
+      now&mdash;I'll kill you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,&rdquo; he said, and deliberately walked
+      to the chair and fell into it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There come the girls!&rdquo; he suddenly exclaimed. &ldquo;Can you help me drag
+      Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss
+      Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently
+      alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the house before the
+      girls saw him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, you're not hard hit?&rdquo; said Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon not,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him!
+      Always I've split over him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the last time, Longstreth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked me
+      out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be
+      harder than facing a gun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, will you do me a favor?&rdquo; he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter.
+      Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll be
+      here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change places
+      with Lawson if I could!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad you&mdash;said that, Longstreth,&rdquo; replied Duane. &ldquo;And sure&mdash;Lawson
+      plugged me. It's our secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so
+      different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She
+      lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and
+      mute, she gazed from that to her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't give way,&rdquo; he replied, huskily. &ldquo;Both you girls will need your
+      nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is&mdash;is dead. Listen. Let me
+      tell it quick. There's been a fight. It&mdash;it was Lawson&mdash;it was
+      Lawson's gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me.
+      I'm to divide my property&mdash;return so far as possible what I've stolen&mdash;leave
+      Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly,
+      the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory
+      of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must rise above this,&rdquo; said Duane to her. &ldquo;I expected this to ruin
+      you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can
+      promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor
+      will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in
+      San Antonio and Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line
+      between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days.
+      Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher say
+      that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father drifted out
+      here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's perhaps just as
+      well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and morality of a
+      civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with bad men. Maybe a
+      deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This matter of land, water, a
+      few stray head of stock had to be decided out of court. I'm sure in his
+      case he never realized where he was drifting. Then one thing led to
+      another, until he was face to face with dealing that took on crooked form.
+      To protect himself he bound men to him. And so the gang developed. Many
+      powerful gangs have developed that way out here. He could not control
+      them. He became involved with them. And eventually their dealings became
+      deliberately and boldly dishonest. That meant the inevitable spilling of
+      blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the leader because he was the
+      strongest. Whatever he is to be judged for, I think he could have been
+      infinitely worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to
+      catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him.
+      Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not be
+      left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had
+      turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it as
+      he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party
+      by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and reached
+      Bradford as he had planned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in a
+      tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be there
+      with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of that
+      tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and
+      weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the outlaw, but
+      now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him leap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car, changed
+      his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken. Longstreth
+      sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a seat near by and
+      were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted briefly at a
+      station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed a wagon-road
+      running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right alongside, at others
+      near or far away. When the train was about twenty miles from Val Verde
+      Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting eastward. His blood beat
+      like a hammer at his temples. The gang! He thought he recognized the tawny
+      Poggin and felt a strange inward contraction. He thought he recognized the
+      clean-cut Blossom Kane, the black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced
+      Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. There was another man strange to him. Was
+      that Knell? No! it could not have been Knell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?&rdquo; whispered Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
+      Verde.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
+      travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
+      there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
+      train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
+      familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but was
+      waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him&mdash;MacNelly,
+      clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
+      hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
+      yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from Duane
+      to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not
+      look the part of an outlaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you,&rdquo; was the Captain's greeting. Then at
+      closer look into Duane's face his warmth fled&mdash;something he saw there
+      checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,&rdquo; said Duane, low-voiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's instant
+      action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any of your men down here?&rdquo; queried Duane, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They're up-town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come
+      behind with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on the
+      way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a
+      trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street.
+      There was a big sign, &ldquo;Rancher's Bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's the hotel,&rdquo; said MacNelly. &ldquo;Some of my men are there. We've
+      scattered around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane
+      asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the Captain
+      complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and, drawing a
+      deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable
+      now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And don't be distressed.&rdquo; Then he turned to his captain.
+      &ldquo;MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I've brought to you, and
+      this one is his niece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not
+      spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I went after Longstreth,&rdquo; concluded Duane, &ldquo;it was either to kill
+      him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his
+      daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe
+      he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return. The
+      name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it'll fade.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a hall,
+      and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them&mdash;rangers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boys, here he is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many men have you?&rdquo; asked Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fifteen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the
+      dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed, he
+      sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside himself. And
+      his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to run. They all
+      talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent in their speech
+      was &ldquo;outlaws.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the
+      Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how'd you ever
+      do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The gang's
+      coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They'll ride into town on
+      the dot&mdash;two-thirty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many?&rdquo; asked MacNelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another
+      man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll bet
+      they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin&mdash;that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since
+      I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and
+      blazes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knell's dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and of
+      harder aspect. &ldquo;Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm only a ranger under
+      orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make
+      your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who're not here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and
+      that lot?&rdquo; queried Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't understand that,&rdquo; replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them
+      they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no
+      equal with a gun&mdash;unless&mdash;He's got to be killed quick. They'll
+      all have to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are
+      lightning in action.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The boys
+      are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let him
+      hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we might
+      fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It's well situated
+      for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the bank&mdash;four
+      men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game begins. They
+      want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise before they're
+      down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your men put inside
+      behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to the bank, spring
+      the thing on the bank officials, and don't let them shut up the bank. You
+      want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold. But the clerks and
+      cashier ought to be at their desks or window when Poggin rides up. He'll
+      glance in before he gets down. They make no mistakes, these fellows. We
+      must be slicker than they are, or lose. When you get the bank people wise,
+      send your men over one by one. No hurry, no excitement, no unusual thing
+      to attract notice in the bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had
+      seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he was confronted by
+      the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with
+      lowered head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where'll you wait, Duane?&rdquo; insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes speculating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll wait in front, just inside the door,&rdquo; replied Duane, with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; demanded the Captain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; began Duane, slowly, &ldquo;Poggin will get down first and start in. But
+      the others won't be far behind. They'll not get swift till inside. The
+      thing is&mdash;they MUSTN'T get clear inside, because the instant they do
+      they'll pull guns. That means death to somebody. If we can we want to stop
+      them just at the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But will you hide?&rdquo; asked MacNelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hide!&rdquo; The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a vestibule, with
+      steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in the vestibule, too. It
+      leads somewhere. We can put men in there. You can be there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Duane,&rdquo; began MacNelly, nervously. &ldquo;You shan't take any undue
+      risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; The word was wrenched from Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit
+      over his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane, I can give you no orders to-day,&rdquo; he said, distinctly. &ldquo;I'm only
+      offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've done a grand job for
+      the service&mdash;already. You've paid me a thousand times for that
+      pardon. You've redeemed yourself.&mdash;The Governor, the adjutant-general&mdash;the
+      whole state will rise up and honor you. The game's almost up. We'll kill
+      these outlaws, or enough of them to break for ever their power. I say, as
+      a ranger, need you take more risk than your captain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces. And one, a
+      tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him.
+      Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the weaker, found a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain, you want this job to be sure?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met. Just WHAT
+      I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings like this the moment
+      decides. But I'll be there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and
+      sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you've done your work&mdash;laid the trap&mdash;is this strange move
+      of yours going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?&rdquo; asked MacNelly, in
+      significant low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked
+      up as if he had seen a ghost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: &ldquo;You can win her, Duane! Oh, you
+      can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover&mdash;then
+      go back to her. You will have served the Texas Rangers as no other man
+      has. I'll accept your resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That
+      girl loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She's&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet,
+      and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still there
+      was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough. I'm done,&rdquo; he said, somberly. &ldquo;I've planned. Do we agree&mdash;or
+      shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled
+      chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they rested upon Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane was left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+      understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses
+      of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him
+      before any one else had a chance&mdash;Poggin first&mdash;and then the
+      others! He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its
+      acceptance he had become stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared nothing for
+      the state. He had no thought of freeing the community of a dangerous
+      outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle to its progress and
+      prosperity. He wanted to kill Poggin. It was significant now that he
+      forgot the other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the
+      gun-fighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+      fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit of
+      the surviving pioneer&mdash;these had been in him; and the killings, one
+      after another, the wild and haunted years, had made him, absolutely in
+      spite of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly.
+      The thing he had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+      shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the gunman.
+      Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kind&mdash;the
+      need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last
+      victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still there in his mind,
+      and now it stalked out, worse, more powerful, magnified by its rest,
+      augmented by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to that strange,
+      wild product of the Texas frontier&mdash;the gun-fighter. And those
+      passions were so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought
+      to have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record! Actual
+      vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any rival!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice. What he
+      had feared for years had become a monstrous reality. Respect for himself,
+      blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to while in outlawry&mdash;all,
+      like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood stripped bare, his
+      soul naked&mdash;the soul of Cain. Always since the first brand had been
+      forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now with conscience
+      flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this tiger instinct, he
+      was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the utter abasement the soul
+      he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with the thought of Ray
+      Longstreth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal
+      meeting&mdash;as all his swift and deadly genius must be occupied with
+      Poggin, perhaps in vain&mdash;as hard-shooting men whom he could not watch
+      would be close behind, this almost certainly must be the end of Buck
+      Duane. That did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All her
+      sweetness, her fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duane,&rdquo; she said, softly. &ldquo;Captain MacNelly sent me to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you shouldn't have come,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not. You
+      left me&mdash;all of us&mdash;stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I
+      do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't
+      expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and
+      here I'm selfishly using time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, then&mdash;and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a
+      desperate game to finish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Need it be desperate?&rdquo; she whispered, coming close to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; it can't be else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt
+      that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful, and
+      they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to take some mad risk,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Let me persuade you not
+      to. You said&mdash;you cared for me&mdash;and I&mdash;oh, Duane&mdash;don't
+      you&mdash;know&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of
+      thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in a
+      flood of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! You can't care for me?&rdquo; he cried, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do-I do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood
+      holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing breast and the
+      clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear.
+      He felt her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all the
+      demons that possessed him. And he held her as if she had been his soul,
+      his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there rushed
+      over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and full, strong like an
+      intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and terrible as
+      the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become an outcast, a
+      wanderer, a gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost and suffered
+      worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the endless bloody trail,
+      a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly and inevitably closed to all
+      except the instinct to survive and a black despair; and now, with this
+      woman in his arms, her swelling breast against his, in this moment almost
+      of resurrection, he bent under the storm of passion and joy possible only
+      to him who had endured so much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you care&mdash;a little?&rdquo; he whispered, unsteadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped up to his
+      neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A littler Oh, Duane&mdash;Duane&mdash;a great deal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth
+      seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry
+      heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats. He felt the outcast's need of
+      love. And he gave up to the enthralling moment. She met him half-way,
+      returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes
+      closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she
+      had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not even her life, in
+      that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of regret at his
+      unrestraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and leaned upon him
+      with her face upturned. He felt her hands on his, and they were soft,
+      clinging, strong, like steel under velvet. He felt the rise and fall, the
+      warmth of her breast. A tremor ran over him. He tried to draw back, and if
+      he succeeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing closer. She held
+      her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was wonderful now: white,
+      yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark eyes alluring. But that
+      was not all. There was passion, unquenchable spirit, woman's resolve deep
+      and mighty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love you, Duane!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;For my sake don't go out to meet this
+      outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you. Conquer it if you love
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his arms again
+      he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed more
+      than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She was throbbing, palpitating,
+      quivering, with hot wet cheeks and arms that clung to him like vines. She
+      lifted her mouth to his, whispering, &ldquo;Kiss me!&rdquo; She meant to change him,
+      hold him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him close. With
+      his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss closed his eyes, and
+      he could not lift his head. He sat motionless holding her, blind and
+      helpless, wrapped in a sweet dark glory. She kissed him&mdash;one long
+      endless kiss&mdash;or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks, her
+      hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her arms,
+      the swell of her breast&mdash;all these seemed to inclose him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and arms,
+      watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure now of her
+      intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost lost. This
+      was what it was to be loved by a woman. His years of outlawry had blotted
+      out any boyish love he might have known. This was what he had to give up&mdash;all
+      this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he feared yet loved,
+      this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never until that moment
+      had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That meaning was physical
+      inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what marvel in the touch of
+      quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he saw there might have
+      been for him, under happier circumstances, a life of noble deeds lived for
+      such a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go! Don't go!&rdquo; she cried, as he started violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray, dearest&mdash;I believe&mdash;I'll come back!&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These last words were falsehood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever in
+      memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DUANE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
+      Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar, with his
+      rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's wonderful
+      presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the
+      cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated life so? Poggin
+      was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous instinct, now deep
+      as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild and fatal issue.
+      There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance that Poggin likewise
+      had been taunted in fear of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
+      fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
+      as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
+      clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
+      vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
+      were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
+      cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men&mdash;the rangers&mdash;crouching
+      down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
+      iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money in
+      sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
+      to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into the
+      country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no person
+      near him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural strain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
+      appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot&mdash;a
+      group that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They came
+      a little faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they were
+      four blocks away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle of the
+      vestibule, up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
+      ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the
+      street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There
+      was a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted quickly.
+      They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to conduct some
+      business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the bank door,
+      quickening step a little. The others, close together, came behind him.
+      Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the
+      curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
+      other, a little in his rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he strode in he saw Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HELL'S FIRE!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
+      fear?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUCK DUANE!&rdquo; echoed Kane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his
+      arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The guns boomed almost together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
+      like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in his
+      hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his breast. He
+      pulled&mdash;pulled&mdash;at random. Thunder of booming shots all about
+      him! Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end;
+      yes, the end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+      supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's,
+      back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns spouting red!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
+      There it drifted&mdash;Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark,
+      tragic eyes, fading from his sight... fading.. . fading...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Light shone before Duane's eyes&mdash;thick, strange light that came and
+      went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all. It
+      was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden;
+      darkness, light, sound, movement; and vague, obscure sense of time&mdash;time
+      that was very long. There was fire&mdash;creeping, consuming fire. A dark
+      cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
+      over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
+      clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full of
+      those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like
+      a stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his bound
+      body racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
+      old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent over
+      him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a distance:
+      &ldquo;Duane&mdash;Duane! Ah, he knew me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light
+      came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him.
+      It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin!&rdquo; he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
+      Ruling passion&mdash;eternal instinct!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces,&rdquo; replied MacNelly, solemnly. &ldquo;What
+      a fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he was a
+      tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who-got&mdash;away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
+      job's done&mdash;it's done! Why, man, you're&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of&mdash;of&mdash;HER?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped
+      the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when you
+      sank low&mdash;so low&mdash;I think it was her spirit that held yours
+      back. Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her
+      nerve for a moment. Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go with
+      us. Colonel Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I advised
+      it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I&mdash;a&mdash;chance&mdash;to recover?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chance? Why, man,&rdquo; exclaimed the Captain, &ldquo;you'll get well! You'll pack a
+      sight of lead all your life. But you can stand that. Duane, the whole
+      Southwest knows your story. You need never again be ashamed of the name
+      Buck Duane. The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes you've been a
+      secret ranger all the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your
+      mother, of this noble girl&mdash;of your future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had
+      grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was
+      carried from the train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he remembered&mdash;schoolmates,
+      friends, old neighbors. There was an upflinging of many hands. Duane was
+      being welcomed home to the town from which he had fled. A deadness within
+      him broke. This welcome hurt him somehow, quickened him; and through his
+      cold being, his weary mind, passed a change. His sight dimmed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real! His
+      heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet strange it
+      was, and all seemed magnified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and lifted
+      his head upon pillows. The house was still, though full of people. Duane's
+      gaze sought the open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one entered&mdash;a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a
+      light upon her face. She was leading an old lady, gray-haired,
+      austere-faced, somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked
+      erect. She was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His
+      mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where
+      is my son? My son&mdash;oh, my son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west window and
+      watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his talk. The old man was
+      broken now. He told many interesting things about people Duane had known&mdash;people
+      who had grown up and married, failed, succeeded, gone away, and died. But
+      it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of guns, outlaws, fights. He
+      could not seem to divine how mention of these things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim
+      was childish now, and he had a great pride in his nephew. He wanted to
+      hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there was one thing more than another
+      that pleased him it was to talk about the bullets which Duane carried in
+      his body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five bullets, ain't it?&rdquo; he asked, for the hundredth time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, uncle,&rdquo; replied Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all that
+      lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards, right
+      here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem to mind
+      them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad man in his
+      day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger than you&mdash;got
+      more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the doctor only bein' able to
+      cut one bullet out of you&mdash;that one in your breastbone? It was a
+      forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it, and I wanted it, but
+      Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there was a bullet left in
+      one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same kind as the one cut out
+      of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if it'd stayed there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would indeed, uncle,&rdquo; replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
+      mood returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping Uncle
+      Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine Duane's
+      gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all suggestion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came for
+      him. They read it together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MACNELLEY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak
+      then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter
+      now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes were still
+      intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,&rdquo; said Duane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a
+      little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The pain&mdash;Is it any worse to-day?&rdquo; she asked, instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you
+      know. But I don't mind a little pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;it's the old mood&mdash;the fear?&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon&mdash;able to go out. Then that&mdash;that
+      hell will come back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; she said, with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every
+      town, wherever I go,&rdquo; he went on, miserably. &ldquo;Buck Duane! To kill Buck
+      Duane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde, when I
+      came to you&mdash;plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a
+      terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle
+      between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved you
+      then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that&mdash;that thing
+      which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have
+      to kill another man, thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not
+      voice his passionate query.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She put tender arms round his neck. &ldquo;Because you'll have me with you
+      always,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Because always I shall be between you and that&mdash;that
+      terrible thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came to
+      her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger woman
+      that she who had plead with him that fatal day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll&mdash;we'll be married and leave Texas,&rdquo; she said, softly, with the
+      red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ray!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear&mdash;suppose,&rdquo; he replied, huskily, &ldquo;suppose there might be&mdash;be
+      children&mdash;a boy. A boy with his father's blood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even so&mdash;he'll
+      be half my blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of joy
+      quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made him
+      weak as a child. How could she love him&mdash;how could she so bravely
+      face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her hands
+      round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and beauty&mdash;these
+      she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past. They were her
+      power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think of accepting her
+      sacrifice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Ray&mdash;you dear, noble girl&mdash;I'm poor. I have nothing. And
+      I'm a cripple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you'll be well some day,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;And listen. I have money. My
+      mother left me well off. All she had was her father's&mdash;Do you
+      understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to Louisiana&mdash;to
+      my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to work. There are
+      horses and cattle&mdash;a great cypress forest to cut. Oh, you'll have
+      much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my home. It's a
+      beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss blows all day
+      and the nightingales sing all night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling!&rdquo; cried Duane, brokenly. &ldquo;No, no, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not
+      resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll be happy,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Oh, I know. Come!&mdash;come!-come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous,
+      waiting lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed to
+      him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills in the
+      west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the Nueces
+      and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness and
+      faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be stronger than
+      the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It would come back&mdash;that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that
+      driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those
+      pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his
+      life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be the
+      faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
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+
+***** This file should be named 1027-h.htm or 1027-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/1027/
+
+Produced by Ken Smidge, and David Widger
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/1027.txt b/old/1027.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..215e4d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/1027.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11296 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lone Star Ranger
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Posting Date: July 27, 2008 [EBook #1027]
+Release Date: August 1997
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE STAR RANGER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ken Smidge
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE STAR RANGER
+
+By Zane Grey
+
+
+
+          To
+          CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
+          and his Texas Rangers
+
+
+It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard on the
+Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane--outlaw and
+gunman.
+
+But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes has haunted
+me, and I have given full rein to imagination and have retold it in my
+own way. It deals with the old law--the old border days--therefore it is
+better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing of
+the border of to-day, which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, "Shore is
+'most as bad an' wild as ever!"
+
+In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier of the
+West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in stories. As I
+think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he made that remark, while
+he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet wound. And I remember the giant
+Vaughn, that typical son of stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with
+bandaged head, his thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had
+ambushed him. Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
+memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time, Russell and
+Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
+
+Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and the
+hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the truth about a
+strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men--the Texas Rangers--who
+made the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest
+and sleep, who are passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will
+some day come into their own.
+
+ZANE GREY
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I. THE OUTLAW
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
+intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting
+stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the pleading
+of his soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle who stood
+before him now, had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of
+the dark passionate strain in his blood. It was the recurrence, a
+hundred-fold increased in power, of a strange emotion that for the last
+three years had arisen in him.
+
+"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,"
+repeated the elder man, gravely.
+
+"It's the second time," muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+
+"Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up. He ain't
+got it in for you when he's not drinkin'."
+
+"But what's he want me for?" demanded Duane. "To insult me again? I
+won't stand that twice."
+
+"He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants
+gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you."
+
+Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a
+wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding to leave him
+strangely chilled.
+
+"Kill me! What for?" he asked.
+
+"Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with most of
+the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to Everall's kill
+one another dead all because they got to jerkin' at a quirt among
+themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you. His girl was sweet on
+you."
+
+"I quit when I found out she was his girl."
+
+"I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's here,
+just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody. He's one of
+them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot
+of wild cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how
+quick they are on the draw. T hey ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin
+an' all the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along
+the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd
+fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only
+keep out of his way."
+
+"You mean for me to run?" asked Duane, in scorn.
+
+"I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not
+afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your
+father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of is
+that you'll kill Bain."
+
+Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to
+realize their significance.
+
+"If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws,
+why, a young man will have a lookout," went on the uncle. "You're
+twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your
+temper. You've a chance in life. But if you go gun-fightin', if you kill
+a man, you're ruined. Then you'll kill another. It'll be the same old
+story. An' the rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law
+an' order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with them. If
+you resist arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to arrest, then you go
+to jail, an' mebbe you hang."
+
+"I'd never hang," muttered Duane, darkly.
+
+"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like your
+father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times like these, with
+the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad would have been driven to
+the river. An', son, I'm afraid you're a chip off the old block. Can't
+you hold in--keep your temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only
+result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed
+in a street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
+bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible nature of a
+man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give
+it a chance."
+
+"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but the only
+way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain and his outfit
+have already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out
+and face him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides,
+Cal would shoot me in the back some day if I didn't face him."
+
+"Well, then, what're you goin' to do?" inquired the elder man.
+
+"I haven't decided--yet."
+
+"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin'
+in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you used to be moody an'
+lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was much afraid of you then. But
+now you're gettin' cool an' quiet, an' you think deep, an' I don't like
+the light in your eye. It reminds me of your father."
+
+"I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,"
+said Duane.
+
+"What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a
+glove on his right hand for twenty years?"
+
+"Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have
+done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me."
+
+Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with downcast eyes,
+and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of the future. Presently he
+turned to Duane with an expression that denoted resignation, and yet a
+spirit which showed wherein they were of the same blood.
+
+"You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this country. After
+you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a saddle-bag packed for you and
+the horse ready."
+
+With that he turned on his heel and went into the house, leaving Duane
+to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if
+he shared his uncle's opinion of the result of a meeting between himself
+and Bain. His thoughts were vague. But on the instant of final decision,
+when he had settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm
+of passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken with
+ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his hand was like
+a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle about him quivered. He
+had no fear of Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of
+this strange force in him, made him ponder and shake his head. It was as
+if he had not all to say in this matter. There appeared to have been in
+him a reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a
+distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled him.
+That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living, and in it he
+became a thoughtful man.
+
+He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a
+Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it,
+on and off, for five years. Before that it had been used by his father.
+There were a number of notches filed in the bulge of the ivory handle.
+This gun was the one his father had fired twice after being shot
+through the heart, and his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in
+the death-grip that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been
+drawn upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
+cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used. Duane
+could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty feet he could
+split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
+
+Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought,
+she was away from home. He went out and down the path toward the gate.
+The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds.
+Outside in the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a
+wagon; they spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began
+to stride down the road toward the town.
+
+Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the
+great state because it was the trading-center of several hundred miles
+of territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings,
+some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and one-third of the lot, and by
+far the most prosperous, were saloons. From the road Duane turned into
+this street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and
+saddled horses and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down
+the street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
+leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane slackened his
+stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's place, which was the
+first saloon, he was walking slowly. Several people spoke to him and
+turned to look back after they had passed. He paused at the door of
+White's saloon, took a sharp survey of the interior, then stepped
+inside.
+
+The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke. The
+noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing presently broke
+to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a monte table. Sol White, who
+was behind the bar, straightened up when he saw Duane; then, without
+speaking, he bent over to rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the
+Mexican gamblers were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
+speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for trouble;
+they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane intend to do?
+Several of the cowboys and ranchers present exchanged glances. Duane had
+been weighed by unerring Texas instinct, by men who all packed guns. The
+boy was the son of his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned
+to their drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
+upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed
+to sharp points.
+
+"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and
+averted his dark gaze for an instant.
+
+"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in
+town looking for me bad."
+
+"Reckon there is, Buck," replied White. "He came in heah aboot an
+hour ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore. Told me
+confidential a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he
+was hell-bent on wearin' it home spotted red."
+
+"Anybody with him?" queried Duane.
+
+"Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before.
+They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's looked on the flowin'
+glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps."
+
+"Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?"
+
+"Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's
+ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the town's shore wide open."
+
+Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole
+length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers, ranchers,
+clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It was a singular fact
+that when he turned to retrace his steps the street was almost empty. He
+had not returned a hundred yards on his way when the street was wholly
+deserted. A few heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main
+street of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was an
+instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for them to sense
+with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could
+not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on
+the street or in the shops knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet
+his enemy.
+
+Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon he
+swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a moment,
+then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in this way the
+length of the block. Sol White was standing in the door of his saloon.
+
+"Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off," he said, quick and low-voiced. "Cal
+Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he brags, he'll
+show there."
+
+Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding White's
+statement Duane was wary and slow at every door. Nothing happened,
+and he traversed almost the whole length of the block without seeing a
+person. Everall's place was on the corner.
+
+Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a strange
+fury that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to long for this
+encounter more than anything he had ever wanted. But, vivid as were his
+sensations, he felt as if in a dream.
+
+Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which was
+raised high. Then the short door swung outward as if impelled by a
+vigorous hand. A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon
+the sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he
+uttered a savage roar.
+
+Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a
+dozen rods from Everall's door.
+
+If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered
+forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty, disheveled, and
+hatless, his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent,
+he was a wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this
+showed in his demeanor. His hands were extended before him, the right
+hand a little lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor
+in speech mostly curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A
+good twenty-five paces separated the men.
+
+"Won't nothin' make you draw, you--!" he shouted, fiercely.
+
+"I'm waitin' on you, Cal," replied Duane.
+
+Bain's right hand stiffened--moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy throws
+a ball underhand--a draw his father had taught him. He pulled twice,
+his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was pointed
+downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel at
+Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion.
+
+In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun
+ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon
+his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely
+the red had left his face--and also the distortion! The devil that had
+showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to
+speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+changed--rolled--set blankly.
+
+Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool,
+glad the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. "The
+fool!"
+
+When he looked up there were men around him.
+
+"Plumb center," said one.
+
+Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned
+down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand.
+He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered
+the two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart.
+
+Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+
+"Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like
+father like son!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have
+spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to
+kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a
+drunken, bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.
+
+When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a
+mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place,
+a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind--the
+consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle
+recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
+anger took hold of him.
+
+"The d--d fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle
+Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on the
+dodge."
+
+"Son, you killed him--then?" asked the uncle, huskily.
+
+"Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done
+by."
+
+"I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
+spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country."
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed Duane.
+
+"She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her--what she
+always feared."
+
+Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+
+"My God! Uncle, what have I done?" His broad shoulders shook.
+
+"Listen, son, an' remember what I say," replied the elder man,
+earnestly. "Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see
+you take it this way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous.
+You're not to blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are
+wild times. The law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change
+life all in a minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has
+had her share in making you what you are this moment. For she was one of
+the pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild
+times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save
+her life, her children, an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It
+will be many years before it dies out of the boys born in Texas."
+
+"I'm a murderer," said Duane, shuddering.
+
+"No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
+outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home."
+
+"An outlaw?"
+
+"I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
+neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley
+Duane. Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever
+you do-be a man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as
+honest as you can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become
+bad. There are outlaws who 're not all bad--many who have been driven to
+the river by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men
+avoid brawls. Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do
+if it comes to gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When
+this thing is lived down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into
+the unsettled country. It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember,
+be a man. Goodby."
+
+Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's
+hand and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the black
+and rode out of town.
+
+As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
+distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed
+up, and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He
+passed several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and
+he took an old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor
+growth of mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught
+a glimpse of low hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that
+section, and knew where to find grass and water. When he reached
+this higher ground he did not, however, halt at the first favorable
+camping-spot, but went on and on. Once he came out upon the brow of a
+hill and saw a considerable stretch of country beneath him. It had the
+gray sameness characterizing all that he had traversed. He seemed to
+want to see wide spaces--to get a glimpse of the great wilderness lying
+somewhere beyond to the southwest. It was sunset when he decided to camp
+at a likely spot he came across. He led the horse to water, and then
+began searching through the shallow valley for a suitable place to camp.
+He passed by old camp-sites that he well remembered. These, however, did
+not strike his fancy this time, and the significance of the change in
+him did not occur at the moment. At last he found a secluded spot, under
+cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from the old
+trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse. He looked among his
+effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had failed to put one
+in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, and never on
+this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso and used that.
+The horse, unused to such hampering of his free movements, had to be
+driven out upon the grass.
+
+Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This done, ending
+the work of that day, he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had
+waned into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show and brighten.
+Above the low continuous hum of insects sounded the evening carol of
+robins. Presently the birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet
+was more noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more
+isolated and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+
+It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful, sleepless.
+The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think back, to take note
+of his late actions and their motives. The change one day had wrought
+amazed him. He who had always been free, easy, happy, especially when
+out alone in the open, had become in a few short hours bound, serious,
+preoccupied. The silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing
+to him except a medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds
+of pursuit. The loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always been
+beautiful to him, now only conveyed a sense of safety for the present.
+He watched, he listened, he thought. He felt tired, yet had no
+inclination to rest. He intended to be off by dawn, heading toward the
+southwest. Had he a destination? It was vague as his knowledge of that
+great waste of mesquite and rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out
+there was a refuge. For he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+
+This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no
+sleep, no content, no life worth the living! He must be a lone wolf
+or he must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest
+living he still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If
+he did not work on some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? The
+idea of stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber
+enough. And he was twenty-three years old.
+
+Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+
+The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that stole
+along his veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the few sticks of
+mesquite into a last flickering blaze. He was cold, and for some reason
+he wanted some light. The black circle of darkness weighed down upon
+him, closed in around him. Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze
+in that position. He had heard a step. It was behind him--no--on the
+side. Some one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the
+touch of cold steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But all
+was silent--silent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low
+murmuring of wind in the mesquite. Had he heard a step? He began to
+breathe again.
+
+But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had taken
+on a strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer
+shadows. Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was
+another present at that camp-fire vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in
+the middle of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal
+Bain! His features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo,
+more sharply outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard face
+softening at the threshold of eternity. The red tan of sun, the coarse
+signs of drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so characteristic of Bain
+were no longer there. This face represented a different Bain, showed all
+that was human in him fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white.
+The lips wanted to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony
+of thought. They revealed what might have been possible for this man
+if he lived--that he saw his mistake too late. Then they rolled, set
+blankly, and closed in death.
+
+That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold sweat, a
+remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse that was on him.
+He divined that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. He
+remembered how his father had been eternally pursued by the furies of
+accusing guilt, how he had never been able to forget in work or in sleep
+those men he had killed.
+
+The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then dreams
+troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so early that in the
+gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his horse. Day had just broken
+when he struck the old trail again.
+
+He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and graze
+his horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an easy trot. The
+country grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the level of the
+monotonous horizon. About three in the afternoon he came to a little
+river which marked the boundary line of his hunting territory.
+
+The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing to two
+facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt
+reluctant to cross into that region where his presence alone meant that
+he was a marked man. The bottom-lands through which the river wound to
+the southwest were more inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The
+rest or that day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated
+the brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed to
+him that in this lonely cover he would feel easy and content. But he
+did not. Every feeling, every imagining he had experienced the previous
+night returned somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of
+the same intensity and color.
+
+In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during
+which he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle--stolen
+cattle, probably--had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
+of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
+quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
+enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
+rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+assuredly would be his lot.
+
+Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It
+was distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
+throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was
+this reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide
+berth. Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he
+concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of
+provisions.
+
+The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which
+he believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
+horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless,
+he followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far
+when the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his
+rear. In the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back
+along the road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever
+they were, had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the
+road was not to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the
+mesquites and halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was
+now a fugitive, it seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
+
+The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of
+Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the
+clink of spurs.
+
+"Shore he crossed the river below," said one man.
+
+"I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us," replied another.
+
+Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
+gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
+him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what
+it would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held
+his breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his
+horse. Suddenly he became aware that these horsemen had halted. They
+were whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed.
+What had made them halt so suspiciously?
+
+"You're wrong, Bill," said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+
+"The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
+hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat."
+
+"Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand," replied the man called Bill.
+
+Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
+the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
+breathed exclamation.
+
+Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
+straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
+from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close
+by his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound.
+These shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a
+quick, hot resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable.
+He must escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or
+not. Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these
+men. After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over
+the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried
+to guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods
+he was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so
+well and made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his
+pursuers. The sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died
+away. Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they
+would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on
+again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he
+might take advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long
+while until he came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when,
+striking the willow brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the
+river, he picketed his horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep.
+His mind bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made
+efforts to think of other things, but in vain.
+
+Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet
+was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and
+shades of the night--these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
+Doggedly Duane fought against the insidious phantom. He kept telling
+himself that it was just imagination, that it would wear off in time.
+Still in his heart he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not
+give up; he would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+
+Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river. Half an
+hour of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and willow thickets.
+These he threaded to come at length to the ford. It was a gravel bottom,
+and therefore an easy crossing. Once upon the opposite shore he
+reined in his horse and looked darkly back. This action marked his
+acknowledgment of his situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge
+of the outlaws; he was beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse
+passed his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien
+shore.
+
+He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether
+or not he left a plain trail.
+
+"Let them hunt me!" he muttered.
+
+When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and thirst
+made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him for a place to
+halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which was hard packed
+and smooth from the tracks of cattle. He doubted not that he had come
+across one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed into it, and
+had scarcely traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank
+upon a single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their
+mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more than a
+hundred paces separated them. They stood then for a moment watching each
+other.
+
+"Mawnin', stranger," called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
+
+"Howdy," replied Duane, shortly.
+
+They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted
+again.
+
+"I seen you ain't no ranger," called the rider, "an' shore I ain't
+none."
+
+He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+
+"How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?" asked Duane, curiously. Somehow
+he had instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a
+rancher trailing stolen stock.
+
+"Wal," said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, "a
+ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man."
+
+He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to
+the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing brown
+eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he
+was a good-natured ruffian.
+
+Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his
+mind how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a hunted man.
+
+"My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?" said
+this stranger.
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+"I reckon you're Buck Duane," went on Stevens. "I heerd you was a damn
+bad man with a gun."
+
+This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the
+idea that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was proof of how
+swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border.
+
+"Wal, Buck," said Stevens, in a friendly manner, "I ain't presumin' on
+your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the river. But will you
+stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?"
+
+"I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself," admitted Duane.
+
+"Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up
+before you hit thet stretch of country."
+
+He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and
+there was that in his action which seemed significant of a vast and
+barren region.
+
+"Stock up?" queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+"Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along without whisky,
+but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so embarrassin' travelin'
+these parts dodgin' your shadow. Now, I'm on my way to Mercer. It's
+a little two-bit town up the river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some
+grub."
+
+Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept silence,
+however, and then Stevens went on.
+
+"Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. I never was
+much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it of necessity. It
+takes a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. Why, I've been
+thet sick I was jest achin' fer some ranger to come along an' plug me.
+Give me a pardner any day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a
+feller, an' I'm shore not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself
+sufficient."
+
+"You mean you'd like me to go with you?" asked Duane.
+
+Stevens grinned. "Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be
+braced with a man of your reputation."
+
+"See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense," declared Duane, in some
+haste.
+
+"Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster," replied Stevens. "I
+hate a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet 're
+always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gun-play. Buck, I don't know much
+about you. But every man who's lived along the Texas border remembers a
+lot about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your
+rep was established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you
+was lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun, why the
+figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes.
+Thet's the word thet's gone down the border. It's the kind of reputation
+most sure to fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the
+safest, too; I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now
+you're only a boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now,
+Buck, I'm not a spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe
+a little of my society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the
+country."
+
+There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+
+"I dare say you're right," replied Duane, quietly. "And I'll go to
+Mercer with you."
+
+Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never
+been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his
+companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow,
+probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened,
+and sometimes he thought with a pang of the distinction of name and
+heritage of blood his father had left to him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens,
+having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town
+of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
+
+"Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
+hang up out here," Stevens was saying, as he mounted. "You see, towns
+an' sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad.
+They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb
+bad. Now, nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been
+a thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
+truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin'
+sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case
+there'll be--"
+
+His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
+kind of wild humor.
+
+"Stevens, have you got any money?" asked Duane.
+
+"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
+since--wal, fer some time."
+
+"I'll furnish money for grub," returned Duane. "And for whisky, too,
+providing you hurry back here--without making trouble."
+
+"Shore you're a downright good pard," declared Stevens, in admiration,
+as he took the money. "I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never
+broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick."
+
+With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the
+town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be
+a cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures
+of alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder
+driving in a meager flock.
+
+Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping
+the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour
+had elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle,
+the clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean
+danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the
+mesquites.
+
+He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast.
+Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had
+a steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck
+Duane as admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept
+looking back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw
+several men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and
+got into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the
+outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no
+fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face
+seemed a shade paler.
+
+"Was jest comin' out of the store," yelled Stevens. "Run plumb into a
+rancher--who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll chase
+us."
+
+They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and
+when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his
+companion steadily drew farther away.
+
+"No hosses in thet bunch to worry us," called out Stevens.
+
+Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode
+somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of
+hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the
+willow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed with
+sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished
+that Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low,
+sandy bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise
+Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+
+Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of
+his shirt was soaked with blood.
+
+"You're shot!" cried Duane.
+
+"Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift--on
+this here pack?"
+
+Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.
+The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
+
+"Oh, why didn't you say so!" cried Duane. "I never thought. You seemed
+all right."
+
+"Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he
+doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good."
+
+Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from
+his breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low
+down, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding
+himself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short
+of marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no
+hope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+
+"Feller's name was Brown," Stevens said. "Me an' him fell out over a
+hoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then.
+Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown,
+an' seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't
+breakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he
+did--an' fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?"
+
+"It's pretty bad," replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful
+outlaw in the eyes.
+
+"I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe
+I can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave
+me some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out."
+
+"Leave you here alone?" asked Duane, sharply.
+
+"Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will
+foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in
+this game."
+
+"What would you do in my case?" asked Duane, curiously.
+
+"Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide," replied Stevens.
+
+Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he
+decided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,
+filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his own
+horse. That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him in
+the saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard or
+grassy ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran
+across a trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild
+country.
+
+"Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark--till I drop," concluded
+Stevens, with a laugh.
+
+All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded
+outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tired
+then and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still
+spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but
+asked for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
+
+"Buck, will you take off my boots?" he asked, with a faint smile on his
+pallid face.
+
+Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did
+not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
+
+"Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I
+wasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak."
+
+"You've a chance to-to get over this," said Duane.
+
+"Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say, pard, if I do
+go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness."
+
+Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+
+Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance
+of dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done he
+prepared himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when he
+lay down to sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens
+was still alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All
+was quiet except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
+then rose and went for the horses.
+
+When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerful
+as usual, and apparently stronger.
+
+"Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride," he
+said. "Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help
+me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood this
+evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was in me."
+
+While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,
+and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a
+hurry to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would put
+them beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande
+and the hiding-places of the outlaws.
+
+When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon you
+can pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh accompanying the
+words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
+
+On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was
+broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while
+upholding Stevens in the saddle.
+
+The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
+were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.
+The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while;
+darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars
+brightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his
+saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore
+away. Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that
+there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
+grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite and
+cactus.
+
+Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
+little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one
+look at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last
+ride. He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
+
+"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he said, and
+seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
+
+This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
+Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
+the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
+the night before.
+
+"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads
+to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like yourself--some like
+me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's easy
+livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
+never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if
+a man can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
+lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in
+here will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
+they'll kill you."
+
+Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not
+want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+
+"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."
+
+"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See here, pard,
+you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From this
+camp we'll--you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will be honest
+men. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along the river
+fer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you
+know him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
+folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with him ant his
+gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock way up
+the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed once
+right in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty well
+hid. But Bland--I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him.
+Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
+sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore there's
+some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the time.
+Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers."
+
+Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+
+"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently. "You're
+too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's got
+women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with a
+gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' he
+loves his hide. I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer you
+when you ain't goin' it alone."
+
+Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens had
+been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.
+Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birds
+came down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable
+seat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but
+with a changed tone.
+
+"Feller's name--was Brown," he rambled. "We fell out--over a hoss I
+stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one of them
+sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends to be honest. Say,
+Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You an' me are pards now."
+
+"I'll remember, if I ever meet him," said Duane.
+
+That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his
+head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across the
+bronzed rough face.
+
+"My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?"
+
+Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them.
+The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fell
+asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duane
+watching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed
+clearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wanted
+anything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duane
+realized what it meant.
+
+"Pard, you--stuck--to me!" the outlaw whispered.
+
+Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise
+in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
+
+To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he
+could not understand.
+
+Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones
+to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the
+weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the
+trail in the gathering twilight.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged the
+two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and found
+himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at his
+feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great,
+wild, mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
+
+Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he had
+not the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably the
+inclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
+
+No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent the
+last two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had ever
+seen. From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of his
+travel was yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down to
+the river. The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood,
+and nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight and
+a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find a
+place to rest, Duane began the descent.
+
+The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. He
+kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a short
+time he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A stream
+of clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran into
+irrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that
+fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet
+water. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would be
+his reception.
+
+The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.
+Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good
+hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle were
+everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.
+Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to and
+fro. Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porch
+attached. A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door.
+No one else appeared to notice him.
+
+Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of square
+lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure.
+Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women with
+children, and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. His
+advent created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who were
+lolling in the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and
+saloon, and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+
+As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a
+loud exclamation:
+
+"Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!"
+
+The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance
+toward Duane.
+
+"How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?" queried the first man.
+
+"Plain as your nose," replied the fellow called Euchre.
+
+"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer Bosomer's
+nose is shore plain on the landscape."
+
+These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he
+thought they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The
+man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face which
+showed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with
+a thatch of sandy hair.
+
+"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?"
+he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weapons
+hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward
+to Duane.
+
+Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and he
+remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curious
+interest in regard to something that leaped inside him and made his
+breast feel tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which had
+shot through him often of late, and which had decided him to go out to
+the meeting with Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
+
+"Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
+
+"My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly.
+
+"An' how'd you come by the hoss?"
+
+Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,
+during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of
+his beard.
+
+"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,"
+presently said Euchre.
+
+"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I happen to be
+Luke Stevens's side-pardner."
+
+Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy
+sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+
+"An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
+
+"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them
+in. But the pack is mine," replied Duane. "And say, I befriended your
+pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it."
+
+"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How do we
+know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened to
+stumble down here?"
+
+"You'll have to take my word, that's all," replied Duane, sharply.
+
+"I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!"
+
+With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped
+into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+
+Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+
+"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed," said the man Euchre. He did not
+appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+
+At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, and
+the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His manner
+proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, and
+clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He was
+not a Texan; in truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws as
+native to his state.
+
+"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you and what're
+you doing here?"
+
+Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief
+appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his story
+again, this time a little more in detail.
+
+"I believe you," replied Bland, at once. "Think I know when a fellow is
+lying."
+
+"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet about Luke
+wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dread
+of dyin' with his boots on."
+
+At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+
+"You said Duane--Buck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of that
+Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?"
+
+"Yes," replied Duane.
+
+"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim humor. "So
+you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?"
+
+"Had a fight."
+
+"Fight? Do you mean gun-play?" questioned Bland. He seemed eager,
+curious, speculative.
+
+"Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say," answered Duane.
+
+"Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man," went on
+Bland, ironically. "Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in my
+camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce."
+
+"Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?" asked Duane, quietly.
+
+"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't a free
+place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want to
+join my band?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an
+ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to kill
+somebody all the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer
+is all one color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you
+to hit the trail."
+
+"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as he spoke
+he felt that he did not know himself.
+
+Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and
+as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like an
+angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had
+been devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and
+the other outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When
+Bosomer saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change
+passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the
+men who had followed him out piled over one another in their hurry to
+get to one side.
+
+Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, and
+in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he had
+expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew he
+was neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran through
+him. It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar to
+him. Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had
+come out to kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of
+a stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of his
+ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duane
+divined that no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just his
+chance. In that moment murder would have been joy to him. Very likely
+he had forgotten his pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties
+were absorbed in conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+
+But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment,
+his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+
+That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thought
+that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man.
+Still he would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. When
+Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only--both
+from Duane's gun--and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.
+Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the
+gun with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane would
+not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any further
+madness on his part.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to
+lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane and the horses away
+to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed
+their saddles. Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his
+visitor to enter the house.
+
+It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One room
+contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the other a stone
+fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and various
+blackened utensils.
+
+"Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay," said Euchre. "I
+ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's here, an' you're
+welcome."
+
+"Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out," replied
+Duane.
+
+Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+
+"Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass." Euchre left Duane
+alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and mechanically he wiped the
+sweat from his face. He was laboring under some kind of a spell or shock
+which did not pass off quickly. When it had worn away he took off his
+coat and belt and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it make on the
+morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future.
+He felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for the first time he
+took notice of the outlaw.
+
+Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face
+clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut from long
+gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his thin frame denoted
+strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+
+"Hey a drink or a smoke?" he asked.
+
+Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he
+had used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he
+felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly
+what he felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood,
+something that made him fear himself.
+
+Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a little
+sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?"
+
+"I'm twenty-three," replied Duane.
+
+Euchre showed surprise. "You're only a boy! I thought you thirty
+anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin' thet with my
+own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet. Throwin' a gun in
+self-defense--thet ain't no crime!"
+
+Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+
+"Huh," replied the old man. "I've been on this river fer years, an' I've
+seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of them, though, was no
+good. An' thet kind don't last long. This river country has been an' is
+the refuge fer criminals from all over the states. I've bunked with
+bank cashiers, forgers, plain thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all
+of which had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are
+exceptions. He's no Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come
+from all over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
+fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves they'd
+shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent
+feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't join his gang. Thet'll not
+make him take a likin' to you. Have you any money?"
+
+"Not much," replied Duane.
+
+"Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?"
+
+"No."
+
+"When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work
+a decent feller could do. You can't herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men
+would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?"
+
+"God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money last as long
+as possible--then starve."
+
+"Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'."
+
+Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and eager
+which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked
+this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the
+outside world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming
+feature.
+
+"I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of course I won't
+live with any one unless I can pay my share."
+
+"Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre, good-humoredly. "You
+make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck.
+Thet man doesn't live who can beat my bread."
+
+"How do you ever pack supplies in here?" asked Duane, thinking of the
+almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+
+"Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river. Thet river
+trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to any supply point.
+Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in
+from down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An'
+all this stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships."
+
+"Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?" asked Duane.
+
+"Thet's not my secret," replied Euchre, shortly. "Fact is, I don't know.
+I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock
+with them."
+
+Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest
+had been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and
+glad to have something to think about. For every once in a while he had
+a sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the
+next hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and
+eating of the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several
+utensils, put on his hat and turned to go out.
+
+"Come along or stay here, as you want," he said to Duane.
+
+"I'll stay," rejoined Duane, slowly.
+
+The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
+
+Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but
+all the printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on
+cartridge-boxes and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch.
+There seemed to be nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want
+to lie down any more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the
+room to the other. And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired
+habit of brooding over his misfortune.
+
+Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his
+gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked
+at it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty
+he traced his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was
+accountable for his act. He discovered, however, that he had a
+remarkable tendency to drop his hand to his gun. That might have come
+from the habit long practice in drawing had given him. Likewise, it
+might have come from a subtle sense, scarcely thought of at all, of the
+late, close, and inevitable relation between that weapon and himself. He
+was amazed to find that, bitter as he had grown at fate, the desire to
+live burned strong in him. If he had been as unfortunately situated, but
+with the difference that no man wanted to put him in jail or take his
+life, he felt that this burning passion to be free, to save himself,
+might not have been so powerful. Life certainly held no bright prospects
+for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever getting back to his
+home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let himself be
+handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging cowboy, or be
+shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to add another
+notch to his gun--these things were impossible for Duane because there
+was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only to fate and
+the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living part
+of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+discontinued--the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business with
+him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had
+become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and
+he set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He
+stood still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down,
+put himself in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced
+throwing his gun--practiced it till he was hot and tired and his arm
+ached and his hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every
+day. It was one thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
+
+Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From
+this point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different
+circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful
+spot. Euchre's shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the
+wall, and Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley.
+Assuredly it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans,
+who, of course, were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous
+flat-boats, crude of structure, moored along the banks of the river. The
+Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in
+the middle, was stretched over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow,
+evidently used as a ferry, lay anchored on the far shore.
+
+The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big
+scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim
+Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost
+any number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and
+quick. What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river,
+and he wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by
+use of boats.
+
+Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he
+returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
+
+"Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you was," he
+said, by way of greeting. "Pitch in an' we'll soon have grub ready.
+There's shore one consolin' fact round this here camp."
+
+"What's that?" asked Duane.
+
+"Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit."
+
+"But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none.
+An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas."
+
+"Who is Bland?" asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. "What do you
+know about him?"
+
+"We don't know who he is or where he hails from," replied Euchre.
+"Thet's always been somethin' to interest the gang. He must have been
+a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's middle-aged. I remember how
+years ago he was soft-spoken an' not rough in talk or act like he is
+now. Bland ain't likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor
+you, an' he's shore a knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet
+rules men. Outlaws are always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if
+it hadn't been fer the gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand men
+around him."
+
+"How many in his gang now?"
+
+"I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland
+has several small camps up an' down the river. Also he has men back on
+the cattle-ranges."
+
+"How does he control such a big force?" asked Duane. "Especially when
+his band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for
+Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil."
+
+"Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper,
+never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg an' Chess
+Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an'
+some fer nothin'. The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is
+because he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled. Bland is rich.
+They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of
+gold. But he's free with money. He gambles when he's not off with a
+shipment of cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is there's
+always plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty,
+bloody money!"
+
+"It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!"
+exclaimed Duane.
+
+"Wal," replied Euchre, dryly, "he's been quicker on the draw than the
+other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all."
+
+Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such
+remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
+
+"Speakin' of this here swift wrist game," went on Euchre, "there's been
+considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of a gun. You know, Buck,
+thet among us fellers--us hunted men--there ain't anythin' calculated
+to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this
+afternoon--an' he said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd
+never seen your equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just
+couldn't follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you
+meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as
+any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe Bland himself.
+Chess is the captain with a Colt--or he was. An' he shore didn't like
+the references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin'
+it, but he didn't like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your
+draw might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different.
+An' they all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears
+to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago.
+Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I says: 'What ails
+you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarin'
+out, blood in his eye? Wasn't he cool an' quiet, steady of lips, an'
+weren't his eyes readin' Bo's mind? An' thet lightnin' draw--can't
+you-all see thet's a family gift?'"
+
+Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a
+slap with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself
+a champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could
+feel in a young one whom he admired.
+
+"Wal," he resumed, presently, "thet's your introduction to the border,
+Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let severely alone by
+real gun-fighters an' men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of
+the other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, an' onless
+you cross them they're no more likely to interfere with you than you
+are with them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river
+country. They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride into will
+scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired four-flush
+gunman or a sheriff--an' these men will be playin' to the crowd an'
+yellin' for your blood. Thet's the Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer
+ever in the brakes or you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this
+ain't cheerful news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you
+because I've taken a likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet you ain't
+border-wise. Let's eat now, an' afterward we'll go out so the gang can
+see you're not hidin'."
+
+When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range
+of mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to
+the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house
+near at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little
+Mexican boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The
+sweet, happy voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boy--these seemed
+utterly out of place here.
+
+Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane
+remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where
+Bosomer had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should
+be affected strangely by the sight of it.
+
+"Let's have a look in here," said Euchre.
+
+Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very
+large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of
+rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels
+lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on
+posts that sustained the log rafters of the roof.
+
+"The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is Benson,"
+said Euchre. "He runs the place an' sells drinks. The gang calls him
+Jackrabbit Benson, because he's always got his eye peeled an' his ear
+cocked. Don't notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to
+death of every new-comer who rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason,
+I take it, is because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from
+a sheriff or ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like Jackrabbit
+Benson. He's hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him to kill him. Wal,
+I'm always expectin' to see some feller ride in here an' throw a gun on
+Benson. Can't say I'd be grieved."
+
+Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare,
+gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and
+dark skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black
+mustache hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the
+brow; deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had
+a restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that
+served as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's glance he
+turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+
+"What have you got against him?" inquired Duane, as he sat down beside
+Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What
+did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?
+
+"Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained," replied Euchre, apologetically. "Shore
+an outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I never stole
+nothin' but cattle from some rancher who never missed 'em anyway. Thet
+sneak Benson--he was the means of puttin' a little girl in Bland's way."
+
+"Girl?" queried Duane, now with real attention.
+
+"Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we
+get out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be sociable, an' I can't
+talk about the chief."
+
+During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and
+Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all
+gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly
+and agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all
+invitations to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a
+way, as one of their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his
+affair with Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One
+outlaw borrowed money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+
+By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans,
+most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the
+Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the
+drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts--some of the
+famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
+license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
+him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
+perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
+piles of silver--Mexican pesos--as large and high as the crown of his
+hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States coin.
+Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and that
+heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an
+intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly,
+as befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
+winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
+grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
+drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
+gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
+steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
+was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
+his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
+his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
+contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That
+seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent
+heads, from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights,
+but these served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked
+unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something
+at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
+
+"Bland's not here to-night," Euchre was saying. "He left today on one of
+his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
+here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
+Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off.
+He's one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn
+me! there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as
+Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin'
+he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see
+Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser
+there--the one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a
+Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin.
+Next to him is Bill Marr--the feller with the bandana round his head.
+Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot
+more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because
+Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But
+he's the best rustler Bland's got--a grand rider, an' a wonder with
+cattle. An' see the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of
+Bland's gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year
+out on the border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of
+Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland.
+Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut."
+
+Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he
+happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked
+man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less
+distinction, according to the record of his past wild prowess and his
+present possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there,
+received in careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts,
+experienced a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror.
+Was his being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such
+ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proof--he was a
+criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+
+For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
+heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
+outside things.
+
+The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased.
+There was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or
+action sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and
+the scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
+
+"You stacked the cards, you--!"
+
+"Say that twice," another voice replied, so different in its cool,
+ominous tone from the other.
+
+"I'll say it twice," returned the first gamester, in hot haste. "I'll
+say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered
+gent! You stacked the cards!"
+
+Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
+Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
+was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
+
+"Run or duck!" yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed
+for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob.
+Heavy gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with
+pell-mell out into the darkness. There they all halted, and several
+peeped in at the door.
+
+"Who was the Kid callin'?" asked one outlaw.
+
+"Bud Marsh," replied another.
+
+"I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,"
+went on yet another.
+
+"How many shots?"
+
+"Three or four, I counted."
+
+"Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's.38. Listen!
+There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway."
+
+At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room.
+Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night
+and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with
+him.
+
+"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The Kid--young
+Fuller thet I was tellin' you about--he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost
+his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as
+any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's
+arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened
+on him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading
+round the river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out
+that the trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself
+to his fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store
+for him. He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared
+beyond his power to tell.
+
+Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril--the
+danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which
+threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he
+considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was
+bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps
+years inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright
+light of day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at
+twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day these visitations became
+to him what they really were--phantoms of his conscience. He could
+dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe
+that this strange feat of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained
+him, made him sleepless and sick.
+
+That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
+unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
+interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
+possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's
+life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
+clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
+possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out
+upon his uncertain way.
+
+When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+
+"Say, Buck, I've news for you," he said; and his tone conveyed either
+pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. "Feller named
+Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
+ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain
+you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles
+south of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?"
+
+"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane.
+
+"Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled
+with gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as
+seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an
+outlaw an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more
+news. You're goin' to be popular."
+
+"Popular? What do you mean?"
+
+"I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you
+rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women
+in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come
+in. It's lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the
+towns."
+
+"Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
+women," rejoined Duane.
+
+"I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
+hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid."
+
+"What kid?" inquired Duane, in surprise.
+
+"Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin' here--the one
+Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?"
+
+"You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now," replied Duane,
+abruptly.
+
+"Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
+years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
+drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
+across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but
+I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson
+fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out
+she was only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed.
+I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said,
+was to use her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never
+went much on Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took
+her--bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from
+notions of chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was
+better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept
+Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has
+growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of
+her. I can see hell brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why
+I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's
+invited you. Shore, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on--Wal, thet
+'d complicate matters. But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could
+help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her
+in your way. You're a man an' can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl
+once, an' if she'd lived she be as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I
+wouldn't want her here in Bland's camp."
+
+"I'll go, Euchre. Take me over," replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes
+upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
+
+In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached
+Bland's cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the
+pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked
+like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the
+valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a
+grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences
+of a woman's hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of
+bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
+
+Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+
+"Is that you, Euchre?" asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone
+of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered
+what she would be like.
+
+"Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?" answered Euchre.
+
+"She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick," replied the girl.
+
+Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the
+outlaw's eyes was added significance to Duane.
+
+"Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
+you about," Euchre said.
+
+"Oh, I can't! I look so--so--"
+
+"Never mind how you look," interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. "It
+ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no
+rustler, no thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll--"
+
+Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance
+shifting from side to side.
+
+But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared
+in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek.
+She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+
+"Don't be bashful, Jennie," said Euchre. "You an' Duane have a chance to
+talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'."
+
+With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+
+"I'm glad to meet you, Miss--Miss Jennie," said Duane. "Euchre didn't
+mention your last name. He asked me to come over to--"
+
+Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes
+to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes
+were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He
+seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her
+piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence.
+It was no ordinary moment.
+
+"What did you come here for?" she asked, at last.
+
+"To see you," replied Duane, glad to speak.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well--Euchre thought--he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit,"
+replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.
+
+"Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good
+to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are
+you?"
+
+Duane told her.
+
+"You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to
+hide?"
+
+"No, I'm not," replied Duane, trying to smile.
+
+"Then why are you here?"
+
+"I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape
+at home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back."
+
+"But you can't be honest here?"
+
+"Yes, I can."
+
+"Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different." She kept the
+strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her
+youthful face were softening.
+
+Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the
+unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+
+"O God! Maybe you're the man to save me--to take me away before it's too
+late."
+
+Duane's spirit leaped.
+
+"Maybe I am," he replied, instantly.
+
+She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek
+flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress.
+Then the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.
+
+"It can't be. You're only--after me, too, like Bland--like all of them."
+
+Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook
+her.
+
+"Look at me--straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a
+father--a brother?"
+
+"They're dead--killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was
+carried away," Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand
+to him. "Forgive me. I believe--I know you're good. It was only--I live
+so much in fear--I'm half crazy--I've almost forgotten what good men are
+like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?"
+
+"Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?"
+
+"Oh no. But take me away."
+
+"I'll try," said Duane, simply. "That won't be easy, though. I must
+have time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider.
+Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are
+you watched--kept prisoner?"
+
+"No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have
+fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me,
+half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other
+dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it
+for love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing
+jealous. There was' a man came here by the name of Spence--so he called
+himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him. She was
+in love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and
+that ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with
+Bland about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland
+laughs in her face. Then I've heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland
+to give me to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before
+Bland went away things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished
+Mrs. Bland would kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me.
+Duane, you must be quick if you'd save me."
+
+"I realize that," replied he, thoughtfully. "I think my difficulty will
+be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she'd have the whole gang of
+outlaws on me at once."
+
+"She would that. You've got to be careful--and quick."
+
+"What kind of woman is she?" inquired Duane.
+
+"She's--she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk
+sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain.
+She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower
+yourself to--to--"
+
+"To make love to her?" interrupted Duane.
+
+Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+
+"My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here," he said,
+bluntly.
+
+"But--Duane," she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand.
+"Bland will kill you."
+
+Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange
+tumult in his breast. The old emotion--the rush of an instinct to kill!
+He turned cold all over.
+
+"Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't," went on Jennie, with her
+tragic eyes on Duane's.
+
+"Maybe he will," replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a
+smile. But he achieved one.
+
+"Oh, better take me off at once," she said. "Save me without risking so
+much--without making love to Mrs. Bland!"
+
+"Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman."
+
+"That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you."
+
+"Wait--a moment," whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. "We've
+settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps
+through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage. Remember I'll save you
+somehow. We'll try strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't
+think less of me--"
+
+Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
+
+"I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart," she whispered,
+passionately.
+
+It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame
+and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+
+He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the
+approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to
+make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie.
+When the outlaw's wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall,
+strong, full-bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression than with
+her good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. The
+situation then took on a singular zest.
+
+Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs.
+Bland. She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so
+prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and
+brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she
+had white teeth.
+
+Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to
+meet her.
+
+Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and
+rather musical.
+
+"Mr. Duane--Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?" she asked.
+
+"Buckley," corrected Duane. "The nickname's not of my choosing."
+
+"I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane," she said, as she took
+the seat Duane offered her. "Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying
+over at Deger's. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day.
+When Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it
+sure takes my time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that
+slattern girl of mine?"
+
+She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of
+feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at
+all.
+
+"I've been alone," replied Duane. "Haven't seen anybody but a
+sick-looking girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me."
+
+"That was Jen," said Mrs. Bland. "She's the kid we keep here, and she
+sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?"
+
+"Now that I think of it, he did say something or other."
+
+"What did he tell you about me?" bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+
+"Wal, Kate," replied Euchre, speaking for himself, "you needn't worry
+none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments."
+
+Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested
+with amusement upon him.
+
+"As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day," went on the woman. "It's
+a common enough story along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted
+old fool, and Jen has taken him in."
+
+"Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct," replied Euchre, dryly,
+"I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may."
+
+"Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend," said Mrs. Bland,
+amiably. "You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I
+guess."
+
+When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with
+curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+
+"Bland told me about you."
+
+"What did he say?" queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+
+"Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind of a
+man. He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp--rode in here on the
+dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. Wish he would.
+Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for many a day! I'd like to see him
+and Chess meet out there in the road.' Then Bland went on to tell how
+you and Bosomer came together."
+
+"What did you say?" inquired Duane, as she paused.
+
+"Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like," she replied, gayly.
+
+"Well?" went on Duane.
+
+"Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a
+great blue-eyed sunburned boy!"
+
+"Humph!" exclaimed Duane. "I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth
+seeing."
+
+"But I'm not disappointed," she returned, archly. "Duane, are you going
+to stay long here in camp?"
+
+"Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?"
+
+Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and
+flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had lent
+her a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some
+powerful emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent,
+Duane imagined, of deep, violent nature.
+
+"I'll tell you, Duane," she said, earnestly, "I'm sure glad if you mean
+to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw's wife,
+and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in
+Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married
+me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business.
+But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family
+cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then.
+I've lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear
+anything about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here--buried
+alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being
+glad to see a young fellow--a gentleman--like the boys I used to go
+with? I tell you it makes me feel full--I want to cry. I'm sick for
+somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not
+stay here. I'm sick of this hole. I'm lonely--"
+
+There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine
+emotion checked, then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and
+cried. It seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife--and a woman
+who fitted her consort and the wild nature of their surroundings--should
+have weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+
+"I'm sorry for you," he said.
+
+"Don't be SORRY for me," she said. "That only makes me see the--the
+difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these
+outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me.
+You'll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie.
+Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking
+for somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He
+explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing--that it
+is provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know
+is that somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before
+Spence ever saw me."
+
+"Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?" inquired Duane.
+
+"No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
+comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in
+love with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to
+do that."
+
+"I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain," replied Duane.
+
+He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before
+she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
+conversation.
+
+Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
+say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened.
+He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had
+suffered a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter,
+morbid, overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough,
+she was a frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing
+which struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect.
+In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had
+discovered a trait through which he could manage her.
+
+Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
+the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam
+of Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching
+him, listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
+realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance,
+he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her
+face was wonderful.
+
+Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning "Adios--manana," and
+was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
+the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze
+with hope and gratitude.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
+sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to
+Euchre for having put something worth while into his mind. During
+breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea
+of how much or how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware
+of Euchre's scrutiny.
+
+"Wal," began the old man, at last, "how'd you make out with the kid?"
+
+"Kid?" inquired Duane, tentatively.
+
+"Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?"
+
+"We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up."
+
+Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane.
+
+"Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you
+done the job too well."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half crazy.
+She was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her eyes hurt me. She
+wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung onto my hands,
+an' showed every way without speakin' how she wanted to thank me fer
+bringin' you over. Buck, it was plain to me thet you'd either gone the
+limit or else you'd been kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to
+think you'd led Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true."
+
+Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on:
+
+"Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can
+trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there an' puttin' you
+wise to my tryin' to help thet poor kid?"
+
+Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations with
+Jennie and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end
+Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion
+of the story his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat
+stood out thickly on his brow.
+
+"Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!" he ejaculated, blinking at Duane.
+"Young man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to make your mark on
+this river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what
+it means to be a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my
+heart was in the right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you
+know what it'll take to do all you promised Jen?"
+
+"I haven't any idea," replied Duane, gravely.
+
+"You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even if she
+falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't be easy.
+An' she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't
+mistaken her none, are you?"
+
+"Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man."
+
+"Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe
+some others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl."
+
+"Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune
+time sneak off without any gun-play?"
+
+"Don't see how on earth," returned Euchre, earnestly. "When Bland's
+away he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin' the valley trails.
+They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by them. But when the boss is
+home there's a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their
+eyes peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're
+playin' monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to
+pick out a good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a
+couple of hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie
+with you, an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If you had luck you
+might pull thet stunt without throwin' a gun. But I reckon the best
+figgerin' would include dodgin' some lead an' leavin' at least Bland or
+Alloway dead behind you. I'm figgerin', of course, thet when they come
+home an' find out you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally
+look fer results. Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're
+swift on the draw--mebbe swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this
+gun-play business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gunmen
+till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination mebbe you'll learn some
+day. Bland would treat you civil onless there was reason not to, an'
+then I don't believe he'd invite himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set
+Chess or Rugg to put you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if
+you came across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was
+with Bosomer."
+
+"All right. I'll meet what comes," said Duane, quickly. "The great point
+is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick
+through."
+
+"Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone."
+
+"I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!"
+
+"Wal, I'll take my chances," replied Euchre, gruffly. "I'm goin' to help
+Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There's only four men in
+this camp who would shoot me--Bland, an' his right-hand pards, an' thet
+rabbit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd
+stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired--what's
+the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck,
+even if I am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the
+right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now let's
+figger all the little details."
+
+They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned,
+Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and
+his lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the
+other outlaws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness
+to spend a little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland
+every day--Euchre to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie,
+Duane to blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided
+upon, they proceeded to put them into action.
+
+No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than
+theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to their
+lower level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That
+was why life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply.
+There were men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible
+inexplicable wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near
+them. He could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word,
+a deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could no
+longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these men. Because of
+him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could scarcely ever forget
+the reality of things. This was a hidden valley, a robbers' den, a
+rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained red by deeds of wild men.
+And because of that there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest,
+idlest, most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in
+ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate characters it
+could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Duane sensed was this.
+The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in; the
+mountaintops were always blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid
+slowly and majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the
+horses grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love,
+freedom, happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with money and
+speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled,
+talked, laughed, whiled away the idle hours--and all the time life there
+was wrong, and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil
+into the most awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark,
+brooding shadow over the valley.
+
+Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the Bland
+woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never
+troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It
+took no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which
+evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for
+the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always
+with deference. That was his strong point, and it had made his part
+easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without
+involving himself any deeper.
+
+He was playing at a game of love--playing with life and deaths Sometimes
+he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or any other man, but
+at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out of his
+old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he
+been haunted by the phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been
+haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her
+was through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses
+of her every time he went to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to
+pass door or window, to give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane
+discovered with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to
+him than any with Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just
+inside the window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was
+all made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she was
+almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to
+understand that this was Duane's only chance to help keep her mind from
+constant worry, to gather the import of every word which had a double
+meaning.
+
+Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn
+up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference
+Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The
+eyes seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that
+soon it might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a
+light, a strange fire wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash
+gone in an instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in
+any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that
+Jennie's face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him,
+was responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change
+he fancied, was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his
+pale, sickening ghosts.
+
+One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush
+matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire
+which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was
+that while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking.
+Time hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days
+passed by without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours
+of peace than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but
+empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on all the
+trails leading out of the valley; he had a care for the condition of his
+two horses.
+
+Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that
+they go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+
+"Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin'," said Euchre. "River gettin'
+low an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a greaser
+freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the
+freighters. Bland's supposed to be in Mexico."
+
+Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling
+in the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an
+outlaw offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily
+freighted wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for
+themselves, let alone for the despised Mexicans.
+
+Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre
+lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in
+comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane
+was alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was
+his belief that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him.
+Moreover, these rough men were always interesting.
+
+"Bland's been chased across the river," said one.
+
+"New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship," replied another.
+
+"Big deal on, hey?"
+
+"Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand."
+
+"Say, that order'll take a year to fill."
+
+"New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders
+bigger 'n thet."
+
+"Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer."
+
+Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the
+outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him.
+
+"Kid Fuller's goin' to cash," said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw.
+
+"So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad.
+But he took the fever," rejoined a comrade.
+
+"Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'."
+
+"Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't
+got time."
+
+A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of
+the outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will.
+Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.
+
+"Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before."
+
+"Shore. Wal, it's happened before."
+
+This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane.
+He did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+
+"Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's
+name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days."
+
+He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good humor in
+no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class
+of men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun-drawing until
+they wore callous and sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in
+the very deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the
+simplest and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip.
+There was something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It never
+seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an
+awkward position.
+
+There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches
+on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane
+silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.
+
+Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a
+familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted
+of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done
+better.
+
+"Orful hot, ain't it?" remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not
+keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been
+anything else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding;
+a wiry little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly
+black from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel
+eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast.
+
+"Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?" he
+asked.
+
+"My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!" exclaimed a comrade.
+
+This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to
+join him in a bath.
+
+"Laziest outfit I ever rustled with," went on Bill, discontentedly.
+"Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll
+gamble?"
+
+He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless
+crowd.
+
+"Bill, you're too good at cards," replied a lanky outlaw.
+
+"Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I
+might take it to heart," replied Black, with a sudden change of tone.
+
+Here it was again--that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply
+would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance.
+
+"No offense, Bill," said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+
+Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
+Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was
+out of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land.
+
+"Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?" he
+asked, in disgust.
+
+"Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits." replied one.
+
+Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game
+obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest
+with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried
+their luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their
+supply of two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he
+offered to bet on anything.
+
+"See thet turtle-dove there?" he said, pointing. "I'll bet he'll scare
+at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some
+one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?"
+
+That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws
+could withstand.
+
+"Take thet. Easy money," said one.
+
+"Who's goin' to chuck the stone?" asked another.
+
+"Anybody," replied Bill.
+
+"Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone," said the first
+outlaw.
+
+"We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick," chimed in the others.
+
+The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to
+the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+
+"I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,"
+he offered, imperturbably.
+
+Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to
+cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and
+they all sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the
+tree. The minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular
+remarks anent a fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes
+had passed a turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an
+impressive silence while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars.
+
+"But it hadn't the same dove!" exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. "This
+'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple."
+
+Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+
+"Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, pard? Now
+I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with
+one stone."
+
+No one offered to take his wager.
+
+"Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with
+one stone."
+
+Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise
+disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their banding together.
+The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to
+that bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind
+of wager.
+
+He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he
+appeared at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a
+little ragged Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly
+starved and poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him
+a handful of silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging
+the money.
+
+"I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road," declared Bill.
+"I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers."
+
+Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became
+sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the
+fact that he had won considerable.
+
+Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered
+what was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as
+unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+
+"Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet
+peon's packin'," said the outlaw called Jim.
+
+Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+
+Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon
+carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted
+Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had
+met him often.
+
+"Jim, I'll take you up," replied Black.
+
+Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
+caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+
+"Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot," said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
+on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the
+peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit
+a moving object so small as a bucket.
+
+Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that
+Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark
+with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming
+at the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his
+hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
+
+Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the
+same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant and formidable
+front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the
+state of his soul!
+
+The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains;
+twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet;
+the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only
+sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley.
+
+Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate
+man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it
+threatened so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him
+to die rather than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate,
+savage men. But the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed
+reason, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt something dying in
+him. He suffered. Hope seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and
+was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+
+He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her.
+He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand
+between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheered off his morbid
+introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize
+that! He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had
+been stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in
+the river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, she to
+be the means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking to the level of her
+captors. He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her,
+talk with her.
+
+These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's
+house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time
+to compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his
+destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
+him on the porch.
+
+She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such
+a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
+She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
+embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
+that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+
+"He might have killed you," she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane
+had ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After
+all, she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in
+her experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her
+advance so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such
+as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain
+charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that,
+whatever her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the
+lie she made him act.
+
+"Buck, you love me?" she whispered.
+
+"Yes--yes," he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
+he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt
+a shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
+promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
+him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his
+arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes,
+thrilled him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+
+"Listen, dear," he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the
+girl. "I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill
+Bland, Alloway, Rugg--anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged
+here. You are good--I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere--a
+home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till--"
+
+His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland
+closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart
+beat against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved
+him so much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him
+again, and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no
+more.
+
+"Boy, that's good of you," she whispered, "but it's too late. I'm done
+for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and
+stop your gun-throwing."
+
+The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the
+valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered
+against the silver.
+
+Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his
+head and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of
+the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the
+narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects.
+Two horses Duane discerned.
+
+"It's Bland!" whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands.
+"You must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's Bland! I know
+his horse's trot."
+
+"But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here," protested Duane.
+"Euchre's with me. It'll be all right."
+
+"Maybe so," she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly
+she had a great fear of Bland. "If I could only think!"
+
+Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+
+"Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell
+Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your
+neck."
+
+The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland was
+herself again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood near the window.
+Neither spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They
+were small, trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to
+convey what he felt--that he would protect her. She leaned against him,
+and they looked out of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself.
+His most pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a
+curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the
+riders dismount down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy led away
+the horses. Euchre, the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable
+ease, considering what he claimed was his natural cowardice.
+
+"--that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war," he
+was saying. "Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to what it is now. An'
+times is rougher these days. This gun-throwin' has come to be a disease.
+Men have an itch for the draw same as they used to have fer poker. The
+only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I
+presume Bill is burnin' now."
+
+The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the
+porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to
+express surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband
+warmly and gave welcome to the other man. Duane could not see well
+enough in the shadow to recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it
+was Alloway.
+
+"Dog-tired we are and starved," said Bland, heavily. "Who's here with
+you?"
+
+"That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,"
+replied Mrs. Bland.
+
+"Duane!" he exclaimed. Then he whispered low--something Duane could not
+catch.
+
+"Why, I asked him to come," said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and
+naturally and made no change in tone. "Jen has been ailing. She gets
+thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw
+Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let
+him come."
+
+Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent
+action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand.
+
+"Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?" queried Bland, incredulously.
+
+"Yes, I did," replied the wife, stubbornly. "Why not? Jen's in love with
+him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be a decent woman."
+
+Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh.
+
+"Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?"
+
+"She's lyin' or she's crazy," replied Alloway, and his voice carried an
+unpleasant ring.
+
+Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to
+keep his mouth shut.
+
+"Ho, ho, ho!" rolled out Bland's laugh.
+
+Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was
+carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench.
+
+"How are you, boss?" asked Euchre.
+
+"Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in."
+
+Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail.
+He answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there a dark,
+silent figure.
+
+Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease
+the situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably
+successful trip.
+
+Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that Bland and
+Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed,
+and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. "Jennie," whispered Duane, "that
+was clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be
+ready!"
+
+She pressed close to him, and a barely audible "Hurry!" came breathing
+into his ear.
+
+"Good night, Jennie," he said, aloud. "Hope you feel better to-morrow."
+
+Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the
+greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment.
+
+"Met Jasper as I rode in," said Bland, presently. "He told me you made
+Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off
+the handle about?"
+
+Duane explained the incident. "I'm sorry I happened to be there," he
+went on. "It wasn't my business."
+
+"Scurvy trick that 'd been," muttered Bland. "You did right. All the
+same, Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one
+of us--that'd be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But
+I'm not called on to let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my
+rustlers."
+
+"I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere," said Duane.
+
+"Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane, and if I
+know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're
+a born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of
+them have told me that something exploded in their brain, and when sense
+came back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a
+little shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to
+rid myself of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest at night.
+That's the gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new
+man--he's driven to it to forget the last one."
+
+"But I'm no gun-fighter," protested Duane. "Circumstances made me--"
+
+"No doubt," interrupted Bland, with a laugh. "Circumstances made me a
+rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young; you've got a temper;
+your father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't
+see any other career for you. Instead of going it alone--a lone wolf,
+as the Texans say--why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live
+longer."
+
+Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+
+"Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of talk. Thet's
+why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there
+won't be any more trouble. An' he'd be a grand feller fer the gang. I've
+seen Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an'
+Chess here--all the fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to
+present company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw is
+different. You can't see how he does it."
+
+Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence.
+Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and
+did not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful.
+
+"That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your
+band," said Duane, easily.
+
+"It's good enough," replied Bland, shortly. "Will you consider the
+idea?"
+
+"I'll think it over. Good night."
+
+He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the
+lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back.
+Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down
+under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and
+quiet, a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life.
+The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony canons of shadow under the
+mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane
+shudder in the realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of
+these things. Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His
+mind was clouded. His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions
+of nature, but the joy of them had fled.
+
+Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead
+of him there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in
+thought of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in
+his. He did not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his
+feelings. He just had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were
+interspersed in the constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+
+A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the
+moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached
+him Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely
+affected Duane. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+
+"Bland kept you pretty long," he said.
+
+"Wait till I git my breath," replied Euchre. He sat silent a little
+while, fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and
+then he went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.
+
+"Fine night," he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with
+Euchre's quaint humor. "Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!"
+
+"I'd noticed that," rejoined Duane, dryly.
+
+"Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland choke his
+wife till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in the face."
+
+"No!" ejaculated Duane.
+
+"Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When I got
+back to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been too fagged out
+to figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the house, where they lit
+up the lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He's
+not the talkin' kind, an' he's damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland
+asked me some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them,
+an' I swore the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always
+trusted me, an' liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black thet
+way. But he's a hard man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an' I'd
+double-cross him any day.
+
+"Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little room,
+an' Bland called her to come out. She said she was undressin'. An' he
+ordered her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was
+some surprisin'. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he
+pointed his big blue Colt right at her, an' he says:
+
+"'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+
+"'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+
+"'You lied to me,' he roars.
+
+"Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made a grab
+fer her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an' he got her by
+the throat. He choked her till I thought she was strangled. Alloway made
+him stop. She flopped down on the bed an' gasped fer a while. When she
+come to them hardshelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give
+herself away. I think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick
+with you an' was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man
+to have--to guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave it up
+after a while. An' then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is
+worth pinnin' in your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't
+need much fer thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'
+
+"Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He
+was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin'
+off one of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist
+her--hurt her--I had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the
+only time in my life I wished I was a gun-fighter.
+
+"Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and
+stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen her show any.
+
+"'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I believe
+she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him, an' I want to
+KNOW. If she's been an' you tell me the truth I'll let you go. I'll send
+you out to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll
+give you money.'
+
+"Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet I seen
+death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her. Thet's the
+strange part of it.
+
+"'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like.
+
+"'No,' said Jennie.
+
+"'He's been after you?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+
+"'I--I'm not--I don't know--he hasn't told me.'
+
+"'But you're in love with him?'
+
+"'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her! She
+thronged up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed
+at sight of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an outlaw cried
+right out. He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. An' the look
+of her then was enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the
+room. I told you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen
+to him. So even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+
+"Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+
+"'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in fear of your
+life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love with Duane? She's let
+him come to see you? There's been nuthin' between them?'
+
+"'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked.
+
+"'Go to bed, you white-faced--' Bland choked on some word or other--a
+bad one, I reckon--an' he positively shook in his chair.
+
+"Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle
+Euchre ducked his nut out of the door an' come home."
+
+Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long harangue.
+He experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal
+worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie perjuring herself to save
+that abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+
+"Wal, there's where our little deal stands now," resumed Euchre,
+meditatively. "You know, Buck, as well as me thet if you'd been some
+feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a gun you'd now be full of
+lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as
+safe on this here border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in
+this land of the draw."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead,
+thoughtful of the fact that the time for the long-planned action was at
+hand. It was remarkable that a man as loquacious as Euchre could hold
+his tongue so long; and this was significant of the deadly nature of
+the intended deed. During breakfast he said a few words customary in the
+service of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an
+end of deliberation.
+
+"Buck, the sooner the better now," he declared, with a glint in his eye.
+"The more time we use up now the less surprised Bland'll be."
+
+"I'm ready when you are," replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the
+table.
+
+"Wal, saddle up, then," went on Euchre, gruffly. "Tie on them two packs
+I made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell--mebbe either hoss will be
+carryin' double. It's good they're both big, strong hosses. Guess thet
+wasn't a wise move of your Uncle Euchre's--bringin' in your hosses an'
+havin' them ready?"
+
+"Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are.
+Let me do the rest now," said Duane.
+
+The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+
+"Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know, why, I'm in
+bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He's
+gettin' wise pretty quick."
+
+"Euchre, you're going with me?" queried Duane, suddenly divining the
+truth.
+
+"Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was
+a gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin' a peg at Jackrabbit
+Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin' while I go nosin' round.
+It's pretty early, which 's all the better."
+
+Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore
+a gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane had ever seen the
+outlaw armed.
+
+Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then carried
+the saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa in the corral
+showed that the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost fat during
+his stay in the valley. He watered them, put on the saddles loosely
+cinched, and then the bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas
+water-bottles. That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+
+At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was
+no more thinking and planning to do. The hour had arrived, and he was
+ready. He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take.
+His thoughts became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and
+goodness in the hardened old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept
+glancing at his watch. He hoped to start the thing and get away before
+the outlaws were out of their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of
+Euchre's boots on the hard path. The sound was quicker than usual.
+
+When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so
+astounded as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat
+dripped from him. He had a wild look.
+
+"Luck ours--so-fur, Buck!" he panted.
+
+"You don't look it," replied Duane.
+
+"I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!"
+
+"Who?" asked Duane, startled.
+
+"Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I went nosin'
+round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's. He's thick with the
+Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions. Anyway, I was sure glad to see him
+away from Bland's. An' he didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's
+there wasn't nobody there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was
+startin' to work. Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he
+wouldn't give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+
+"'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+
+"'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+
+"He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him have it,
+plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I reckon I'll never sleep
+again. But I had to do it."
+
+Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+
+"I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked sharp. Comin'
+back I cut across through the cottonwoods past Bland's cabin. I meant to
+keep out of sight, but somehow I had an idee I might find out if Bland
+was awake yet. Sure enough I run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends
+Bland's hosses. Beppo likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said
+Bland had been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's
+how I figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore, an' he went
+after Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as likely he might have
+went after Jennie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an' Kate must have
+had it hot an' heavy. We're pretty lucky."
+
+"It seems so. Well, I'm going," said Duane, tersely.
+
+"Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most draggin'
+ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy, sore, an' he won't
+be expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you walk over to his house.
+Meet him how you like. Thet's your game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes
+out an' you want to parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his
+proposition an' was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have
+to kill him, an' it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be
+wise, too, fer it's likely he'll do thet same."
+
+"How about the horses?"
+
+"I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to
+me you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside by the time I git
+there. Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or
+anybody else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit.
+Thet big black will carry you both."
+
+"All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay--not to mix any
+more in this," said Duane, earnestly.
+
+"Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give
+me the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word--look out fer thet Bland
+woman!"
+
+Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he
+strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove
+and field, it was about five minutes' walk up to Bland's house. To
+Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in
+restraining his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle
+change in his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in
+conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of
+his courting the encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable
+rush of blood. The motive of this deadly action was not personal, and
+somehow that made a difference.
+
+No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle.
+Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant
+smell of it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove.
+He noted a cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in
+the sunlight.
+
+Then he entered Bland's lane.
+
+While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of
+man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey
+of the surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then
+he hurried a little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer
+through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses.
+There was no indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the
+end. Duane had feared this.
+
+Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch
+and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.
+
+"If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!" That was panted out
+in Kate Bland's full voice.
+
+"Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!" replied Bland, hoarsely.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the
+laugh on her new lover."
+
+"You lie!" cried Kate Bland.
+
+"I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!" His voice grew hoarser
+with passion. "Let me go now!"
+
+"No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of
+her--you'll kill her."
+
+"The TRUTH!" hissed Bland.
+
+"Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't--murder
+her--for that."
+
+Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
+violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the jangle of spurs--a
+crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.
+
+Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
+across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to
+her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's
+room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
+shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.
+
+With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold.
+His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable
+position.
+
+Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for
+his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes
+the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland
+shifted his glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate
+with the swing of his arm.
+
+Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
+floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
+stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
+gasped his last.
+
+"Duane, you've killed him!" cried Kate Bland, huskily. "I knew you'd
+have to!"
+
+She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
+clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half
+stunned, but showed no grief.
+
+"Jennie!" called Duane, sharply.
+
+"Oh--Duane!" came a halting reply.
+
+"Yes. Come out. Hurry!"
+
+She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
+Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared
+the woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was
+protective, and his movement toward the door equally as significant.
+
+"Duane," cried Mrs. Bland.
+
+It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
+that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane.
+Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was
+changing to realization.
+
+"Where 're you taking Jen?" she cried, her voice like a man's. "Get out
+of my way," replied Duane. His look perhaps, without speech, was enough
+for her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.
+
+"You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You
+let me believe--you swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer about
+you. All for that girl! But you can't have her. You'll never leave here
+alive. Give me that girl! Let me--get at her! She'll never win any more
+men in this camp."
+
+She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off
+her onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second
+her fury increased.
+
+"HELP! HELP! HELP!" she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated
+to the remotest cabin in the valley.
+
+"Let go! Let go!" cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in
+his right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward the woman off.
+His coolness had gone with her shriek for help. "Let go!" he repeated,
+and he shoved her fiercely.
+
+Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her strong
+hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell
+into the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped upon her. He
+struck up the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
+
+"Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!" he said.
+
+Jennie flashed out of the door.
+
+With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it
+with his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed
+woman off the floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as strong
+as he.
+
+"Kate! Let go!"
+
+He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face,
+or reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not
+care. She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her
+lips they seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she
+fought him; her face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that
+outlaw life, the wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in
+such a moment terribly impressed upon Duane.
+
+He heard a cry from outside--a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+
+It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block
+his plan.
+
+"Let go!" he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
+instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
+
+With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle
+down and discharged it. Duane felt a blow--a shock--a burning agony
+tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully
+upon the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and
+seemed stunned.
+
+Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp
+cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his
+bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled,
+and he was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and
+Euchre's ceased. He fell from the horse.
+
+A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess
+Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he
+saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that
+slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun
+went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+
+Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging
+bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
+face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
+
+"Jennie, you've nerve, all right!" cried Duane, as he dragged down
+the horse she was holding. "Up with you now! There! Never mind--long
+stirrups! Hang on somehow!"
+
+He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
+The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into
+the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. He heard shouts. But
+there were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but
+without stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and
+reached out to grasp her arm.
+
+Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the
+steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No
+pursuers were in sight.
+
+"Jennie, we're going to get away!" he cried, exultation for her in his
+voice.
+
+She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back
+he faced her.
+
+"Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!" she faltered, pointing with
+trembling fingers.
+
+With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he
+instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had
+sustained a terrible wound.
+
+Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave
+apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled
+freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs
+of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough
+up a reddish-tinged foam.
+
+As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
+
+"I'm badly hurt, Jennie," he said, "but I guess I'll stick it out."
+
+"The woman--did she shoot you?"
+
+"Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't
+quick enough."
+
+"You didn't have to--to--" shivered the girl.
+
+"No! no!" he replied.
+
+They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses,
+which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast
+time up the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they
+surmounted the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with
+no signs of pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken
+fastnesses before them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that
+they now had every chance of escape.
+
+"But--your--wound!" she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. "I see--the
+blood--dripping from your back!"
+
+"Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing," he said.
+
+Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware
+presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But
+that did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe
+enough. What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where
+he could hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire
+inside his breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for
+him to take a swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer
+considerable pain, which increased as the hours went by and then gave
+way to a numbness. From that time on he had need of his great strength
+and endurance. Gradually he lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and
+he realized that if he were to meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should
+come up with him, he could make only a poor stand. So he turned off on a
+trail that appeared seldom traveled.
+
+Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his
+senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he
+was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she
+was left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
+
+"Jennie, I'll give out soon," he said. "No-I don't mean--what you think.
+But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I die--you ride back to
+the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail goes
+to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some rancher
+will take you in."
+
+Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on,
+and soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse. He did not
+know whether they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was
+conscious when the horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and
+feeling Jennie's arms before all became dark to him.
+
+When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little hut of
+mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some years old. There
+were two doors or openings, one in front and the other at the back.
+Duane imagined it had been built by a fugitive--one who meant to keep an
+eye both ways and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire
+to move. Where was he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time,
+distance, of something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two
+packs Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become of
+her? There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a little
+blackened coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses
+or getting water. He thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt
+tired, and presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.
+
+Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way
+she seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start and turned
+eagerly to him.
+
+"Duane!" she cried.
+
+"Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?" he said, finding it a little
+difficult to talk.
+
+"Oh, I'm all right," she replied. "And you've come to--your wound's
+healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could."
+
+Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness
+of skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+
+"Fever? How long have we been here?" he asked.
+
+She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them.
+
+"Nine. Nine days," she answered.
+
+"Nine days!" he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her
+assured him that she meant what she said. "I've been sick all the time?
+You nursed me?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bland's men didn't come along here?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Where are the horses?"
+
+"I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass
+and water."
+
+"Have you slept any?"
+
+"A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake."
+
+"Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day
+and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all about
+it."
+
+"There's nothing much to tell."
+
+"I want to know, anyway, just what you did--how you felt."
+
+"I can't remember very well," she replied, simply. "We must have ridden
+forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the time. Toward evening
+you lay on your horse's neck. When we came to this place you fell out of
+the saddle. I dragged you in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought
+you'd die that night. But in the morning I had a little hope. I had
+forgotten the horses. But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them
+and kept them down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began
+to breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever that
+put you back. You raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn't
+stop you. Anybody trailing us could have heard you a good ways. I don't
+know whether I was scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was
+so dark and lonely and still all around. Every day I put a stone in your
+hat."
+
+"Jennie, you saved my life," said Duane.
+
+"I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do," she replied. "You
+saved mine--more than my life."
+
+Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp.
+
+"Jennie, we're going to get away," he said, with gladness. "I'll be well
+in a few days. You don't know how strong I am. We'll hide by day and
+travel by night. I can get you across the river."
+
+"And then?" she asked.
+
+"We'll find some honest rancher."
+
+"And then?" she persisted.
+
+"Why," he began, slowly, "that's as far as my thoughts ever got. It
+was pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so much. It means your
+safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be sent to some village or town
+and taken care of until a relative or friend is notified."
+
+"And you?" she inquired, in a strange voice.
+
+Duane kept silence.
+
+"What will you do?" she went on.
+
+"Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among
+respectable people. I'm an outlaw."
+
+"You're no criminal!" she declared, with deep passion.
+
+"Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a
+criminal doesn't count for much."
+
+"You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness
+and sweetness--all that's good about you? Oh, Duane, don't--don't go!"
+
+"I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go
+alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border. What else can I do,
+Jennie?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas--go
+far away?"
+
+"I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide,
+but a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie."
+
+In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse.
+During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main
+trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they
+rode out of the canons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the
+morning halted at the first water to camp.
+
+From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding
+during the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was assured of
+safety for her and great danger for himself. They had crossed into
+a country he did not know. Somewhere east of the river there were
+scattered ranches. But he was as liable to find the rancher in touch
+with the outlaws as he was likely to find him honest. Duane hoped his
+good fortune would not desert him in this last service to Jennie. Next
+to the worry of that was realization of his condition. He had gotten
+up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard, and now he felt that any
+moment he might fall from his saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren
+mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of green and
+a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse for it and turned a
+face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's sake. She seemed both happy
+and sorry.
+
+When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And
+thrift spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees,
+corrals, windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all surrounding a neat
+little adobe house. Some children were playing in the yard. The way
+they ran at sight of Duane hinted of both the loneliness and the fear
+of their isolated lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man.
+The latter looked keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired,
+freckled Texan.
+
+"Howdy, stranger," he called, as Duane halted. "Get down, you an' your
+woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me--"
+
+Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He
+thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one
+sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
+
+The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+
+"Martha, come out here!" he called. "This man's sick. No; he's shot, or
+I don't know blood-stains."
+
+Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared
+about to faint.
+
+"Air you his wife?" asked the rancher.
+
+"No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
+Duane!"
+
+"Buck Duane!" exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. "The man who killed
+Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young
+woman."
+
+The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and
+practical essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far
+gone that he could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and
+weakly asked for water. When that was given him he found his voice.
+
+"Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself--just all in. The wounds I
+got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in--hide her awhile
+till the excitement's over among the outlaws?"
+
+"I shore will," replied the Texan.
+
+"Thanks. I'll remember you--I'll square it."
+
+"What 're you goin' to do?"
+
+"I'll rest a bit--then go back to the brakes."
+
+"Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here--any rustlers on
+your trail?"
+
+"I think we gave Bland's gang the slip."
+
+"Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an'
+hide both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor
+is five miles off. We don't have much company."
+
+"You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me," said
+Duane.
+
+"Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
+outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn."
+
+"My horses might betray you," added Duane.
+
+"I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
+it. Come now, let me help you indoors."
+
+Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of
+a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
+cool hands on his hot face.
+
+He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
+week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
+After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end
+of this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his
+illness he had been silent, moody.
+
+"Jennie, I'll be riding off soon," he said, one evening. "I can't impose
+on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness.
+His wife, too--she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will
+have to say good-by very soon."
+
+"Don't hurry away," she replied.
+
+Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the
+girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance to say
+good-by as another indication of her regret that he must go back to the
+brakes. Yet somehow it made him observe her more closely. She wore a
+plain, white dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep
+and good food had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same paleness,
+the same strained look, the same dark eyes full of haunting shadows.
+After Duane's realization of the change in her he watched her more, with
+a growing certainty that he would be sorry not to see her again.
+
+"It's likely we won't ever see each other again," he said. "That's
+strange to think of. We've been through some hard days, and I seem to
+have known you a long time."
+
+Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to
+something less personal.
+
+Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to Huntsville.
+
+"Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland outfit,"
+he said, important and full of news. "It's some exaggerated, accordin'
+to what you told me; but you've shore made friends on this side of the
+Nueces. I reckon there ain't a town where you wouldn't find people to
+welcome you. Huntsville, you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half
+the people are crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in
+praise of you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the
+boss outlaw of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent citizen.
+He was tellin' me what a grand job yours was for the border an' honest
+cattlemen. Now that Bland and Alloway are done for, King Fisher will
+find rustlin' easier. There's talk of Hardin movie' his camp over to
+Bland's. But I don't know how true it is. I reckon there ain't much
+to it. In the past when a big outlaw chief went under, his band almost
+always broke up an' scattered. There's no one left who could run thet
+outfit."
+
+"Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?" asked Duane.
+
+"Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore," replied
+Andrews. "Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled to go on your
+trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would be afraid to
+trail you. An' you could go right in to Huntsville, where you'd be some
+popular. Reckon you'd be safe, too, except when some of them fool saloon
+loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it.
+Them kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane."
+
+"I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two," went on
+Duane. "Then I'll go--I'd like to talk to you about Jennie."
+
+"She's welcome to a home here with us."
+
+"Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to get farther
+away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here. Besides, she may be
+able to find relatives. She has some, though she doesn't know where they
+are."
+
+"All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd better
+take her to some town. Go north an' strike for Shelbyville or Crockett.
+Them's both good towns. I'll tell Jennie the names of men who'll help
+her. You needn't ride into town at all."
+
+"Which place is nearer, and how far is it?"
+
+"Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you
+ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at
+night an' go careful."
+
+At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said
+good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane's
+thanks.
+
+"I tell you I'm beholden to you yet," he declared.
+
+"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Duane. "I may come along here again
+some day."
+
+"Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there
+ain't nothin' I can think of--I just happen to remember--" Here he led
+Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in a whisper. "Buck, I
+used to be well-to-do. Got skinned by a man named Brown--Rodney Brown.
+He lives in Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on fightin',
+or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me--stole all I had. He's a hoss an'
+cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I reckon I
+needn't say any more."
+
+"Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?" queried Duane,
+curiously.
+
+"Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged
+Stevens through the middle. But the outlaw rode off, an' nobody ever
+knew for shore."
+
+"Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him," said Duane.
+
+Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women.
+
+"The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the
+left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said, Andrews?"
+
+"Shore. An' good luck to you both!"
+
+Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At the moment
+an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke Stevens and the rancher
+Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a man named Brown. Duane wished
+with all his heart that they had not mentioned it, let alone taken for
+granted the execution of the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men
+who robbed and men who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the
+spirit of the country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this
+Rodney Brown. And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous
+he really was--to men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how
+little stood between his sane and better self and a self utterly wild
+and terrible. He reasoned that only intelligence could save him--only a
+thoughtful understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+
+Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful
+views of her future, and presently darkness set in. The sky was overcast
+with heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression
+threatened storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him,
+though his horse had no difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was
+bothered by the blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible,
+and any moment he might miss the road that led off to the left. So
+he was compelled to give all his attention to peering into the thick
+shadows ahead. As good luck would have it, he came to higher ground
+where there was less mesquite, and therefore not such impenetrable
+darkness; and at this point he came to where the road split.
+
+Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his
+annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was not well
+dressed for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat,
+which in that dry warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his
+saddle, and he put it on Jennie.
+
+They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker.
+Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat
+better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite the
+discomfort, and soon a gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+
+Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be built to
+dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk catching cold.
+In fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find a shelter in that barren
+waste seemed a futile task. Quite unexpectedly, however, they happened
+upon a deserted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did
+it prove to have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water
+was available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for the
+horses.
+
+A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their condition
+as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane,
+however, there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding-place. The
+rain fell harder all the time, and the wind changed to the north. "It's
+a norther, all right," muttered Duane. "Two or three days." And he felt
+that his extraordinary luck had not held out. Still one point favored
+him, and it was that travelers were not likely to come along during the
+storm. Jennie slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant
+more to him than any task he had ever assumed. First it had been partly
+from a human feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and partly a motive
+to establish clearly to himself that he was no outlaw. Lately, however,
+had come a different sense, a strange one, with something personal and
+warm and protective in it.
+
+As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with bedraggled dress
+and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep,
+and her long, dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her
+fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never before. But for him
+she might at that very moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying
+back in that cabin of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his
+importance in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still
+young; she would forget and be happy; she would live to be a good
+wife and mother. Somehow the thought swelled his heart. His act,
+death-dealing as it had been, was a noble one, and helped him to hold
+on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once since Jennie had entered into his
+thought had those ghosts returned to torment him.
+
+To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility
+of finding her relatives. He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt
+a pang.
+
+She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always alert,
+whether he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain pattered steadily
+on the roof and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the door.
+The horses were outside in a shed that afforded poor shelter, and they
+stamped restlessly. Duane kept them saddled and bridled.
+
+About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal
+and afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never been, in his
+observation of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, the
+farthest removed from serenity and poise. That characteristic capacity
+for agitation struck him as stronger in her this day. He attributed it,
+however, to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes
+when her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her
+freedom, of her future.
+
+"This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville," he said.
+
+"Where will you be?" she asked, quickly.
+
+"Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place," he replied.
+
+The girl shuddered.
+
+"I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the men of my
+family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads,
+a hearth with a fire, a warm bed--somebody to love them. And you,
+Duane--oh, my God! What must your life be? You must ride and hide and
+watch eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly word, no clean
+clothes, no woman's hand! Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes--these must
+be the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding,
+killing until you meet--"
+
+She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was
+amazed, deeply touched.
+
+"My girl, thank you for that thought of me," he said, with a tremor in
+his voice. "You don't know how much that means to me."
+
+She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful.
+
+"I've heard tell--the best of men go to the bad out there. You won't.
+Promise me you won't. I never--knew any man--like you. I--I--we may
+never see each other again--after to-day. I'll never forget you. I'll
+pray for you, and I'll never give up trying to--to do something. Don't
+despair. It's never too late. It was my hope that kept me alive--out
+there at Bland's--before you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But if
+I could hope--so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. Fight for
+your life. Stick out your exile--and maybe--some day--"
+
+Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep
+as hers promised to remember her words. In her despair for him she had
+spoken wisdom--pointed out the only course.
+
+Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner
+reasserted itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode,
+had broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the
+sound of his hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps
+of mesquite in sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It
+turned out, however, that he had not done so.
+
+Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near the road.
+So he put her up on his horse and bade her follow. The rain had ceased
+for the time being, though evidently the storm was not yet over. The
+tracks led up a wash to a wide flat where mesquite, prickly pear, and
+thorn-bush grew so thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was
+thoroughly concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would
+soon be night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly through that
+brake on foot. Therefore he decided to risk leaving her at the edge of
+the thicket and go in alone.
+
+As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a branch
+he had stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the impatient pound of
+his horse's hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not wholly
+satisfied. He was never satisfied in regard to safety; he knew too well
+that there never could be safety for him in this country.
+
+The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane wondered
+what had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there was
+none. Presently he heard the horse tramping along, and then he ran. The
+mud was deep, and the sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up
+with the horse, and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh
+horse-tracks.
+
+He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that they had
+been made very recently, even since it had ceased raining. They were
+tracks of well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a cautious glance
+all around. His instant decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he
+had come a goodly way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush
+back. Once or twice he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but
+did not halt to make sure. Certain he was now that some kind of danger
+threatened.
+
+Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off somewhere
+to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane leaped
+forward, tore his way through the thorny brake. He heard Jennie cry
+again--an appealing call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right,
+and he plunged that way. He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire
+and ground covered with footprints and tracks showed that campers had
+lately been. Rushing across this, he broke his passage out to the open.
+But he was too late. His horse had disappeared. Jennie was gone. There
+were no riders in sight. There was no sound. There was a heavy trail of
+horses going north. Jennie had been carried off--probably by outlaws.
+Duane realized that pursuit was out of the question--that Jennie was
+lost.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's deeds, far
+up where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs,
+stood a small deserted shack of covered mesquite poles. It had been made
+long ago, but was well preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail,
+and another faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border
+fugitives from law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged
+never lived in houses with only one door.
+
+It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except for the
+outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave for most of the
+other wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the gorge there
+was never-failing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady
+retreats, deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of
+narrow-twisting, deep canon full of broken rocks and impenetrable
+thickets. The scream of the panther was heard there, the squall of the
+wildcat, the cough of the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring
+blossoms, and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. All day there
+was continuous song of birds, that of the mocking-bird loud and sweet
+and mocking above the rest.
+
+On clear days--and rare indeed were cloudy days--with the subsiding
+of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around the little hut.
+Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually to fade with
+the shading of light.
+
+At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in the
+westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west and listener
+to the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three years
+before, Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+
+The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of circumstances
+that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had marked, if not a
+change, at least a cessation in Duane's activities. He had trailed
+Sellers to kill him for the supposed abducting of Jennie. He had trailed
+him long after he had learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted
+absolute assurance of Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and
+there, unauthenticated stories, were all Duane had gathered in years to
+substantiate his belief--that Jennie died shortly after the beginning of
+her second captivity. But Duane did not know surely. Sellers might have
+told him. Duane expected, if not to force it from him at the end, to
+read it in his eyes. But the bullet went too unerringly; it locked his
+lips and fixed his eyes.
+
+After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a friend, and
+when he recovered from the wound Sellers had given him he started with
+two horses and a pack for the lonely gorge on the Nueces. There he
+had been hidden for months, a prey to remorse, a dreamer, a victim of
+phantoms.
+
+It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky fastness. And
+work, action, helped to pass the hours. But he could not work all the
+time, even if he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments and at
+night his task was to live with the hell in his mind.
+
+The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little
+hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's presence. It was not
+as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her
+death. He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that
+intense hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to
+that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had
+found things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of
+ribbon Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No wandering
+outlaw or traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further
+endeared it to Duane.
+
+A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of it--the
+failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim it--to deaden
+the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of
+visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as
+clearly as if she had stood there in the flesh. For hours he did that,
+dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would
+taste. He saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged
+dress in which he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in
+Mexican sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and
+swelling throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark
+eyes. He remembered every look she had given him, every word she had
+spoken to him, every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty
+and sweetness, of the few things which had come to mean to him that
+she must have loved him; and he trained himself to think of these in
+preference to her life at Bland's, the escape with him, and then her
+recapture, because such memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had
+to fight suffering because it was eating out his heart.
+
+Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his
+white-haired mother. He saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by
+dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of
+it.
+
+Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he
+would send out a voiceless cry no less poignant because it was silent:
+"Poor fool! No, I shall never see mother again--never go home--never
+have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over!
+These dreams torture me! What have I to do with a mother, a home, a
+wife? No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am
+an outlaw, an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am
+alone--alone. Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall go mad
+thinking! Man, what is left to you? A hiding-place like a wolf's--lonely
+silent days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or the trail and the road with
+their bloody tracks, and then the hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride
+to some hole in rocks or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't
+I end it all? What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the
+gun-fighter to live--to hang on to miserable life--to have no fear of
+death, yet to cling like a leach--to die as gun-fighters seldom die,
+with boots off! Bain, you were first, and you're long avenged. I'd
+change with you. And Sellers, you were last, and you're avenged. And you
+others--you're avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!"
+
+But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+
+A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering
+round him, escorted him to his bed.
+
+When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers,
+or passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and
+exhaustion made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually
+he required less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little
+by little his phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the
+saving power of his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+
+How many times he had said to himself: "I am an intelligent man. I'm
+not crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All this is
+fancy--imagination--conscience. I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no
+hope--and my mind is obsessed, thronged with images. And these images
+naturally are of the men with whom I have dealt. I can't forget them.
+They come back to me, hour after hour; and when my tortured mind grows
+weak, then maybe I'm not just right till the mood wears out and lets me
+sleep."
+
+So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was
+star-bright above the canon-walls, darkly shadowing down between them.
+The insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick song, low
+and monotonous. Slow-running water splashed softly over stones in the
+stream-bed. From far down the canon came the mournful hoot of an owl.
+The moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these
+things weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In
+truth, they did not constitute loneliness.
+
+And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached
+out to touch a cold, bright star.
+
+He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this star-studded,
+velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of wild country between
+El Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory--a refuge for
+outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a
+book with names and records of outlaws--three thousand known outlaws.
+Yet these could scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had
+been recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from camp to
+camp, den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he knew these men.
+Most of them were hopeless criminals; some were avengers; a few were
+wronged wanderers; and among them occasionally was a man, human in his
+way, honest as he could be, not yet lost to good.
+
+But all of them were akin in one sense--their outlawry; and that starry
+night they lay with their dark faces up, some in packs like wolves,
+others alone like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not make much
+difference in Duane's thought of them that the majority were steeped in
+crime and brutality, more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a
+fine feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+
+Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not realize his
+moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted wretches who knew it.
+He believed he could enter into their minds and feel the truth of
+all their lives--the hardened outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who
+murdered as Bill Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing,
+who craved money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and,
+like that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, "Let her
+rip!"
+
+The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure; the
+cowboys with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge
+that they were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the North,
+defaulters, forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, flat-chested men not fit
+for that wilderness and not surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand
+and glove with outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled,
+bow-legged genuine rustlers--all these Duane had come in contact with,
+had watched and known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as
+their lives were bad, sooner or later to end dismally or tragically, so
+they must pay some kind of earthly penalty--if not of conscience, then
+of fear; if not of fear, then of that most terrible of all things to
+restless, active men--pain, the pang of flesh and bone.
+
+Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the
+internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by no means small
+class of which he was representative. The world that judged him and his
+kind judged him as a machine, a killing-machine, with only mind enough
+to hunt, to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three endless years
+for Duane to understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that
+the gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who were
+evil and had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis, had something
+far more torturing to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and
+sleep and peace; and that something was abnormal fear of death. Duane
+knew this, for he had shot these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow
+in eyes, the presentiment that the will could not control, and then the
+horrible certainty. These men must have been in agony at every meeting
+with a possible or certain foe--more agony than the hot rend of a
+bullet. They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear, by every victim
+calling from the grave that nothing was so inevitable as death, which
+lurked behind every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep in the dark
+tube of every gun. These men could not have a friend; they could not
+love or trust a woman. They knew their one chance of holding on to life
+lay in their own distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by
+the very nature of their lives, could not be lasting. They had doomed
+themselves. What, then, could possibly have dwelt in the depths of
+their minds as they went to their beds on a starry night like this, with
+mystery in silence and shadow, with time passing surely, and the dark
+future and its secret approaching every hour--what, then, but hell?
+
+The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would
+have been glad to lay down the burden of life, providing death came
+naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,
+superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of
+an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that
+this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.
+
+Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for
+ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing domination of these
+haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or
+brutality or murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they
+knew more than when they were alive, had learned that life was a divine
+mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their
+voiceless clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inaction
+of his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather than
+to hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The moment
+he rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. A
+strange warmth stirred in him--a longing to see the faces of people,
+to hear their voices--a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it was
+only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal vigilance.
+When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all except his deeper,
+better self; when he escaped from this into the haunts of men his force
+and will went to the preservation of his life.
+
+Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends there.
+Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of the village
+there was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered post
+which marked it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He had
+never read the inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other than
+the erstwhile ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the
+stockmen and ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he
+or his outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane
+when sore in need. Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village,
+called him every name known to border men, taunted him to draw, and
+killed him in the act.
+
+Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father,
+and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice
+of a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his
+gun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for the
+time being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often
+speak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him
+silent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In
+the years of his absence from home he had never heard a word about his
+mother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would
+have been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters that
+might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.
+
+Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight
+fell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain
+overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early
+in the evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and
+hero-worshiping sons of the house, Jones returned from a quick visit
+down to the post-office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored
+under intense excitement.
+
+"Duane, there's rangers in town," he whispered. "It's all over town,
+too, that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw
+you. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the
+women might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows--devils
+with the women."
+
+"What company of rangers?" asked Duane, quickly.
+
+"Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name
+in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders.
+He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north."
+
+"MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me."
+
+"Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
+hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
+man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
+you up."
+
+Duane did not speak.
+
+"MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
+find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
+but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
+Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
+Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
+officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown."
+
+Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact
+of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+
+"I've already fixed up a pack of grub," went on Jones. "I'll slip out to
+saddle your horse. You watch here."
+
+He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded
+on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet
+clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared
+nearer he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He
+slowed his stride.
+
+"Does Burt Jones live here?" he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+
+"I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?" replied Jones.
+
+The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands
+up.
+
+"It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the
+river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after
+dark."
+
+The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had
+come.
+
+"Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?" exclaimed Jones.
+
+"A new one on me," replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+"First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor
+tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross
+anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he
+must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal."
+
+"Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without
+bloodshed," observed Duane. "Pretty decent of him, if he meant that."
+
+"He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about
+this, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer
+things. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his
+intentions, his presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you
+hit the road and put some miles between you the amiable Captain before
+daylight. To-morrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil he
+meant."
+
+"That messenger he sent--he was a ranger," said Duane.
+
+"Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing
+you that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that.
+Pretty odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane."
+
+A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark
+rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane
+back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into
+swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind.
+
+Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of mesquite,
+dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a little grass. Here he
+staked his horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a pillow,
+his saddle-blanket for covering, he went to sleep.
+
+Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days
+he paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And in
+each some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made
+Duane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call
+upon these friends and left this message, "Tell Buck Duane to ride into
+Captain MacNelly's camp some time after night."
+
+Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new
+ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill Buck
+Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse,
+the daring of which might appeal to certain outlaws.
+
+But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it did not,
+however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a
+hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Here
+he heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never but
+once ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had been
+compelled to shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the
+few ranchers and their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both
+outlaws and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these
+ranchers. Being unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed on
+into the heart of this district, when all the time he really believed he
+was traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberate
+attempt to kill him because he was an unknown rider in those parts,
+discovered to Duane his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuaded
+him to return to his old methods of hiding by day and traveling by
+night.
+
+He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering much
+ground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice he
+came to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick as
+chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided
+must be the lower Nueces.
+
+One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw
+the lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unable
+to because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to the
+outskirts of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go round
+to the right. Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so it
+was well after midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or
+more then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a road
+which appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed several thickets
+where he would have halted to hide during the day but for the fact that
+he had to find water.
+
+He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or
+clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So he
+kept on.
+
+The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here and
+there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he
+mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he could
+not see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which
+was down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome
+horse heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+
+The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enough
+to reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more,
+a little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump of
+cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of men facing him, and two dark,
+limp, strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches.
+
+The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never
+before found himself so unpleasantly close.
+
+A hoarse voice pealed out: "By hell! there's another one!"
+
+"Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!" yelled another.
+
+"Hands up!"
+
+"Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!"
+
+These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be continuous. Duane
+was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left
+forearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightened
+horse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the
+road saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet
+steed wend down the long hill.
+
+Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief
+concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the bones
+were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was
+an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,
+Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand
+tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+
+Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more
+coming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a
+quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane
+needed only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-riding
+cowboys in a land where all riders were good. They would not have owned
+any but strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers
+had suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws.
+Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynching
+party at a time of all times when any stranger would be in danger and
+any outlaw put to his limit to escape with his life.
+
+Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy piece
+of ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon his
+pursuers. When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to check
+a little that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big,
+strong, fast; but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test.
+And that worried Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep one
+horse very long at a time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+
+Duane had only one plan--the only plan possible in this case--and that
+was to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in the
+willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, and
+this was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closely
+pressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+little in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It was
+decidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane pondered
+over this, looking backward several times to see if their horses were
+stretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only one
+reason presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with
+him headed straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to
+force the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road
+turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dotted
+and yucca-spired country extended away on either side. Duane believed
+that he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was
+certain--he had to go round the village. The river, however, was on the
+outskirts of the village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+
+Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes
+strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon
+descried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to the
+fact that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene.
+More than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did not
+keep them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see
+this new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a
+muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
+
+He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There
+were patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite,
+and he found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was
+impossible for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he
+decided, and take to his tracks.
+
+What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right
+into a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get a horse over.
+He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to
+a harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of
+mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poor
+cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw
+moving dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile
+away, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved that
+they had entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's
+difficulty.
+
+Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts,
+straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this was seemingly made
+impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feel
+cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an
+outlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. But
+reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless,
+the strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+
+He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward he
+lost sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant now
+to try to reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though still
+saving him for a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus,
+washes--all operated against his following a straight line. Almost he
+lost his bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies
+had not good fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-over
+stretch of ground.
+
+Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within
+gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horse
+into that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never had
+Duane bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about to
+accomplish the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior to
+any horse in pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough
+to spare a little in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly
+terrorized, he kept the pace through thickets that almost tore Duane
+from his saddle. Something weighty and grim eased off Duane. He was
+going to get out in front! The horse had speed, fire, stamina.
+
+Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here,
+right in his path, within pistol-range, stood horsemen waiting. They
+yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his
+horse--faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing his
+ground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figures
+hanging from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw
+than do anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. His
+horror of hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion compared
+to his gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
+
+A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duane
+could scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across his
+eyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of the
+nearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did they
+shoot at him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have been
+the cracking of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he
+handled the rein with his right; and most of the time he hung low over
+the pommel. The gray walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rush
+of wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of his
+horse--these vied in sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the
+rack of his wound, the cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also
+was dull, raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It took
+all his mind to force back that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers,
+of this race for his useless life.
+
+Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long
+stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled
+his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out
+in front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of
+breaking. Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers--he could not count how
+many--were loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them,
+and with teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to
+foil them.
+
+He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from
+corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher
+running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in
+the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a
+lack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride
+which showed he was almost done.
+
+Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner
+than he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had entered the zone of
+wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to
+ride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers
+were half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to
+intercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse
+broke and began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last long
+enough to go through the village.
+
+Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means
+new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in
+his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the
+place, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was
+about to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a
+foot in the stirrup.
+
+Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+
+"Mine's done--but not killed," he panted. "Trade with me."
+
+"Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade," drawled the man. "But
+ain't you a little swift?"
+
+Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
+
+"I'm Duane--Buck Duane," he cried, menacingly. "Will you trade? Hurry!"
+
+The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell
+back.
+
+"I reckon I'll trade," he said.
+
+Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snorted
+in fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane
+flashed by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But the
+road ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for
+he had ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert.
+When he reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find
+six horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
+
+His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high
+sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see
+extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it was
+to his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached
+his hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to
+the dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+
+There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn
+beast into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane cared
+to risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So
+he had to abandon the horse--a circumstance that only such sore straits
+could have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the
+narrow aisles.
+
+He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers
+piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into
+the willows.
+
+"Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!" called one, evidently to the man Duane had
+forced into a trade.
+
+"Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',"
+replied a voice from the bluff.
+
+"Come on, Sid! We got him corralled," said the first speaker.
+
+"Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS
+BUCK DUANE!"
+
+Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a
+rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+
+"He can't git across the river, I tell you," came to Duane's ears. "He's
+corralled in the brake. I know thet hole."
+
+Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no
+more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading a
+passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and
+nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied
+by an Indian.
+
+The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas
+ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.
+Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the
+willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
+an inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above,
+these wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray
+and yellow--a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were
+a few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries--the
+jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was clay and unusually dry,
+sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a
+growth of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there
+usually was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender
+poles with stems so close together that they almost touched, and with
+the leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake
+Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle
+of the day the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the
+foliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green
+mantle and danced like gold on the ground.
+
+Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and
+likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always
+seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any
+unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided
+under the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard
+to conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could
+hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and
+never know it. The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then,
+hunted men and animals survived on very little.
+
+Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping
+in the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more
+hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river,
+Duane had his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put
+the river between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to
+be favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the
+willows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There
+were narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by
+animals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling,
+stooping any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was not
+easy--he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and
+when he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progress
+necessarily grew slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder,
+denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept on
+without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that the
+afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrong
+direction. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, and
+after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through to
+the bank of the river.
+
+He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank
+extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance the
+futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish
+water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all
+quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He
+could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked
+down. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from the
+high bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there
+apparently was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any
+hope of crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would be
+just the same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the
+pole and lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his
+way back to where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on
+up-stream till the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling around
+for a place big enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time
+being he was as safe there as he would have been beyond in the Rim Rock.
+He was tired, though not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain
+in his arm he dropped at once into sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly so thick
+and heavy as to have substance blanketed the black willow brake. He
+could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even his hand before
+his eyes. He lay there waiting, listening, sure that he had been
+awakened by an unusual sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the
+wilderness never disturbed his rest. His faculties, like those of
+old fugitives and hunted creatures, had become trained to a marvelous
+keenness. A long low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows,
+passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted by him in the
+darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a fox barked lonesomely
+in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken his slumber.
+
+Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound. Quickly
+Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made him aware of
+his crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. Silence
+enfolded him again, all the more oppressive and menacing in his
+suspense. Bloodhounds had been put on his trail, and the leader was not
+far away. All his life Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he
+knew that if the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he
+would be held at bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising to
+his feet, prepared to flee as best he could, he waited to be sure of the
+direction he should take.
+
+The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, full-toned,
+ringing bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant in its power. It
+caused a cold sweat to ooze out all over Duane's body. He turned from
+it, and with his uninjured arm outstretched to feel for the willows
+he groped his way along. As it was impossible to pick out the narrow
+passages, he had to slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding
+stems. He made such a crashing that he no longer heard the baying of
+the hounds. He had no hope to elude them. He meant to climb the first
+cottonwood that he stumbled upon in his blind flight. But it appeared
+he never was going to be lucky enough to run against one. Often he fell,
+sometimes flat, at others upheld by the willows. What made the work
+so hard was the fact that he had only one arm to open a clump of
+close-growing stems and his feet would catch or tangle in the narrow
+crotches, holding him fast. He had to struggle desperately. It was as if
+the willows were clutching hands, his enemies, fiendishly impeding his
+progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches and his flesh suffered
+many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept on until he brought
+up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+
+There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly exhausted as he
+had ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn and burning, his breast
+laboring, his legs stinging from innumerable bruises. While he leaned
+there to catch his breath he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a
+long time there was no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive
+him into any hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a
+trail, and others that ran mostly silent. The former were more valuable
+to their owner and the latter more dangerous to the fugitive. Presently
+Duane's ears were filled by a chorus of short ringing yelps. The pack
+had found where he had slept, and now the trail was hot. Satisfied that
+they would soon overtake him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood,
+which in his condition was difficult of ascent.
+
+It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up,
+and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed until he got above
+the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the
+brake, and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these
+were bonfires made along the bluff to render his escape more difficult
+on that side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he
+imagined he saw more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be
+sure. While he sat there pondering the matter, listening for the hounds,
+the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded
+was east and meant that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score,
+he descended to the first branch of the tree.
+
+His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so
+hopeless as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on him, and
+he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of
+possibility that any men could have followed running hounds through that
+brake in the night. The thing that worried Duane was the fact of the
+bonfires. He had gathered from the words of one of his pursuers that the
+brake was a kind of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way
+out of it, and that was along the bank where he had entered, and where
+obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further
+conjecture on this point, however, was interrupted by a crashing in the
+willows and the rapid patter of feet.
+
+Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the
+ground, nor any object but the black trunk of the tree. Sight would
+not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush
+through the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above
+crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's
+pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant.
+And at daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the
+brake, guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+
+It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could distinguish the
+vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He
+had no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually
+the obscurity lightened, and at length Duane had good enough sight of
+the hounds for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader
+of the pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others. That
+stopped the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and fled,
+its course easily marked by the howls of the crippled members. Duane
+reloaded his gun, and, making certain all the hounds had gone, he
+descended to the ground and set off at a rapid pace to the northward.
+
+The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his first
+halt some miles north of the scene where he had waited for the hounds. A
+barrier to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky bluff, rose
+sheer from the willow brake. He skirted the base of the cliff, where
+walking was comparatively easy, around in the direction of the river. He
+reached the end finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape
+from the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by some
+hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where he could fill
+his sombrero with water. After quenching his thirst he had a look at his
+wound. It was caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off the arm
+was seen to be inflamed and swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed
+it, experiencing a soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged
+it as best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated
+the pain of the injured member and held it in a quiet and restful
+position, where it had a chance to begin mending.
+
+As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His great
+strength and endurance had always made fatigue something almost unknown
+to him. However, tramping on foot day and night was as unusual to him as
+to any other riders of the Southwest, and it had begun to tell on him.
+Retracing his steps, he reached the point where he had abruptly come
+upon the bluff, and here he determined to follow along its base in the
+other direction until he found a way out or discovered the futility of
+such effort.
+
+Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to listen. But
+he was always listening, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness
+had become second nature with him, so that except in extreme cases
+of caution he performed it while he pondered his gloomy and fateful
+situation. Such habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+
+By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was facing
+south. The bluff had petered out from a high, mountainous wall to a
+low abutment of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough nature and
+afforded no crack or slope where quick ascent could have been possible.
+He pushed on, growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding
+that as he neared the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper
+into the willows. In the afternoon he reached a point where he could see
+men pacing to and fro on the bluff. This assured him that whatever place
+was guarded was one by which he might escape. He headed toward these men
+and approached to within a hundred paces of the bluff where they were.
+There were several men and several boys, all armed and, after the manner
+of Texans, taking their task leisurely. Farther down Duane made out
+black dots on the horizon of the bluff-line, and these he concluded were
+more guards stationed at another outlet. Probably all the available men
+in the district were on duty. Texans took a grim pleasure in such work.
+Duane remembered that upon several occasions he had served such duty
+himself.
+
+Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the land. For
+several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He took stock of those
+careless guards. They had rifles, and that made vain any attempt to pass
+them in daylight. He believed an attempt by night might be successful;
+and he was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there till dark and
+then try it, when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards
+on the bluff.
+
+The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he was
+lustily true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together and begin to
+talk excitedly and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him to
+slip away under the willows. He made no noise, and he assured himself he
+must be invisible. Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of
+rifles, and bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The
+day was hot and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he touched
+a willow stem, even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent
+a quiver among the leaves. Through this the guards had located his
+position. Once a bullet hissed by him; another thudded into the ground
+before him. This shooting loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from
+these men, and he hated them and himself because of it. Always in
+the fury of such moments he wanted to give back shot for shot. But
+he slipped on through the willows, and at length the rifles ceased to
+crack.
+
+He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept
+on, wondering what the next mile would bring.
+
+It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a hot
+fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape with no more
+than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+
+Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
+and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had
+come down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the
+blockade of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and
+after the brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to
+creep out of the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff,
+here only a bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of
+a shadow when a hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the
+willows was as perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he
+had accomplished it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles,
+he felt that he had indeed been favored by Providence. This time men
+followed him a goodly ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead
+through the willows sounded on all sides of him.
+
+When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his
+mind clamped between two things--whether to try again to escape or
+wait for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
+intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape.
+He had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
+attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound
+him. There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench
+decision out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not
+yet. He had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his
+run he found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms
+of vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low
+and near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang
+and hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered
+his head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a
+long and wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but
+in a dreadful state of mind.
+
+First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
+but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish,
+and therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed.
+That morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting
+to cross the river. If he could find a light log it was within the
+bounds of possibility that he might ford the shallow water and bars of
+quicksand. But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the
+bluff.
+
+All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next
+night, he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff; and every hour
+forced upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.
+
+Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass.
+There arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers at the extreme
+southern corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows,
+driven to what he believed was his last stand.
+
+If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him! Let him
+fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But these hunters, eager
+as they were to get him, had care of their own skins. They took few
+risks. They had him cornered.
+
+It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive, threatening storm.
+Like a snake Duane crawled into a little space in the darkest part of
+the thicket and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, from the
+river, seemingly from all sides. But he heard voices only from in front
+and toward his left. Even if his passage to the river had not been
+blocked, it might just as well have been.
+
+"Come on fellers--down hyar," called one man from the bluff.
+
+"Got him corralled at last," shouted another.
+
+"Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once," taunted
+another.
+
+"I seen him, I tell you."
+
+"Aw, thet was a deer."
+
+"But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows."
+
+"If he's winged we needn't hurry."
+
+"Hold on thar, you boys," came a shout in authoritative tones from
+farther up the bluff. "Go slow. You-all air gittin' foolish at the end
+of a long chase."
+
+"Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than
+somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be huntin' us soon!"
+
+"Let's surround this corner an' starve him out."
+
+"Fire the brake."
+
+How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear
+his doom. This, then, was the end he had always expected, which had been
+close to him before, yet never like now.
+
+"By God!" whispered Duane, "the thing for me to do now--is go out--meet
+them!"
+
+That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him. In that
+moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die, that was the way
+for him to die. What else could be expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
+knees and drew his gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he held
+what spare ammunition he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to
+the edge of the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there
+was a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had
+rifles. The fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live on earth
+who could make such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting them
+suddenly he could kill a man for every shot in his gun.
+
+Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate--to meet this end.
+But when he tried to step forward something checked him. He forced
+himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that opposed his will was
+as insurmountable as it had been physically impossible for him to climb
+the bluff.
+
+Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim and
+ghastly dignity that had been his a moment before fell away from him. He
+lay there stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He wondered was
+he afraid; had he, the last of the Duanes--had he come to feel fear? No!
+Never in all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet men face
+to face. It was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding,
+this eternal vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the
+situation was that if he went out to meet these men there was absolutely
+no doubt of his doom. If he clung to his covert there was a chance, a
+merest chance, for his life. These pursuers, dogged and unflagging as
+they had been, were mortally afraid of him. It was his fame that made
+them cowards. Duane's keenness told him that at the very darkest and
+most perilous moment there was still a chance for him. And the blood in
+him, the temper of his father, the years of his outlawry, the pride of
+his unsought and hated career, the nameless, inexplicable something in
+him made him accept that slim chance.
+
+Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the
+burning sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe, sweating and
+bleeding. His uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his
+flesh. Blotched and swollen from the never-ending attack of flies and
+mosquitoes his face seemed twice its natural size, and it ached and
+stung.
+
+On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the old hell,
+terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought
+and imagination had never been so swift. If death found him presently,
+how would it come? Would he get decent burial or be left for the
+peccaries and the coyotes? Would his people ever know where he had
+fallen? How wretched, how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was
+monstrous for him to cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in
+his heart, the hellish hate of these men on his trail--that was like a
+scourge. He felt no longer human. He had degenerated into an animal that
+could think. His heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved;
+and this internal strife seemed to thunder into his ears. He was now
+enacting the tragedy of all crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in
+their dens. Only his tragedy was infinitely more terrible because he
+had mind enough to see his plight, his resemblance to a lonely wolf,
+bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling, fire-eyed in a last instinctive
+defiance.
+
+Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching, listening
+intensity so supreme that it registered impressions which were creations
+of his imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not there; he saw
+shadowy moving figures that were only leaves. A hundred times when he
+was about to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from
+a distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other sounds
+real enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real from the false.
+There were times when the wind which had arisen sent a hot, pattering
+breath down the willow aisles, and Duane heard it as an approaching
+army.
+
+This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which in
+itself was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow spreading
+clouds. A storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved! The air
+was like steam. If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common
+though rare to the country, Duane believed he might slip away in the
+fury of wind and rain. Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged
+again. He hailed it with a bitterness that was sickening.
+
+Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention. He
+heard a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening
+in the thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while that beast came
+into full view was an age. The dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had
+a trail or a scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the
+inevitable discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him
+in that thicket. Voices from outside could be heard urging on the dog.
+Rover they called him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog entered the
+little shaded covert. Duane expected a yelping, a baying, or at least
+a bark that would tell of his hiding-place. A strange relief swiftly
+swayed over Duane. The end was near now. He had no further choice. Let
+them come--a quick fierce exchange of shots--and then this torture past!
+He waited for the dog to give the alarm.
+
+But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a
+yelp. Duane could not believe the evidence of his senses. He thought he
+had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to
+and fro among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all
+sound from him ceased.
+
+"Thar's Rover," called a voice from the bluff-side. "He's been through
+thet black patch."
+
+"Nary a rabbit in there," replied another.
+
+"Bah! Thet pup's no good," scornfully growled another man. "Put a hound
+at thet clump of willows."
+
+"Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes."
+
+The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
+
+Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching,
+listening spell. After all, it was not to end just now. His chance still
+persisted--looked a little brighter--led him on, perhaps, to forlorn
+hope.
+
+All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else
+Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be caused by the approaching
+storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder still
+muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at
+this time of overcast sky night was at hand.
+
+Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He would yet
+elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he seized the significance
+of all these fortunate circumstances which had aided him. Without haste
+and without sound he began to crawl in the direction of the river. It
+was not far, and he reached the bank before darkness set in. There were
+men up on the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he
+half yielded to a temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close
+in under the willows. But when he raised himself to peer out he saw that
+an attempt of this kind would be liable to failure. At the same moment
+he saw a rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged against some
+willows. The end of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him.
+Quick as a flash he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he
+tied his gun in an oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.
+
+The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to
+splash into the water. There was a willow growing back some few feet
+from the edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over
+the water so that when he released it there would be no springing back.
+Then he trusted his weight to it, with his feet sliding carefully
+down the bank. He went into the water almost up to his knees, felt
+the quicksand grip his feet; then, leaning forward till he reached the
+plank, he pulled it toward him and lay upon it.
+
+Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end
+appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows. Very carefully
+then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand.
+It seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a
+movement upward, and he pulled with all the power he dared use. It
+came slowly and at length was free. The left one he released with less
+difficulty. The next few moments he put all his attention on the plank
+to ascertain if his weight would sink it into the sand. The far end
+slipped off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled
+to rest upon the bottom. But it sank no farther, and Duane's greatest
+concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible for him
+to keep his head up for long he carefully crawled out upon the plank
+until he could rest an arm and shoulder upon the willows.
+
+When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous with
+fires. There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the bluff, another
+a hundred paces beyond. A great flare extended over the brake in that
+direction. Duane heard a roaring on the wind, and he knew his pursuers
+had fired the willows. He did not believe that would help them much.
+The brake was dry enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the
+bonfires he discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood,
+were keeping up the light with oil and stuff from the village. A dozen
+men kept watch on the bluff scarcely fifty paces from where Duane lay
+concealed by the willows. They talked, cracked jokes, sang songs, and
+manifestly considered this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the
+bright light lasted Duane dared not move. He had the patience and the
+endurance to wait for the breaking of the storm, and if that did not
+come, then the early hour before dawn when the gray fog and gloom were
+over the river.
+
+Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he
+waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of withstanding any
+strain endurable by the human frame.
+
+The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the willows,
+carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down over the river, and
+lightning began to flash. Then the rain fell in heavy sheets, but
+not steadily. The flashes of lightning and the broad flares played so
+incessantly that Duane could not trust himself out on the open river.
+Certainly the storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on
+the bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain and
+cramp and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it had come,
+and the long night set in. There were times when Duane thought he was
+paralyzed, others when he grew sick, giddy, weak from the strained
+posture. The first paling of the stars quickened him with a kind of wild
+joy. He watched them grow paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow
+hovered down, rested upon the river, and gradually thickened. The
+bonfire on the bluff showed as through a foggy veil. The watchers were
+mere groping dark figures.
+
+Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction, began
+to move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at length overcame a
+paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the sand and holding the
+plank with his knees, he edged it out into the river. Inch by inch he
+advanced until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy
+figures of the men on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him,
+feared that they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a little gurgle
+and splash in the water. Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It
+got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking
+sound. There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered
+straight advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear
+the bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
+backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving
+shadows a little darker.
+
+Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling.
+Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place.
+This way he made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to
+be enveloping him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were
+coalescing with the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred
+patches of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+
+To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit
+and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and when at last he
+discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save
+him. He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed
+north through the willows.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he
+reached familiar country and found a rancher who had before befriended
+him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a
+couple of weeks he was himself again.
+
+When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his
+friend reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles
+south, near the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain
+cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of
+such notices, but he had never seen one. His friend's reluctance and
+refusal to state for what particular deed this reward was offered roused
+Duane's curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
+rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some gun-shooting
+scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been accused of worse
+deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over there and find out who wanted
+him dead or alive, and why.
+
+As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first
+time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble. Introspection awarded him
+this knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces
+and while he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable,
+hopeless bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
+All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back
+from his fate.
+
+That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be
+what he was credited with being--that is to say, to embrace evil. He
+had never committed a crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? He
+reasoned finally that the desperation of crime had been forced upon
+him, if not its motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable
+actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had returned to the scene
+of the crime that had outlawed them; why they took such strangely fatal
+chances; why life was no more to them than a breath of wind; why they
+rode straight into the jaws of death to confront wronged men or
+hunting rangers, vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
+bitterness as this that drove these men.
+
+Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green
+fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be
+Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersecting
+road. There was a placard nailed on the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew
+rein near it and leaned close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR
+BUCK DUANE DEAD OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded
+print, Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
+Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named, but the
+date was illegible. The reward was offered by the woman's husband, whose
+name appeared with that of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.
+
+Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the
+horror of his fate, wild with passion at those misguided fools who could
+believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland, and,
+as always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before
+word had gone abroad that he had killed her, and so it was easy for
+men wanting to fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often.
+Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless crimes.
+
+A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm
+shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with clouded brow and
+piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight
+toward the village.
+
+Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of
+some railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by
+trees and commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick.
+A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central
+location.
+
+Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting,
+before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a
+spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of
+lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such
+placid, lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their
+attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently
+took him for an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of
+them recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
+
+He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+
+"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placard--out there on a
+sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
+see him."
+
+His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
+he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was
+simple enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were
+tears in his eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees
+and his hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his
+fate. This ignominy was the last straw.
+
+Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among
+these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the
+shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked
+his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face,
+shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun.
+
+"Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun.
+
+That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
+his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
+not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt
+man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy.
+He made no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded
+him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of
+his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even
+if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from
+his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.
+
+People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old
+men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew.
+The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of
+girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.
+
+The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got
+to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of
+them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to
+stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little
+time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+
+"Shut up, will you-all?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to hear
+somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's
+right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off."
+
+This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
+personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.
+
+"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give it to me.
+Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?"
+
+The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking
+hand and pointed.
+
+"Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!" he panted.
+
+An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+
+"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!" cried an
+excited villager.
+
+"Buck Duane! Buck Duane!"
+
+"Hang him!"
+
+The cowboy silenced these cries.
+
+"Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked, sharply.
+
+"Why--he said so," replied the man called Abe.
+
+"What!" came the exclamation, incredulously.
+
+"It's a tarnal fact," panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was
+an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his
+deed. "He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off,
+says he was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad."
+
+This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring
+as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had
+restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope
+over his head.
+
+"Up with him!" screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+
+The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+
+"Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over," ordered Abe's
+interlocutor.
+
+With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his
+former statement.
+
+"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?" bluntly
+queried the cowboy.
+
+"Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I
+grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him."
+
+What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates
+likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.
+
+"Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself," he said.
+
+That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+
+"I'm Buck Duane, all right." said Duane, quietly. "It was this way--"
+
+The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left
+his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out
+in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out
+a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.
+
+"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
+ought to know that. You mean it, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters?
+Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken
+bad, huh?"
+
+"No," replied Duane. "Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems
+a little off his head."
+
+"Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an'
+all his doings?"
+
+"I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did.
+That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward.
+Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed
+for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to
+send for Jeff Aiken."
+
+"An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?"
+queried the cowboy in amazement.
+
+"I guess that's it," replied Duane.
+
+"Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane."
+
+A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+
+"It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place," he said.
+"Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or
+what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen
+him onct would never forget him."
+
+"What do you want to see Aiken for?" asked the cowboy Sibert.
+
+"I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'm innocent, that's all."
+
+"Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you;
+what then?"
+
+"If he won't believe me--why, then my case's so bad--I'd be better off
+dead."
+
+A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+
+"If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff."
+
+"Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon," replied a man.
+
+Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed
+out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a
+number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with
+hard faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these
+seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying
+glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck.
+Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated,
+seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old
+women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+
+Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's
+wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A
+soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!
+
+"Thar comes Jeff Aiken now," called a man, loudly.
+
+The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+
+Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart
+build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce
+energy.
+
+The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+
+"Hold on, Jeff," he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He
+spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's
+face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken
+and Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a
+pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands--again the
+insane tumult was about to break out--the demand for an outlaw's blood,
+the call for a wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's
+bloody soil.
+
+Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat
+and cuffed in vain.
+
+"Jeff, will you listen?" broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the
+other man's arm.
+
+Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of
+themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that
+dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of
+bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of
+death he felt it then.
+
+"Sure this 's your game, Aiken," said Sibert. "But hear me a minute.
+Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck Duane. He seen the
+placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shirley. He says he's
+Buck Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff Aiken. That's all clear enough.
+You know how these gunfighters go lookin' for trouble. But here's
+what stumps me. Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe
+Strickland grab his gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives
+me some strange talk about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's
+innocent, he'd better be dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't drunk or
+crazy or locoed. He doesn't strike me as a man who rode in here huntin'
+blood. So I reckon you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to
+say."
+
+Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his
+gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to
+passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have
+judge him in a critical moment like this.
+
+"Listen," said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's, "I'm
+Buck Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into
+outlawry. I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed
+men to save my own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode
+thirty miles to-day--deliberately to see what this reward was, who made
+it, what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of
+my soul. So I rode in here to find you--to tell you this: I never saw
+Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to have--killed your
+wife. Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper
+Nueces. I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't
+murder a woman. I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my
+hands. It's just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons
+you have for holding me responsible. I only know--you're wrong. You've
+been deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man.
+I'm about broken, I guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything.
+If you can't look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I
+say--why, by God! you can kill me!"
+
+Aiken heaved a great breath.
+
+"Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't
+matter. You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear.
+The thing is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my
+wife's assailant."
+
+He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+
+"Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing."
+
+Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
+voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he
+did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which
+might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.
+
+The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image
+of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
+Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid.
+Then he fetched her closer to Duane.
+
+"Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?" asked Aiken, huskily
+and low. "Is he the one--who came in the house that day--struck you
+down--and dragged mama--?"
+
+Aiken's voice failed.
+
+A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
+sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
+moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence--of suspense.
+
+"It's ain't him!" cried the child.
+
+Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
+bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
+
+"See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man," burst
+out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. "You-all are a lot of wise
+rangers. Haw! haw!"
+
+He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
+
+"You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like
+again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck
+Duane's named for--which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's
+his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley."
+
+Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the
+horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a
+lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
+
+"I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say--hit that road quick!" he said,
+frankly.
+
+He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them
+they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly
+drawn to follow.
+
+Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously
+probably, he still held the gun.
+
+"Duane, a word with you," he said. "I believe you're not so black as
+you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this,
+anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?"
+
+"I do not," replied Duane, in surprise.
+
+"I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield," went on Aiken, hurriedly.
+"He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him--argued with
+him. We almost had hard words over it. Now--I'm sorry. The last thing he
+said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp
+after dark!' He meant something strange. What--I can't say. But he was
+right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you.
+Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever.
+Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger
+tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you
+further as he did this day!"
+
+Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+
+"So long, Buck!" called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over
+his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the
+sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of
+decision in favor of that direction.
+
+He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt
+up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain.
+In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were
+out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
+
+Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be
+Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village
+limits on the other side.
+
+No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival.
+Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared
+to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern
+Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street,
+he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of
+his old home.
+
+There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as
+Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to
+make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness.
+Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a
+grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding
+darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
+
+"Who goes there?" came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+
+Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+
+"One man--alone," replied Duane.
+
+"A stranger?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"I'm trying to find the ranger camp."
+
+"You've struck it. What's your errand?"
+
+"I want to see Captain MacNelly."
+
+"Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can
+see."
+
+Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces.
+He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he discovered the man who
+held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here
+Duane halted.
+
+"Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you," the guard ordered,
+curtly.
+
+Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of
+light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+
+"Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business
+with the Captain?"
+
+Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+
+"Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his
+camp--after dark," finally said Duane.
+
+The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner
+had been alert, and now it became tense.
+
+"Come here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning in the
+least toward the camp-fire.
+
+"Hello! What's up, Pickens?" came the swift reply. It was followed by a
+rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
+the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
+Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
+second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
+back.
+
+"Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is
+peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come
+here--after dark."
+
+Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at
+the camp-fire heard what he said.
+
+"Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait," replied an authoritative voice.
+Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
+camp-fire and hurried out.
+
+"Better be foxy, Cap," shouted a ranger, in warning.
+
+"Shut up--all of you," was the reply.
+
+This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers
+who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to
+Duane.
+
+"I'm MacNelly," he said. "If you're my man, don't mention your
+name--yet."
+
+All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
+happened lately.
+
+"I met Jeff Aiken to-day," said Duane. "He sent me--"
+
+"You've met Aiken!" exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. "By all
+that's bully!" Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
+
+"Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment."
+
+The rangers slowly withdrew.
+
+"Buck Duane! It's you?" he whispered, eagerly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated
+fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you," went on MacNelly; and he extended
+his hand.
+
+Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his
+hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+
+"It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to
+meet you," said Duane, soberly.
+
+"You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
+present."
+
+He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+
+"Pickers, go back on duty," he ordered, "and, Beeson, you look after
+this horse."
+
+When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
+the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
+the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small
+adobe house at one side.
+
+"We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk," said
+MacNelly. "I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
+hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house."
+
+Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
+before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way
+he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that
+MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would
+hardly have made this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and
+Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had
+bent keen eyes around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers
+apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in
+service--Duane saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
+Despite the occasional joke and sally of the more youthful members, and
+a general conversation of camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about
+the fact that his advent had been an unusual and striking one, which had
+caused an undercurrent of conjecture and even consternation among them.
+These rangers were too well trained to appear openly curious about their
+captain's guest. If they had not deliberately attempted to be oblivious
+of his presence Duane would have concluded they thought him an ordinary
+visitor, somehow of use to MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense
+that must have been due to a hint of his identity.
+
+He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+
+"Come in and have a chair," said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
+occupant of the room to rise. "Leave us, Russell, and close the door.
+I'll be through these reports right off."
+
+MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen
+in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
+dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong,
+yet not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers,
+fussed with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up
+he pushed a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to
+smoke he took a cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then,
+settling back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to
+hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.
+
+"Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years," he began.
+
+Duane smiled a little--a smile that felt strange on his face. He had
+never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more than ordinarily
+difficult.
+
+MacNelly must have felt that.
+
+He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
+changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+
+"I've lots to say, but where to begin," he mused. "Duane, you've had
+a hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met you before, don't
+know what you looked like as a boy. But I can see what--well, even
+ranger life isn't all roses."
+
+He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke.
+
+"Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?" he asked, abruptly.
+
+"No."
+
+"Never a word?"
+
+"Not one," replied Duane, sadly.
+
+"That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately
+your mother, sister, uncle--all your folks, I believe--were well. I've
+kept posted. But haven't heard lately."
+
+Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his
+throat, and then said, "It's worth what I went through to-day to hear
+that."
+
+"I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war--but let's
+get down to the business of this meeting."
+
+He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+
+"You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to
+see you?"
+
+"Three times, I remember," replied Duane.
+
+"Why didn't you hunt me up?"
+
+"I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take
+a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested."
+
+"That was natural, I suppose," went on MacNelly. "You didn't know me,
+otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting to you.
+But the nature of my job, as far as you're concerned, made me cautious.
+Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?"
+
+"Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing," replied Duane.
+
+"It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border.
+But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his
+infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also. But I've found hundreds
+of men in southwest Texas who're your friends, who swear you never
+committed a crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes.
+What I want to know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal?
+Tell me the truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan.
+And when I say crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable
+Texan."
+
+"That way my hands are clean," replied Duane.
+
+"You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when
+you needed him bad--never anything like that?"
+
+"Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest."
+
+"Duane, I'm damn glad!" MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. "Glad
+for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
+Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
+existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
+probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term."
+
+"That's what kept me on the dodge all these years," replied Duane.
+
+"Certainly." MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and
+glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He
+leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.
+
+"Listen to this," he whispered, hoarsely. "If I place a pardon in your
+hand--make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
+infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you--will you swear
+yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?"
+
+Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+
+Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
+MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+
+"My God!" burst from Duane. "What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
+earnest!"
+
+"Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
+do you say?"
+
+He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
+outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
+Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
+fugitive mounting assurance of victory.
+
+Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
+sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.
+
+"Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word," said Duane.
+
+A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness.
+He held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men
+unconsciously give in moments of stress.
+
+When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
+fumbled for another cigar--he had bitten the other into shreds--and,
+lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He
+had the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable
+cost. His next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and
+extract from it several folded papers.
+
+"Here's your pardon from the Governor," he said, quietly. "You'll see,
+when you look it over, that it's conditional. When you sign this paper I
+have here the condition will be met."
+
+He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along
+a dotted line.
+
+Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It
+was with difficulty that he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane--how
+strange the name looked!
+
+"Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gunfighter," said
+MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane's fingers and
+wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. Then with a smile
+he handed it to Duane.
+
+"That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers."
+
+"So that's it!" burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+bewilderment. "You want me for ranger service?"
+
+"Sure. That's it," replied the Captain, dryly. "Now to hear what that
+service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as
+you may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you
+that political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a
+good deal of friction in the Department of State in regard to whether or
+not the ranger service is any good--whether it should be discontinued or
+not. I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I contend
+that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce
+results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break
+up the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there
+yet because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant I needed. You, of
+course, are the man I had in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio
+Grande and begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw
+of the times. He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang
+who are operating on the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's my
+private opinion, but it's not been backed up by any evidence. Cheseldine
+doesn't leave evidences. He's intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have
+seen him--to know what he looks like. I assume, of course, that you are
+a stranger to the country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of
+your ground. There's a little town over there called Fairdale. It's the
+nest of a rustler gang. They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who
+the leader is. I want you to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is
+best you will proceed to act upon. You are your own boss. You know such
+men and how they can be approached. You will take all the time needed,
+if it's months. It will be necessary for you to communicate with me, and
+that will be a difficult matter. For Cheseldine dominates several whole
+counties. You must find some way to let me know when I and my rangers
+are needed. The plan is to break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest
+job on the border. Arresting him alone isn't to be heard of. He couldn't
+be brought out. Killing him isn't much better, for his select men, the
+ones he operates with, are as dangerous to the community as he is. We
+want to kill or jail this choice selection of robbers and break up the
+rest of the gang. To find them, to get among them somehow, to learn
+their movements, to lay your trap for us rangers to spring--that, Duane,
+is your service to me, and God knows it's a great one!"
+
+"I have accepted it," replied Duane.
+
+"Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no
+one except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off
+the job. You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to
+acquaint Texas with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's
+no date on that paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the
+service. Perhaps we can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry
+has really been good service to the state. At that, I'll believe it'll
+turn out so."
+
+MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his
+brows together in a dark frown, and went on. "No man on the border knows
+so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a thousand to one
+that you'll be killed. I'd say there was no chance at all for any other
+man beside you. Your reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe
+that and your nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping
+so. But it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back."
+
+"That's not the point," said Duane. "But in case I get killed out
+there--what--"
+
+"Leave that to me," interrupted Captain MacNelly. "Your folks will know
+at once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you lose your life out
+there I'll see your name cleared--the service you render known. You can
+rest assured of that."
+
+"I am satisfied," replied Duane. "That's so much more than I've dared to
+hope."
+
+"Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll
+start as soon as you like--the sooner the better. I hope to think of
+other suggestions, especially about communicating with me."
+
+Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased
+round the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring into the
+blackness, marveling over the strange events of the day. He was humble,
+grateful to the depths of his soul. A huge and crushing burden had been
+lifted from his heart. He welcomed this hazardous service to the man who
+had saved him. Thought of his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his
+home, of old friends came rushing over him the first time in years that
+he had happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them would
+now be removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life of the past,
+and its probable tragic end in future service as atonement changed their
+aspects. And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming
+the vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated
+in the blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+
+It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to
+breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting
+and stamping of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out of his
+blankets and made good use of the soap and towel and razor and brush
+near by on a bench--things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The
+face he saw in the mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so
+hard to recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+
+The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the
+ground.
+
+"Fellows," said MacNelly, "shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret
+ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you all hump soon!
+Mind you, keep mum about it."
+
+The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth of which
+he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their
+ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain
+hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in
+their welcome to show Duane their respect and appreciation, while not
+forgetting his lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that
+circle, now one of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+
+After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+
+"Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike straight
+for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then go to Valentine.
+That's near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge of the
+Rim Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the
+north is the town Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the
+rocks. Only after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border
+towns on his staff, or scared of him, and these places we want to know
+about, especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin.
+I don't have to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Ride a
+hundred, two hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso."
+
+MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose.
+
+"I'll start at once," he said, extending his hand to the Captain. "I
+wish--I'd like to thank you."
+
+"Hell, man! Don't thank me!" replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered
+hand. "I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're
+another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by
+Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing.
+No, not good-by--Adios, Duane! May we meet again!"
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II. THE RANGER
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region, barren in the
+north where the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile in
+the south along the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course
+across five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and
+towns lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western
+Texas, and despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the
+pioneers pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; then
+his neighbors in near and far valleys; then the hamlets; at last the
+railroad and the towns. And still the pioneers came, spreading
+deeper into the valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was
+mesquite-dotted, cactus-covered desert, but rich soil upon which water
+acted like magic. There was little grass to an acre, but there were
+millions of acres. The climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and
+ranchers prospered.
+
+The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a
+thousand miles, and then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north,
+to make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut
+across this bend, and all that country bounded on the north by the
+railroad and on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains.
+It contained not one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as
+if to isolate it, stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount
+Ord, Cathedral Mount, and Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks above their
+fellows. In the valleys of the foothills and out across the plains were
+ranches, and farther north villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+
+Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas
+was a world in itself--a world where the riches of the rancher were
+ever enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this
+outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the
+dark peak that loomed some miles to the south. It had been settled
+originally by Mexicans--there were still the ruins of adobe
+missions--but with the advent of the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants
+were shot or driven away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and
+evil sway there were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their
+choice between holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or furnishing
+target practice for that wild element.
+
+Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in
+a community where all men were remarkable for one reason or another
+he excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and
+most engaging attention--horses in that region being apparently more
+important than men. This particular horse did not attract with beauty.
+At first glance he seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough
+despite the care manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body, ponderous
+of limb, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand
+head. True, if only his head had been seen he would have been a
+beautiful horse. Like men, horses show what they are in the shape, the
+size, the line, the character of the head. This one denoted fire, speed,
+blood, loyalty, and his eyes were as soft and dark as a woman's. His
+face was solid black, except in the middle of his forehead, where there
+was a round spot of white.
+
+"Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?" asked a ragged urchin, with born
+love of a horse in his eyes.
+
+"Bullet," replied the rider.
+
+"Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?" whispered the youngster to
+another. "Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen."
+
+Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican make, a
+lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a tarpaulin.
+
+This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his horse. His
+apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without vanity, and it
+was torn and travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an intimate
+acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, this man was a giant in
+stature, but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking
+thing about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair
+white over the temples. He packed two guns, both low down--but that was
+too common a thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer,
+however, would have noted a singular fact--this rider's right hand was
+more bronzed, more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove
+on that right hand!
+
+He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide,
+high-boarded front the sign, "Hotel." There were horsemen coming and
+going down the wide street between its rows of old stores, saloons,
+and houses. Ord certainly did not look enterprising. Americans had
+manifestly assimilated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel
+had a wide platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk.
+Upon it, and leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages,
+most of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were
+booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all wore
+vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the men.
+
+It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature did not
+appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and boisterous kind
+natural to the cowboy or rancher in town for a day. These men were
+idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this
+arriving stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an
+atmosphere never associated with work.
+
+Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely
+detached himself from the crowd.
+
+"Howdy, stranger," he said.
+
+The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and
+nodded. Then: "I'm thirsty!"
+
+That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting.
+One and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark,
+ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head.
+A bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks.
+
+"Line up, gents," said the stranger.
+
+They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and
+oaths and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear
+so thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the
+motions, he did not drink at all.
+
+"My name's Jim Fletcher," said the tall man with the drooping, sandy
+mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that
+showed he expected to be known. Something went with that name. The
+stranger did not appear to be impressed.
+
+"My name might be Blazes, but it ain't," he replied. "What do you call
+this burg?"
+
+"Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to
+you?"
+
+He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes, clear as
+crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded
+close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise,
+according to how the tall interrogator marked the new-comer.
+
+"Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it?
+Funny trails hereabouts."
+
+"How fur was you goin'?"
+
+"I reckon I was goin' as far as I could," replied the stranger, with a
+hard laugh.
+
+His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the
+men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed
+thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.
+
+"Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place," he said, presently. "Sure you've
+heerd of the Big Bend country?"
+
+"I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it," replied the stranger.
+
+Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. "Knell,
+come in heah."
+
+This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than
+a boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless
+face, thin and sharp.
+
+"Knell, this heah's--" Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. "What'd you
+call yourself?"
+
+"I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately."
+
+This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless,
+indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present knew, that this show
+of Fletcher's, this pretense of introduction, was merely talk while he
+was looked over.
+
+Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than he had
+appeared upon the scene.
+
+"Any business here?" he queried, curtly. When he spoke his
+expressionless face was in strange contrast with the ring, the quality,
+the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of
+friendliness, of heart.
+
+"Nope," replied the stranger.
+
+"Know anybody hereabouts?"
+
+"Nary one."
+
+"Jest ridin' through?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Slopin' fer back country, eh?"
+
+There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and
+drew himself up disdainfully.
+
+"Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down
+here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes--I am in on the
+dodge," he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+
+"From west of Ord--out El Paso way, mebbe?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+"A-huh! Thet so?" Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. "You're
+from way down the river. Thet's what they say down there--'on the
+dodge.'... Stranger, you're a liar!"
+
+With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving
+Knell and the stranger in the center.
+
+Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve.
+Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger
+suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before
+manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar
+to him. His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a
+compass-needle.
+
+"Sure I lied," he said; "so I ain't takin' offense at the way you called
+me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one
+of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are--go ahead
+an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till
+they go fer theirs."
+
+Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the
+least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here was metal which
+rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight
+or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner
+characteristic of only the genuine gunman.
+
+"Stranger, I pass," he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor.
+
+The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the
+incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger,
+and now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity.
+
+"Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge," he said.
+
+"Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again--an' if you can't be
+friendly, be careful!"
+
+Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+
+Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El Paso
+he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise
+outfitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely he rode
+from town to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk
+and his occupation to the impression he wanted to make upon different
+people whom he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman,
+a stock-buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the
+wild and inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting
+into new territory. He passed on leisurely because he wanted to learn
+the lay of the country, the location of villages and ranches, the work,
+habit, gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he came
+in contact. The one subject most impelling to him--outlaws--he never
+mentioned; but by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and
+cattle story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In
+this game time was of no moment; if necessary he would take years to
+accomplish his task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it showed
+in the slow, wary preparation. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced
+Knell he knew he had reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on
+the fringe of the grazing country, of doubtful honesty, from which,
+surely, winding trails led down into that free and never-disturbed
+paradise of outlaws--the Big Bend.
+
+Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and
+several other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and then, after
+having a care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to
+a grove he had marked, and there, well hidden, he prepared to spend the
+night. This proceeding served a double purpose--he was safer, and the
+habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined
+to see in him the lone-wolf fugitive.
+
+Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned
+victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been;
+but the inner life had tremendously changed. He could never become a
+happy man, he could never shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had
+once been his despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible
+for any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow
+strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness
+of how passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his
+former infamy. The iron fetters no more threatened his hands; the iron
+door no more haunted his dreams. He never forgot that he was free.
+Strangely, too, along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered
+the force of imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms.
+He never called them outlaws--but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers,
+criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, and
+sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in
+this ranger service, it was the old, terrible inherited killing instinct
+lifting its hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure.
+He dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+
+Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving,
+yet not improbably even more potent of new significance to life, was
+the imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw
+days.
+
+For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him
+from place to place, to beat and spur and goad mercilessly in flight;
+now this giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend,
+a brother, a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden
+with an intense appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years
+the daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the
+ruddy close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or
+willow brake or deserted hut, had been hated because it augmented danger
+of pursuit, because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding;
+now the dawn was a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan,
+to remember, and sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky--all were joys to him,
+somehow speaking his freedom. For years the night had been a black
+space, during which he had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to
+peer with cat-eyes through gloom for the moving shape that ever pursued
+him; now the twilight and the dusk and the shadows of grove and canon
+darkened into night with its train of stars, and brought him calm
+reflection of the day's happenings, of the morrow's possibilities,
+perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old phantoms, then sleep. For
+years canons and valleys and mountains had been looked at as retreats
+that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an outlaw; now he saw
+these features of the great desert with something of the eyes of the boy
+who had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+
+This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against
+the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared
+itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder
+that Duane gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in
+its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canon was hidden the secret
+stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from
+El Paso Duane had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds,
+his cunning, his widely separated raids, of his flitting here and there
+like a Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his
+appearance.
+
+Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north,
+riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been
+used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west,
+this northern direction led him into totally unfamiliar country. While
+he passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the
+future he would know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced
+that way again.
+
+The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills gradually
+leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing country, upon which till
+noon of that day Duane did not see a herd of cattle or a ranch. About
+that time he made out smoke from the railroad, and after a couple of
+hours' riding he entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford.
+It was the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated
+must have a thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including
+Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for
+a while, being the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he
+hitched his horse in front of a store and leisurely set about studying
+Bradford.
+
+It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions
+concerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one
+long row of saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane
+visited them all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to
+that of the old river camp of Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was
+forced upon him that the farther west one traveled along the river
+the sparser the respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard
+characters, and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness.
+Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's
+task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he
+reflected, a company of intrepid and quick-shooting rangers could have
+soon cleaned up this Bradford.
+
+The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and
+wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man
+had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning
+toward companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself
+as Colonel Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane
+made no comment about himself.
+
+"Sir, it's all one to me," he said, blandly, waving his hand. "I have
+traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier
+and just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion.
+You might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little,
+of El Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway."
+
+Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not
+have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was
+a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come
+out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who
+had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+
+"Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave," said Colonel Webb.
+"And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't
+want to expiate my sins there."
+
+"Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,"
+replied Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+
+The Colonel swore lustily.
+
+"My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was
+wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun,
+and he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work
+to offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws
+alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs,
+sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers."
+
+Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+
+"Do you know anything about the service?" he asked.
+
+"I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of
+men, sir, and the salvation of Texas."
+
+"Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion," said Duane.
+
+Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice
+for a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a
+while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to
+get a benefit from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that
+here was just the kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen
+that he had been trying to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to
+be agreeable and interesting; and he saw presently that here was an
+opportunity to make a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend.
+
+"I'm a stranger in these parts," said Duane, finally. "What is this
+outlaw situation you speak of?"
+
+"It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just
+wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
+honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know,
+the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to
+get rid of big bunches--that's the hard job. The gang operating between
+here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where
+the stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of
+it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New
+Orleans, also to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and
+Marfa and Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray
+cattle out in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and
+stragglers are not rounded up."
+
+"Wholesale business, eh?" remarked Duane. "Who are these--er--big
+stock-buyers?"
+
+Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
+penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.
+
+"Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
+accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer."
+
+When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
+freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
+subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that
+any man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
+Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
+person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine,
+and those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in
+descriptions of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to
+the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as
+there was no one who could identify him, so there was no one who could
+prove he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the
+Big Bend country, and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact
+remained there were no eye-witnesses to connect any individual called
+Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in striking contrast to
+this mystery was the person, character, and cold-blooded action of
+Poggin and Knell, the chief's lieutenants. They were familiar figures in
+all the towns within two hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record,
+but as gunman with an incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme.
+If Poggin had a friend no one ever heard of him. There were a hundred
+stories of his nerve, his wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for
+gambling, his love of a horse--his cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out
+of his path any man that crossed it.
+
+"Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name," said Colonel Webb. "Sometimes
+I wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where does the brains of
+this gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this
+border pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and
+Knell. Of all the thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the
+last twenty years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down
+between the Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many
+bad men. But I doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane,
+ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?"
+
+"Yes, a little," replied Duane, quietly. "I'm from southern Texas. Buck
+Duane then is known out here?"
+
+"Why, man, where isn't his name known?" returned Colonel Webb. "I've
+kept track of his record as I have all the others. Of course, Duane,
+being a lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like
+Cheseldine. Out here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible
+some of them. But despite them a sort of romance clings to that Nueces
+outlaw. He's killed three great outlaw leaders, I believe--Bland,
+Hardin, and the other I forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had
+friends there. Bland had a hard name at Del Rio."
+
+"Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?"
+inquired Duane.
+
+"He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men.
+I understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties swear by
+him--secretly, of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his
+head. His fame in this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play
+and his enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I
+wish to God that Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred
+pesos to see him and Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how
+jealous these great outlaws are of each other."
+
+"Yes, indeed, all about them is singular," replied Duane. "Has
+Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?"
+
+"No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's
+unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock that's being
+shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,
+too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not
+heard of at all for a spell. These lulls are pretty surely indicative of
+a big storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer
+and farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some
+people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the bank-robberies
+and train-holdups during the last few years in this country. But that's
+poor reasoning. The jobs have been too well done, too surely covered, to
+be the work of greasers or ordinary outlaws."
+
+"What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will
+the outlaw ever be driven out?" asked Duane.
+
+"Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All the
+armies in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that fifteen
+hundred miles of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is enjoyed
+by these great leaders, will sooner or later be past. The criminal
+element flock to the Southwest. But not so thick and fast as the
+pioneers. Besides, the outlaws kill themselves, and the ranchers are
+slowly rising in wrath, if not in action. That will come soon. If they
+only had a leader to start the fight! But that will come. There's talk
+of Vigilantes, the same hat were organized in California and are now in
+force in Idaho. So far it's only talk. But the time will come. And the
+days of Cheseldine and Poggin are numbered."
+
+Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long trail was
+growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new ideas. It came
+to Duane in surprise that he was famous along the upper Rio Grande.
+Assuredly he would not long be able to conceal his identity. He had
+no doubt that he would soon meet the chiefs of this clever and bold
+rustling gang. He could not decide whether he would be safer unknown or
+known. In the latter case his one chance lay in the fatality connected
+with his name, in his power to look it and act it. Duane had never
+dreamed of any sleuth-hound tendency in his nature, but now he felt
+something like one. Above all others his mind fixed on Poggin--Poggin
+the brute, the executor of Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the
+gunman. This in itself was a warning to Duane. He felt terrible forces
+at work within him. There was the stern and indomitable resolve to
+make MacNelly's boast good to the governor of the state--to break up
+Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange
+grim and deadly instinct--which he had to drive away for fear he would
+find in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word
+to MacNelly, but for himself. Had his father's blood and the hard years
+made Duane the kind of man who instinctively wanted to meet Poggin? He
+was sworn to MacNelly's service, and he fought himself to keep that, and
+that only, in his mind.
+
+Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from
+Bradford toward the north. There was a stage which made the journey
+twice a week.
+
+Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale. He rode
+leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the country.
+There were few ranches. The farther he traveled the better grazing he
+encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer herds of cattle.
+
+It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that
+marked the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had
+learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.
+
+When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number
+of loungers greeted him laconically.
+
+"Beat the stage in, hey?" remarked one.
+
+"There she comes now," said another. "Joel shore is drivin' to-night."
+
+Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a lumbering
+coach. When he had looked after the needs of his horse he returned to
+the group before the inn. They awaited the stage with that
+interest common to isolated people. Presently it rolled up, a large
+mud-bespattered and dusty vehicle, littered with baggage on top and
+tied on behind. A number of passengers alighted, three of whom excited
+Duane's interest. One was a tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the
+other two were ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard
+the proprietor of the inn address the man as Colonel Longstreth, and as
+the party entered the inn Duane's quick ears caught a few words which
+acquainted him with the fact that Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+
+Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready.
+At table he found himself opposite the three who had attracted his
+attention.
+
+"Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys," Longstreth was saying.
+
+Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+
+"I'm crazy to ride bronchos," she said.
+
+Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other girl's
+deep voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had
+beauty as he had never seen it in another woman. She was slender, but
+the development of her figure gave Duane the impression she was twenty
+years old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen.
+She did not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She
+looked tired, quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face;
+clear, olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal,
+beautiful to look into; a slender, straight nose that had something
+nervous and delicate about it which made Duane think of a thoroughbred;
+and a mouth by no means small, but perfectly curved; and hair like
+jet--all these features proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed
+her a descendant of one of the old French families of eastern Texas. He
+was sure of it when she looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent
+gaze. There were pride, fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt
+himself blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been rude, perhaps,
+but unconscious. How many years had passed since he had seen a girl like
+her! Thereafter he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet he seemed to be
+aware that he had aroused the interest of both girls.
+
+After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open
+fire place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow.
+Duane took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper,
+began to read. Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced
+men, strangers who had not appeared before, and were peering in from a
+doorway. When they saw Duane had observed them they stepped back out of
+sight.
+
+It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas
+in the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded.
+Duane pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men.
+The doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
+dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks
+to the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
+whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
+outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect,
+it was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on
+the border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character,
+or at least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these
+strangers were dishonest.
+
+"Hey somethin'?" one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
+down.
+
+"No thanks, I don't drink," Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
+with interest. "How's tricks in the Big Bend?"
+
+Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to recognize
+a type of ruffian most frequently met along the river. These strangers
+had that stamp, and their surprise proved he was right. Here the
+innkeeper showed signs of uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his
+customers. No more was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly
+went out.
+
+"Say, boss, do you know those fellows?" Duane asked the innkeeper.
+
+"Nope."
+
+"Which way did they come?"
+
+"Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today," he
+replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked at Duane. "They
+nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the
+stage."
+
+When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was absent,
+also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had
+vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss Longstreth. Duane went
+directly to them.
+
+"Excuse me," said Duane, addressing them. "I want to tell you there are
+a couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen them. They mean
+evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors--bar your windows
+to-night."
+
+"Oh!" cried Ruth, very low. "Ray, do you hear?"
+
+"Thank you; we'll be careful," said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The
+rich color had faded in her cheek. "I saw those men watching you
+from that door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really
+danger--here?"
+
+"I think so," was Duane's reply.
+
+Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: "Hands up!"
+
+No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His
+hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into
+her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls
+were staring at some one behind Duane.
+
+"Turn around!" ordered the harsh voice.
+
+The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade
+in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked
+gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him,
+and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out
+his roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and
+took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another
+weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish
+satisfaction that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice
+at this kind of game.
+
+His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who
+stood there frightened, speechless.
+
+"Git a move on, Bill," called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance
+backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had
+horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with
+brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to
+search them. The robber in the doorway called "Rustle!" and disappeared.
+
+Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the
+other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his
+searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well
+remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle,
+stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his
+bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched,
+but the little girl appeared about to faint.
+
+"Don't yap, there!" he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to
+Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a
+plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold
+glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in
+his pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+
+"Any money, jewelry, diamonds!" ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+
+Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with
+her hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to
+mean that she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had
+instinctively pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.
+
+"Come out with it!" he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+
+"Don't dare touch me!" she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She
+had nerve.
+
+It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had
+been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted,
+and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped
+Duane, yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man
+made at her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull
+ripped it asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+
+She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not
+shaken Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half
+her waist.
+
+The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself
+he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held
+dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow
+made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a
+magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He
+bellowed something again.
+
+Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It was
+a kind of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot
+Longstreth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth's torn waist
+loosened its hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped
+till it pointed to the floor. That was Duane's chance.
+
+Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and
+he could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into
+the ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood
+spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small
+bullet had glanced.
+
+Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported
+her. It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half
+carried her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through
+the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a
+saddled horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot.
+His comrade had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a
+condition approaching pandemonium.
+
+The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out
+at the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel,
+the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The
+woman, wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The
+girls were still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and
+Duane guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing
+that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such
+passion. Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a
+quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:
+
+"Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear
+to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them fellers!"
+
+"I ought to kill you anyhow!" replied Longstreth. And his voice now
+astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+
+Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber's
+temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed,
+had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of
+returning consciousness.
+
+"Drag him out of here!" ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his
+daughter.
+
+Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and
+gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other
+men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
+
+Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay
+Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane
+did not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very
+still, with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel,
+now that he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and
+kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure,
+said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
+
+"Can I be of any service?" asked Duane, solicitously.
+
+"Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened
+girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,"
+he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he
+went out.
+
+Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the
+other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange
+thrill.
+
+"You saved my life," she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+
+"No, no!" Duane exclaimed. "He might have struck you, hurt you, but no
+more."
+
+"I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I
+couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was
+in peril."
+
+"Did you kill him?" asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+
+"Oh no. He's not badly hurt."
+
+"I'm very glad he's alive," said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+
+"My intention was bad enough," Duane went on. "It was a ticklish place
+for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go
+off. Fool careless he was!"
+
+"Yet you say you didn't save me," Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
+
+"Well, let it go at that," Duane responded. "I saved you something."
+
+"Tell me all about it?" asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
+
+Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of
+view.
+
+"Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of
+nothing--watching for nothing except a little moment when you might draw
+your gun?" asked Miss Ruth.
+
+"I guess that's about it," he replied.
+
+"Cousin," said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, "it was fortunate for us
+that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts--laughs at danger.
+He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came."
+
+"Go with us all the way to Fairdale--please?" asked Miss Ruth, sweetly
+offering her hand. "I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray
+Longstreth."
+
+"I'm traveling that way," replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not
+know how to meet the situation.
+
+Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night,
+which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls,
+he led them away.
+
+Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured
+robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he
+was gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said
+that he left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
+
+"Had he come to?" inquired Duane.
+
+"Sure. He asked for whisky."
+
+"Did he say anything else?"
+
+"Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls."
+
+"You mean Colonel Longstreth?"
+
+"I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame
+fer that two-bit of a hold-up!"
+
+"What did you make of the old gent's rage?" asked Duane, watching the
+innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane
+believed in his honesty.
+
+"Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's
+either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans."
+
+"More nerve, maybe," Duane replied. "Show me a bed now, innkeeper."
+
+Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the
+several events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup
+and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under
+circumstances where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed
+Duane, and he put it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on
+the action of the robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in
+upon him. This ruffian, as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever
+encountered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. From whatever
+point Duane viewed the man's strange indecision he could come to
+only one conclusion--his start, his check, his fear had been that of
+recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly acquired sense
+he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that
+desperate robber lowered his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound
+of the Mayor of Fairdale? This was not answerable. There might have been
+a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane
+could not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for his
+daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had advanced in
+front of a cocked gun. Duane probed deep into this singular fact, and he
+brought to bear on the thing all his knowledge and experience of
+violent Texas life. And he found that the instant Colonel Longstreth
+had appeared on the scene there was no further danger threatening his
+daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not answer. Then his rage,
+Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS daughter being
+assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a thought-disturber,
+but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more careful
+consideration.
+
+Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It
+was larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street
+and back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and
+dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane
+heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake
+hands with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he
+spoke with force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The
+fellow laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly
+he espied Miss Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his
+sombrero. Duane went closer.
+
+"Floyd, did you come with the teams?" asked Longstreth, sharply.
+
+"Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard," was the reply.
+
+"Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later." Then Longstreth turned to
+his daughter. "Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to
+play with him ten years ago--Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter--and my
+niece, Ruth Herbert."
+
+Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game
+to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant
+personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+
+He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples--dark, smooth-shaven, with
+lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
+strong and bitter, and a square chin--a reckless, careless, handsome,
+sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace
+of a gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice.
+Duane doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to
+the frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not
+quite effaced the mark of good family.
+
+Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter
+and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this
+meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready
+for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a
+wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To
+the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday,
+and to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat.
+The driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered
+ground rapidly.
+
+The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the
+horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to
+cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster
+of adobe and stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called
+Longstreth, named after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale
+there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
+
+Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
+patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
+sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization
+than its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast
+western third of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to
+settle there and establish places like Fairdale.
+
+It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's
+ranch. The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and
+it was not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the
+town. It was a low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and
+covered what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about
+it, except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed
+gray and red.
+
+Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the
+town with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The
+street he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was
+a solid row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched
+all along the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here
+and there breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+
+From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other
+frontier towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the
+afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his
+horse. Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the
+subject most in mind.
+
+"Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?"
+
+"Reckon he has," replied the lad. "Doan know how many cowboys. They're
+always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them."
+
+"Much movement of stock these days?"
+
+"Stock's always movin'," he replied, with a queer look.
+
+"Rustlers?"
+
+But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
+
+"Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?"
+
+"Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger."
+
+"Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys
+who were arrested."
+
+"Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--they belong
+heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys."
+
+Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk
+into other channels.
+
+After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
+darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
+watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
+rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
+ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted
+crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with
+wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the
+guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted by
+six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up
+by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
+southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
+some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for
+a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
+
+Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
+conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+
+"Laramie, what's the stranger's name?" asked one.
+
+"He didn't say," replied the other.
+
+"Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
+cattleman, him. How'd you size him?"
+
+"Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for
+a man for years--to kill him when he found him."
+
+"Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin'
+for Long--"
+
+"'S--sh!" interrupted Laramie. "You must be half drunk, to go talkie'
+that way."
+
+Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and
+presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself
+agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not
+communicative.
+
+Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's
+visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane
+inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something
+wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if
+there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The
+innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's
+thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of
+her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him
+remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of his life.
+What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the
+present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray
+Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed,
+it seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew
+conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like
+a pang in his breast.
+
+Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to
+the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented
+himself with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he
+decided Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was
+on the track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much
+the same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for
+a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that.
+He would answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn
+that Laramie had seen better days--that he was now broken, bitter, and
+hard. Some one had wronged him.
+
+Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to
+Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the
+stores unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to
+find out that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling,
+drinking, and fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled
+horses, the town full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in
+any place Duane had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon
+that spoke forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided
+that Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to this
+Fairdale, which was a secret center of rustlers and outlaws. And what
+struck Duane strangest of all was the fact that Longstreth was mayor
+here and held court daily. Duane knew intuitively, before a chance
+remark gave him proof, that this court was a sham, a farce. And he
+wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his was equivalent to
+suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached himself. Then
+he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry had
+brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live with her
+father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana, where his
+family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich rancher;
+he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd
+Lawson was his lieutenant and associate in deals.
+
+On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he
+returned to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed
+to have a rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside
+Laramie was lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did
+not appear to be dangerously hurt.
+
+"Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer," said Laramie,
+laboring to his feet.
+
+"Are you hurt much?" queried Duane.
+
+"I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before
+without that."
+
+"Well, I'll take a look after Bo," replied Duane.
+
+He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of the town.
+He did not see any one he could take for the innkeeper's assailant. Then
+he looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow about a block away,
+hurrying along and gazing back.
+
+Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him. Snecker broke
+into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him. There were two motives
+in Duane's action--one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend
+of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much.
+
+Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained
+rapidly upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get
+out of sight. Then he took to the open country and ran straight for
+the green hill where Longstreth's house stood. Duane had almost caught
+Snecker when he reached the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him.
+But Duane kept him in sight, in the shade, on the paths, and up the
+road into the courtyard, and he saw Snecker go straight for Longstreth's
+house.
+
+Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He did not
+stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate had directed him to
+the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane entered the first open door
+on that side of the court. It opened into a corridor which led into a
+plaza. It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in
+the center. Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was giving a
+little party.
+
+Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the
+porch roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably, expressing
+amazement, consternation, then fear.
+
+In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her dress.
+The young women present stared in astonishment, if they were not equally
+perturbed. There were cowboys present who suddenly grew intent and
+still. By these things Duane gathered that his appearance must
+be disconcerting. He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His big
+gun-sheath showed plainly at his hip.
+
+Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was
+plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no one but her.
+
+"Miss Longstreth--I came--to search--your house," panted Duane.
+
+He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he realized
+that that should have been the last thing for him to say. He had
+blundered. But he was not used to women, and this dark-eyed girl made
+him thrill and his heart beat thickly and his wits go scattering.
+
+"Search my house!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the
+white in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry. "What for? Why,
+how dare you! This is unwarrantable!"
+
+"A man--Bo Snecker--assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie," replied Duane,
+hurriedly. "I chased Snecker here--saw him run into the house."
+
+"Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the
+absence of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you to search."
+
+Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward.
+
+"Ray, don't be bothered now," he said, to his cousin. "This fellow's
+making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you clear out!"
+
+"I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him," replied Duane,
+quietly.
+
+"Bah! That's all a bluff," sneered Lawson. "I'm on to your game. You
+just wanted an excuse to break in here--to see my cousin again. When you
+saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the
+worse for you."
+
+Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he felt that
+he was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable to put this Ray
+Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her eyes now.
+And somehow that checked his embarrassment.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then--I regret to say--I'll do so without your permission."
+
+"You'll not dare!" she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling.
+
+"Pardon me, yes, I will."
+
+"Who are you?" she demanded, suddenly.
+
+"I'm a Texas Ranger," replied Duane.
+
+"A TEXAS RANGER!" she echoed.
+
+Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses," said Duane.
+"I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your permission. A ruffian
+has taken refuge here--in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere.
+May I look for him?"
+
+"If you are indeed a ranger."
+
+Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at
+them.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better
+place for women and children. I don't wonder at your resentment. But to
+doubt me--insult me. Some day you may be sorry."
+
+Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+
+"All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys
+and go with this--this Texas Ranger."
+
+"Thanks," said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. "Perhaps you'll be able
+to find Snecker quicker than I could."
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he
+was a man of fierce quick passions.
+
+"Don't quarrel," said Miss Longstreth. "Floyd, you go with him. Please
+hurry. I'll be nervous till--the man's found or you're sure there's not
+one."
+
+They started with several cowboys to search the house. They went through
+the rooms searching, calling out, peering into dark places. It struck
+Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the calling. He was
+hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead. Duane wondered if he knew his
+voice would be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was
+Duane who peered into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said
+"Come out!"
+
+He came forth into the flare--a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing
+sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him before any of the
+others could move and held the gun close enough to make him shrink. But
+he did not impress Duane as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he
+had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a
+shock. He peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to
+him, then into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld relief
+it was then. That was all Duane needed to know, but he meant to find out
+more if he could.
+
+"Who're you?" asked Duane, quietly.
+
+"Bo Snecker," he said.
+
+"What'd you hide here for?"
+
+He appeared to grow sullen.
+
+"Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres."
+
+"Ranger, what'll you do with him?" Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
+the capture was made.
+
+"I'll see to that," replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him
+out into the court.
+
+Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
+Longstreth in the court.
+
+When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men
+there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane
+had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near
+him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford
+Owens, county judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced
+fellow with a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a
+huge silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs.
+There were four other men whom Duane knew by sight, several whose faces
+were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
+
+Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was
+unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided,
+and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored Duane
+gathered that he had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+
+"What'd you break in here for," demanded Longstreth.
+
+"Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?" interrogated
+Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
+
+"Yes," replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his
+intense interest.
+
+"I've arrested a criminal," said Duane.
+
+"Arrested a criminal!" ejaculated Longstreth. "You? Who're you?"
+
+"I'm a ranger," replied Duane.
+
+A significant silence ensued.
+
+"I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery--if not
+murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it keeps
+a record."
+
+"What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself," said
+Longstreth, gruffly.
+
+Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had
+shuffled forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but
+not the boldness even of a rustler.
+
+"It ain't so, Longstreth," he began, loudly. "I went in Laramie's place
+fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit
+Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger
+chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's
+hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth."
+
+Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that
+worthy nodded his great bushy head.
+
+"Bo, you're discharged," said Longstreth, bluntly. "Now the rest of you
+clear out of here."
+
+He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duane--his slap
+in the face to an interfering ranger service. If Longstreth was crooked
+he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost decided he was above
+suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative
+assurance--these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes were in significant
+contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow
+paling of his olive skin. In that momentary lull Duane's scrutiny of
+Longstreth gathered an impression of the man's intense curiosity.
+
+Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of
+silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+
+"Hold on!" called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a
+bullet.
+
+"Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie," said Duane, his voice still
+ringing. "What has the court to say to that?"
+
+"The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger
+service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you."
+
+"That's a lie, Longstreth," retorted Duane. "I've letters from Fairdale
+citizens all begging for ranger service."
+
+Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared
+about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick reply.
+
+Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed black and
+thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable
+outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should
+reasonably have had for anger. Longstreth shoved him back with a curse
+and a warning glare.
+
+"Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?" shouted Longstreth.
+
+"I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of
+the power of Texas Rangers."
+
+"You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block
+you."
+
+That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had
+been waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to force
+Longstreth's hand and show the town his stand.
+
+Duane backed clear of everybody.
+
+"Men! I call on you all!" cried Duane, piercingly. "I call on you to
+witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by Longstreth, Mayor of
+Fairdale. It will be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General at
+Austin. Longstreth, you'll never prevent another arrest."
+
+Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+
+"Longstreth, you've shown your hand," said Duane, in a voice that
+carried far and held those who heard. "Any honest citizen of Fairdale
+can now see what's plain--yours is a damn poor hand! You're going to
+hear me call a spade a spade. In the two years you've been Mayor
+you've never arrested one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for
+rustlers! You've never sent a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to
+Austin. You have no jail. There have been nine murders during your
+office--innumerable street-fights and holdups. Not one arrest! But you
+have ordered arrests for trivial offenses, and have punished these out
+of all proportion. There have been lawsuits in your court-suits over
+water-rights, cattle deals, property lines. Strange how in these
+lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to you were always involved!
+Strange how it seems the law was stretched to favor your interest!"
+
+Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both outside
+and inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men.
+Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he betray anything but rage at
+this interloper?
+
+"Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale," went on Duane. "I
+don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say STRANGE! Law here
+has been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to
+me--yet. But I call your hand!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down
+the street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen
+ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot
+trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely
+that Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting
+eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of
+Ray Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended.
+He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young
+woman. The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him,
+and then he was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the
+disgrace he might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked
+inside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was
+troubled.
+
+Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the
+worse for his injury.
+
+"How are you, Laramie?" he asked.
+
+"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied Laramie. His
+head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had
+been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
+
+"That was a good crack Snecker gave you," remarked Duane.
+
+"I ain't accusin' Bo," remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane
+thoughtful.
+
+"Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's court. But
+they let him go."
+
+Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
+
+"See here, Laramie," went on Duane, "in some parts of Texas it's policy
+to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I
+want you to know I lean on your side of the fence."
+
+Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his
+gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but
+even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out
+of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough.
+Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
+
+"Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?"
+
+"I didn't say."
+
+"Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day.
+It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?"
+
+"When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth."
+
+"Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale.
+I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
+Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore--ha,
+ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope
+So joint."
+
+"He owns considerable property hereabouts," replied Laramie,
+constrainedly.
+
+"Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town,
+you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight,
+Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause
+I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos."
+
+"Talk's cheap," replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the
+red was deeper in his face.
+
+"Sure. I know that," Duane said. "And usually I don't talk. Then it's
+not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?"
+
+"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't
+connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place."
+
+"That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that
+we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them.
+But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope
+So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie."
+
+"Thanks," replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky.
+"Didn't you hear I used to run it?"
+
+"No. Did you?" Duane said, quickly.
+
+"I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
+years."
+
+"Well, I'll be doggoned." It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised,
+and with the surprise came a glimmering. "I'm sorry you're not there
+now. Did you sell out?"
+
+"No. Just lost the place."
+
+Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had made
+him soft.
+
+"It was two years ago-two years last March," he went on. "I was in a big
+cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteen
+hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come
+to a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined."
+
+It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down
+his cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the
+man. He had failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had been
+swindled. All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had
+the man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now
+the secret of his bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse
+Longstreth, the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thought
+best to try to learn at some later time.
+
+"Hard luck! It certainly was tough," Duane said. "But you're a good
+loser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need your
+advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest
+some. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I
+want you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of
+ranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with
+ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is
+full of them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must
+know a couple of men above suspicion."
+
+"Thank God I do," he replied, feelingly. "Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my
+friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You
+can gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me--don't invest
+money in stock now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker
+'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen--these
+are easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy
+enough pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't
+know anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd
+fight if they--"
+
+"What?" Duane put in, as he paused. "If they knew who was rustling the
+stock?"
+
+"Nope."
+
+"If they had the nerve?"
+
+"Not thet so much."
+
+"What then? What'd make them fight?"
+
+"A leader!"
+
+"Howdy thar, Jim," boomed a big voice.
+
+A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room.
+
+"Hello, Morton," replied Laramie. "I'd introduce you to my guest here,
+but I don't know his name."
+
+"Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names."
+
+"Say, Morton," put in Duane, "Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good
+man to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like to
+invest it in stock."
+
+Morton smiled broadly.
+
+"I'm on the square," Duane said, bluntly. "If you fellows never size up
+your neighbors any better than you have sized me--well, you won't get
+any richer."
+
+It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant
+with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith
+held aloof.
+
+"I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you
+start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?"
+
+"Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle
+now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go
+back across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had
+more'n twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let
+me hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?"
+
+"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton," replied Duane, with
+impatience. "You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county.
+Who heads the gang, anyway?"
+
+Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his
+big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+
+"Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these
+rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly
+honest men--they CAN'T last."
+
+"They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single
+steer left," he declared.
+
+"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
+of the rustlers."
+
+Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his
+whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,
+something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
+
+"It's not so funny," Duane went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellow
+streak, what else will I think?"
+
+"Pretend?" he repeated.
+
+"Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different from
+those in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand
+it's all bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men
+around Fairdale who're afraid of their shadows--afraid to be out after
+dark--afraid to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you
+claim these rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to
+help the popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out here
+is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"
+
+"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
+him. "Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I come to town."
+
+Then he went out.
+
+Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+
+He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze
+fixed again on Duane.
+
+"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men. Now, who
+in the hell are you?"
+
+Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the
+lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object flashed as he shoved it,
+pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+
+"RANGER!" he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "You sure rung
+true to me."
+
+"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers
+hereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him to
+come sharp to the point. His voice--something deep, easy, cool about
+him--seemed to steady Laramie.
+
+"No," replied Laramie.
+
+"Does anybody know?" went on Duane.
+
+"Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS."
+
+"But you have your suspicions?"
+
+"We have."
+
+"Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons--the
+regulars."
+
+"Jest a bad lot," replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
+knowledge. "Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in.
+Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob,
+anythin' for a little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!"
+
+"Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with
+this gang here?"
+
+"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever
+seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle
+Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggin
+doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around
+all over west of the Pecos."
+
+"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do men--apparently honest
+men--seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only my
+impression?"
+
+"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost cattle an'
+property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been
+proved. An' in some cases when they talked--hinted a little--they was
+found dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk!
+Thet's why we're close mouthed."
+
+Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
+intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of
+the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret,
+murderous hold on a little struggling community was something too
+strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
+
+The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
+interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got down.
+Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
+
+If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence. But Lawson
+showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from
+the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leaned
+easily against the counter.
+
+"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come fooling
+round the ranch again there'll be hell."
+
+It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten
+years could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk.
+It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldom
+intolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmen
+of the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost
+gentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
+French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in
+anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the
+face of a situation like this made him simply a fool.
+
+"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
+Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up there again
+there'll be hell."
+
+"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his voice
+sharp and cold.
+
+"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,"
+said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention
+to rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. "I'll call
+you right. You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering,
+conceited ranger!"
+
+"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
+beautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow speech. "But let me return
+your compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap
+four-flush--damned, bull-headed RUSTLER!"
+
+Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
+working passion-blackened face.
+
+Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
+His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
+chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
+
+"Don't draw!" warned Duane.
+
+"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.
+
+But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
+with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
+hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+
+Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+
+"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you. Kickin'
+men like him won't do out here."
+
+"That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang
+right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides,
+shooting him would have been murder."
+
+"Murder!" exclaimed Laramie.
+
+"Yes, for me," replied Duane.
+
+"That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you think he
+is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleep
+of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me."
+
+"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out. And now
+here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
+approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
+need your help."
+
+Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
+watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and
+speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he
+stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were
+open; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in
+Longstreth's big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a
+buckboard drove up and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well
+hidden in the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
+glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see, he
+appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with
+an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to observe Lawson was
+lost. They went into the house without speaking and closed the door.
+
+At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset
+between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane
+waited there in the darkness with patience born of many hours of hiding.
+
+Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+
+"Something's happened surely, Ruth," he heard Miss Longstreth say,
+anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed
+pale, worried."
+
+"Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud," said Ruth. "For once he
+didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a
+bad day."
+
+"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life
+miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--"
+
+"I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon," declared Ruth,
+emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."
+
+"A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth," laughed Ray.
+
+"I don't care," replied Ruth, stubbornly, "it's so. He's mushy. And when
+he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!"
+
+There were steps on the hall floor.
+
+"Hello, girls!" sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety.
+
+"Floyd, what's the matter?" asked Ray, presently. "I never saw papa as
+he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what has happened?"
+
+"Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day," replied Lawson, with a blunt,
+expressive laugh.
+
+"Jar?" echoed both the girls, curiously.
+
+"We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Lawson, passionately,
+as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. "Listen, girls; I'll
+tell you-all about it." He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that
+betrayed he had been drinking.
+
+Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his
+muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all
+acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently
+uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his
+clue.
+
+"It happened at the town hall," began Lawson, rapidly. "Your father and
+Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from
+out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the
+fellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged
+assault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
+innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his
+insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There
+was no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. He
+made arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers,
+highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or--he just let them alone. He used
+his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the
+ranger yelled for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father,
+Ray, insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+
+"The ranger service wants to rule western Texas," went on Lawson. "These
+rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they
+hunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became
+rangers. This is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent,
+smooth, and that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He
+wanted to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he
+would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman. My God,
+any instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!"
+
+"Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!" cried Ray Longstreth,
+passionately.
+
+"You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety. He made
+that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He
+tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was
+the worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies."
+
+"What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?" said Ray
+Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. "After a moment's
+thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell
+papa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
+reputation by--by an adventurer."
+
+"Yes, he can be injured," replied Floyd, quickly. "The frontier is a
+queer place. There are many bitter men here--men who have failed at
+ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger
+has dropped poison, and it'll spread."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, new
+to Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waiting
+atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.
+Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by
+rowdies carousing in the streets.
+
+Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain
+the opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be a
+target for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they did
+happen so, it was more accident than design. But at night he was not
+idle. He met Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; a
+secret club had been formed; and all the members were ready for action.
+Duane spent hours at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed
+when he was not up at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least
+the house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--all
+that kindly disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane had
+not been able to recognize any of these night visitors; and he did
+not think the time was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them.
+Nevertheless, he was sure such an event would discover Lawson, or some
+one in that house, to be in touch with crooked men.
+
+Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,
+in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar of
+his restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
+found who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon the
+bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: "All
+friends of rangers look for the same."
+
+This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. None
+of Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or the
+unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were held
+in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband's
+death was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with five
+children. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and
+moved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse
+and friend.
+
+After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meant
+business. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly
+glad of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great
+speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the
+wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he
+was a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He
+had killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all--it was actually said of him
+he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+
+At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious
+element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action
+calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at
+the bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: "Who's thet ranger
+after? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin'
+to draw on him fust--an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be
+found somewheres full of lead?"
+
+When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest
+stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,
+then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot at
+in the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the
+gunman, was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise up
+in a mass to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemies
+of the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to
+the frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if
+formidable. He would have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to
+play and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion. There
+was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.
+
+Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held the
+undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and
+quarrels except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were
+rife in them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usual
+run of strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone
+or was under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of
+Poggin, yet he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the
+habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble
+were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull,
+however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that
+it had lasted so long.
+
+Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon
+while he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the
+door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's
+trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room
+rather than meet them.
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you," said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
+
+The little room was not very light, there being only one window and
+the doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,
+hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been a
+woman of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there to
+read in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter
+lines that had characterized her husband's.
+
+Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.
+Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+
+"So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?" queried the woman, with her
+bright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Longstreth, simply. "This is my cousin, Ruth
+Herbert. We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in
+any way you'll let us."
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+"Well, you look a little like Longstreth," finally said Mrs. Laramie,
+"but you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. Miss
+Longstreth, I don't know if I can--if I ought accept anything from you.
+Your father ruined my husband."
+
+"Yes, I know," replied the girl, sadly. "That's all the more reason you
+should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--mean so much to me."
+
+If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in
+the warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's idea
+was that the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftly
+succeeded by that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had
+started well with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk to
+the children than both they and the mother were won. The opening of that
+big basket was an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings
+seemed too easily roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim
+Laramie's slayer if he could have laid eyes on him then. However, Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth, after the nature of tender and practical girls, did
+not appear to take the sad situation to heart. The havoc was wrought in
+that household.
+
+The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action--and these the
+girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?" presently asked Miss Longstreth.
+Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight,
+if any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of Ray
+Longstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
+
+"The ranger," replied Mrs. Laramie.
+
+"The ranger!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+
+"Yes, he's taken care of us all since--since--" Mrs. Laramie choked.
+
+"Oh! So you've had no help but his," replied Miss Longstreth, hastily.
+"No women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll come
+myself."
+
+"It'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "You see, Jim had
+few friends--that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to help
+us--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--"
+
+"That's awful!" burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. "A brave lot of
+friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.
+Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?"
+
+Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
+
+"Why, it's on hind side before," declared Ruth. "I guess Mr. Ranger
+hasn't dressed many babies."
+
+"He did the best he could," said Mrs. Laramie. "Lord only knows what
+would have become of us!"
+
+"Then he is--is something more than a ranger?" queried Miss Longstreth,
+with a little break in her voice.
+
+"He's more than I can tell," replied Mrs. Laramie. "He buried Jim. He
+paid our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for
+us and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first
+two nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so
+kind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near.
+Sometimes I'd wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how
+false were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.
+Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. When
+he has the baby up I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they
+say. He's good, but he isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far
+off sometimes when the children climb round him. They love him. His life
+is sad. Nobody need tell me--he sees the good in things. Once he said
+somebody had to be a ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like
+him!'"
+
+Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+
+"It was thoughtful of you," Duane said. "Womankind are needed here. I
+could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad.
+And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying to
+puzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I
+tell you--friends would come? So will the brighter side."
+
+"Yes, I've more faith than I had," replied Mrs. Laramie. "Granger
+Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's
+death I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of
+my little ones? But I'm gaining courage to--"
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss Longstreth.
+"I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you."
+
+"Miss Longstreth, that's fine!" exclaimed Duane. "It's what I'd
+have--expected of you."
+
+It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
+burned out in a beautiful blush.
+
+"And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come," added Duane. "Let me
+thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
+task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
+ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's
+risk. And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again
+to-night. Good-by."
+
+"Mr. Ranger, wait!" called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was
+white and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
+
+"I have wronged you," she said, impulsively.
+
+"Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?" he returned.
+
+"I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see--I
+wronged you."
+
+"You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
+wronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--and much said of me
+is true. My duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent,
+alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me."
+
+"I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an
+honor. I--"
+
+"Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth," interrupted Duane.
+
+"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no other
+sound like her voice. "Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?"
+
+She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
+Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
+
+Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
+sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied
+or real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could
+have resisted her then.
+
+"I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman," she said, and
+now her speech came swiftly. "When she was all alone and helpless you
+were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't the
+only unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how
+I may soon need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm
+terribly worried. I fear--I fear--Oh, surely I'll need a friend
+soon--soon. Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. I
+want to help you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone--all
+alone? Will you--will you be--" Her voice failed.
+
+It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to
+suspect--that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers they
+pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook him
+deeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. And
+with the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there
+came realization of a dangerous situation.
+
+"I must be true to my duty," he said, hoarsely.
+
+"If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it."
+
+"Well, then--I'll do anything for you."
+
+"Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied--he
+lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me to
+go back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, I
+know something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if--if--Will
+you help me?"
+
+"Yes," replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying. The night
+was dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane
+bent his steps toward the Longstreth's ranchhouse. He had so much to
+think about that he never knew where the time went. This night when he
+reached the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps
+and saw Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the
+darkness. Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was
+dark again outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window.
+
+Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be
+interesting to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but could
+hear only a murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. He
+went round the corner of the house.
+
+This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than
+the back and larger part. There was a narrow passage between the houses,
+leading from the outside through to the patio.
+
+This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to
+avail himself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on very
+stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage.
+In the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack
+in the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he
+entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew
+a very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the
+thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best by
+working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in
+reaching a vantage-point. When he did get there the crack he had marked
+was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in
+the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care what risk
+he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his
+brow was clouded. Lawson's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted
+by some indomitable resolve.
+
+"We'll settle both deals to-night," Lawson was saying. "That's what I
+came for."
+
+"But suppose I don't choose to talk here?" protested Longstreth,
+impatiently. "I never before made my house a place to--"
+
+"We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your
+nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to
+me?"
+
+"Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why, she's a
+woman, and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. I told you
+I was willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Ray
+hasn't any use for you now. She liked you at first. But now she doesn't.
+So what can I do?"
+
+"You can make her marry me," replied Lawson.
+
+"Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be done even if
+I tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't the highest opinion
+of you as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray loved you I would
+consent. We'd all go away together before this damned miserable business
+is out. Then she'd never know. And maybe you might be more like you used
+to be before the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your
+own game with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose."
+
+"What'd you want to let her come out here for?" demanded Lawson, hotly.
+"It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over her. I'll have her or
+die. Don't you think if she was my wife I'd soon pull myself together?
+Since she came we've none of us been right. And the gang has put up a
+holler. No, Longstreth, we've got to settle things to-night."
+
+"Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now," replied
+Longstreth, rising. "Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand."
+
+They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself
+and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But
+he could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had
+thought him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he
+was worse.
+
+The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have
+been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally
+he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leaden-faced,
+humiliated. Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode
+the room; he cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now appreciably calmer.
+Duane could not but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection
+of Lawson's proposal.
+
+"Don't fuss about it, Floyd," he said. "You see I can't help it. We're
+pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter and give her to you
+as I would an unruly steer."
+
+"Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me," declared Lawson, thickly.
+
+"How?"
+
+"You know the hold I got on you--the deal that made you boss of this
+rustler gang?"
+
+"It isn't likely I'd forget," replied Longstreth, grimly.
+
+"I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it
+broadcast--tell this ranger--unless she'd marry me."
+
+Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had
+no shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Longstreth gazed with
+dark, controlled fury at this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong,
+unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed
+Lawson to be the wild and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also
+how during all the years of association this strong man had upheld
+the weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on
+Longstreth's part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great majority
+of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where
+influence was futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.
+
+"But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a
+rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border,"
+replied Longstreth, impressively.
+
+Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred
+to him. But he was not long at a loss.
+
+"She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now
+there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes. Mark what I say."
+
+"Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's
+a boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor.
+Also I think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to
+certain property."
+
+Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared himself as if
+this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed
+an absence of his usual nervous excitement.
+
+"Longstreth, that may well be true," he said. "No doubt all you say is
+true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her--I
+reckon we'll all go to hell!"
+
+He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly
+had something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely
+perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head
+down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long
+experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means
+to vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right
+then and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson.
+For Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a
+conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put
+Longstreth in conflict with himself.
+
+Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to
+talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking
+to smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the
+fateful significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree
+decided than if he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself.
+How, Duane wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone
+so far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was,
+perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The
+coming of Ray Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension.
+
+"You're too impatient," concluded Longstreth. "You'll ruin any chance
+of happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am
+she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate
+you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her.
+Cut out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out
+here--stock, ranch, property--and leave the country. Then you'd have a
+show with her."
+
+"I told you we've got to stick," growled Lawson. "The gang won't
+stand for our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice
+everything."
+
+"You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them
+here to face whatever comes?"
+
+"I mean just that."
+
+"I'm bad enough, but not that bad," returned Longstreth. "If I can't
+get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same,
+Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years
+have been YOURS?"
+
+"Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had
+cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here."
+
+"Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached
+our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--at a time when
+rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then
+came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before
+we knew it--before I knew it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS
+on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!"
+
+"I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all
+think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing
+can be proved. We're too strong."
+
+"There's where you're dead wrong," rejoined Longstreth, emphatically.
+"I imagined that once, not long ago. I was bullheaded. Who would ever
+connect Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? I've changed my mind.
+I've begun to think. I've reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we
+can't last. It's the nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow
+better. The wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the
+country, all of us."
+
+"But you and I have all the stock--all the gain," protested Lawson.
+
+"I'll split mine."
+
+"I won't--that settles that," added Lawson, instantly.
+
+Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince
+this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more
+than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.
+
+"Your stock and property will last a long time--do you lots of good when
+this ranger--"
+
+"Bah!" hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to
+powder. "Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon--any time--same as Laramie
+is?"
+
+"Yes, you mentioned the--the supposition," replied Longstreth,
+sarcastically. "I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to
+be brought about."
+
+"The gang will lay him out."
+
+"Bah!" retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+
+"Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've
+packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with rustlers when they
+killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never in
+all that time saw a man like this ranger. You haven't got sense enough
+to see him right if you had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only
+way to get rid of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then
+he's going to drop some of them."
+
+"Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did
+drop some of them," declared Lawson; and now he was sarcastic.
+
+"To tell you the truth, I wouldn't," returned the other, bluntly. "I'm
+pretty sick of this mess."
+
+Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to
+his intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen a
+vainer or more arrogant man.
+
+"Longstreth, I don't like your talk," he said.
+
+"If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do," replied
+Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of
+eyes and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.
+
+"Well, after all, that's neither here nor there," went on Lawson,
+unconsciously cowed by the other. "The thing is, do I get the girl?"
+
+"Not by any means except her consent."
+
+"You'll not make her marry me?"
+
+"No. No," replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched.
+
+"All right. Then I'll make her."
+
+Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that he
+wasted no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that
+was that Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use
+it. Then heavy footsteps sounded outside tramping upon the porch. Duane
+might have been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps saved Lawson's
+life.
+
+"There they are," said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+
+Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big
+man with burly shoulders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others
+stood back.
+
+The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a
+nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man--a stranger to
+Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from this band,
+of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of
+these men. There was power here, and he was bound.
+
+The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others
+gathered around him close to the table. There were evidently some signs
+of membership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads were bent over the
+table. Low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. By straining his
+ears Duane caught a word here and there. They were planning, and they
+were brief. Duane gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near
+Ord.
+
+Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present
+convention, got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had come, and was
+followed by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet smoke. Lawson
+seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. He smoked fiercely and drank
+continually. All at once he straightened up as if listening.
+
+"What's that?" he called, suddenly.
+
+Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+
+"Must be a rat," replied Longstreth.
+
+The rustle became a rattle.
+
+"Sounds like a rattlesnake to me," said Lawson.
+
+Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+
+Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the
+adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. But
+the rattle inside Longstreth's room was mingling with little dull thuds
+of falling dirt. The adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane
+distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+his heart.
+
+"What in the hell!" exclaimed Longstreth.
+
+"I smell dust," said Lawson, sharply.
+
+That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite
+his care he made a noise.
+
+"Did you hear a step?" queried Longstreth.
+
+No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud.
+Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+
+"There's somebody between the walls!" thundered Longstreth.
+
+Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to
+squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
+
+"Hear him!" yelled Lawson. "This side!"
+
+"No, he's going that way," yelled Longstreth.
+
+The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of desperation. He
+was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was
+another matter. He almost tore his clothes off in that passage. The dust
+nearly stifled him. When he burst into the patio it was not a single
+instant too soon. But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up,
+gun in hand, running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps
+turned him back. While there was a chance to get away he did not want to
+fight. He thought he heard someone running into the patio from the other
+end. He stole along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it
+might lead, he softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth
+sitting on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her
+to be silent he turned to close the door. It was a heavy door without
+bolt or bar, and when Duane had shut it he felt safe only for the
+moment. Then he gazed around the room. There was one window with blind
+closely drawn. He listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating,
+dying away.
+
+Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the bed, half
+to her knees, and was holding out trembling hands. She was as white as
+the pillow on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with warning
+hand commanding silence, Duane stepped softly forward, meaning to
+reassure her.
+
+"Oh!" she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to faint.
+When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood the strange,
+dark expression in them. She was terrified because she believed he meant
+to kill her, or do worse, probably worse. Duane realized he must have
+looked pretty hard and fierce bursting into her room with that big gun
+in hand.
+
+The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him.
+
+"Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get away--to
+save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on--on your father and
+his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was
+listening. They're after me now."
+
+Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening
+windows of thought.
+
+Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a
+woman in her eyes.
+
+"Tell me now. You were spying on my father?"
+
+Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not
+omitting a terse word as to the character of the men he had watched.
+
+"My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong here--with
+him--with the place--the people. And right off I hated Floyd Lawson. Oh,
+it'll kill me if--if--It's so much worse than I dreamed. What shall I
+do?"
+
+The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's attention,
+reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted more with him, made
+clear the probability of being discovered in her room.
+
+"I'll have to get out of here," whispered Duane.
+
+"Wait," she replied. "Didn't you say they were hunting for you?"
+
+"They sure are," he returned, grimly.
+
+"Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got away.
+Stay. If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the light. I'll meet
+them at the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets down, if we
+have to wait till morning. Then you can slip out."
+
+"I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to--I won't," Duane replied, perplexed
+and stubborn.
+
+"But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here."
+
+"Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every
+room and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't
+start a fight. You might be hurt. Then--the fact of my being here--"
+
+Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the
+door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him.
+She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been
+either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make
+Duane weak.
+
+"Up yet, Ray?" came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to
+be natural.
+
+"No. I'm in bed reading. Good night," instantly replied Miss Longstreth,
+so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between
+man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He
+slipped in, but the door would not close altogether.
+
+"Are you alone?" went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+
+"Yes," she replied. "Ruth went to bed."
+
+The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half
+entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and
+indistinctly another man.
+
+Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as
+well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced
+around he went out and closed the door.
+
+Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent once
+more. Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard her quick
+breathing. How long did she mean to let him stay hidden there? Hard and
+perilous as his life had been, this was a new kind of adventure. He
+had divined the strange softness of his feeling as something due to the
+magnetism of this beautiful woman. It hardly seemed possible that he,
+who had been outside the pale for so many years, could have fallen in
+love. Yet that must be the secret of his agitation.
+
+Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss
+Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared to be in
+distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+
+"I think I can go now--safely," he whispered.
+
+"Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe," she replied.
+
+"I--I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me--this finding
+out--and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't understand myself
+well. But I want you to know--if I were not an outlaw--a ranger--I'd lay
+my life at your feet."
+
+"Oh! You have seen so--so little of me," she faltered.
+
+"All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my
+coming caused you."
+
+"You will not fight my father?"
+
+"Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+
+"But you spied upon him."
+
+"I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth."
+
+"And oh! I am a rustler's daughter," she cried. "That's so much more
+terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he
+was engaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions aroused."
+
+"How? Tell me."
+
+"I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange a
+meeting for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to
+go. Floyd taunted him with a name."
+
+"What name?" queried Duane.
+
+"It was Cheseldine."
+
+"CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?"
+
+"What difference does that make?"
+
+"Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same," whispered Duane,
+hoarsely.
+
+"I gathered so much myself," she replied, miserably. "But Longstreth is
+father's real name."
+
+Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part
+in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she betrayed the secret
+Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a
+great flood.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable," he whispered.
+"Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here to get. He's only a
+name. Your father is the real man. I've sworn to get him. I'm bound by
+more than law or oaths. I can't break what binds me. And I must disgrace
+you--wreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I--I love
+you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How
+fatal--terrible--this is! How things work out!"
+
+She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+
+"You won't kill him?" she implored. "If you care for me--you won't kill
+him?"
+
+"No. That I promise you."
+
+With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+
+Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to
+the court.
+
+When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
+his relief equaled his other feelings.
+
+The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
+soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
+But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
+throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
+Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have
+a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he
+could save her.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try
+to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men
+Duane wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine,
+was the brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who
+needed to be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane
+experienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more
+than thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
+this emotion.
+
+Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
+for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
+in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let
+his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.
+
+He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
+Bradford.
+
+The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
+express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
+messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
+away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and
+engineer and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men
+and citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up
+before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane
+had the sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to
+find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford
+unobserved. As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the
+direction of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope
+that he might be taken for a train-robber.
+
+He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black peak of
+Ord Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and
+slept until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now he took his time
+cooking breakfast. When the sun was well up he saddled Bullet, and,
+leaving the trail where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put
+his horse to the rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough,
+roundabout, and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill
+of a long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded and
+covered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival that the man
+Duane remembered as Fletcher and several others saw him come in the back
+way through the lots and jump a fence into the road.
+
+Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard.
+He was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just enjoyed a morning
+drink.
+
+"Howdy, Dodge," said Fletcher, laconically.
+
+Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest.
+
+"Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as
+might happen to ride up curious-like."
+
+"Haw! haw! haw!"
+
+Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter.
+
+"Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in
+the 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too, but you'll hev to
+rustle water."
+
+Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and
+left him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch Duane saw the group
+of men had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before.
+Without comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever
+one of the tracks of his horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This
+procedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+
+"Wal, Dodge," remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, "thet's safer 'n
+prayin' fer rain."
+
+Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect
+that a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to thirst. They all
+joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most
+assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his
+ability, it probably lay in execution of orders. Apparently at that
+time these men had nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern.
+Evidently they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed
+they could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane set
+out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was card-playing
+for small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature, much bantering among the
+younger fellows, and occasionally a mild quarrel. All morning men came
+and went, until, all told, Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty.
+Toward the middle of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloon
+and yelled one word:
+
+"Posse!"
+
+From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing
+action was rare in Ord.
+
+"What the hell!" muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark,
+compact bunch of horses and riders. "Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord!
+We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was
+here or Poggy. Now all you gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'."
+
+The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and halted in
+a bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of about twenty men,
+all heavily armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean-limbed
+cowboy. Duane experienced considerable satisfaction at the absence of
+the sheriff who he had understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was
+out in another direction with a different force.
+
+"Hello, Jim Fletcher," called the cowboy.
+
+"Howdy," replied Fletcher.
+
+At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before
+the posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The
+outlaw was different now.
+
+"Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place.
+Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit
+into the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us.
+Think he went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the
+rest of the way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last
+night or early this mornin'?"
+
+"Nope," replied Fletcher.
+
+His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently
+the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the
+posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference
+of opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse.
+
+"Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?"
+protested an old hawk-faced rancher. "Them hoss tracks we follored ain't
+like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up."
+
+"I'm not so sure of that," replied the leader.
+
+"Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--'
+
+"But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush."
+
+"Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent
+fer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this
+road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through
+town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some
+greasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute."
+
+"But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the
+greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no
+ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine
+an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his
+gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did
+the killin'--he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it."
+
+Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old
+cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
+
+"Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons
+Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell you what--I'd
+take a chance an' clean up this hole!"
+
+All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.
+
+"Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk," he said. The
+menace was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+
+"You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!" called Guthrie, as the horses
+started.
+
+Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the
+posse out of sight.
+
+"Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here," he said, as they disappeared.
+Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away
+from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it
+was somehow an entirely changed scrutiny.
+
+"Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal,
+seein' I staved off Guthrie."
+
+Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it.
+First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any knowledge
+whatever of the train-robbery other than Fletcher had heard himself.
+Then at Fletcher's persistence and admiration and increasing show of
+friendliness he laughed occasionally and allowed himself to swell
+with pride, though still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent
+will-power and seemed to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and
+grew silent, then surly. Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate victory,
+desisted for the time being; however, in his solicitous regard and close
+companionship for the rest of that day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+
+Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse
+and make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
+
+"Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here.
+Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I
+hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now.
+I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square."
+
+"I'll square it. I pay my debts," replied Duane. "But I can't put up
+here all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different."
+
+"What gang?" asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+
+"Why, Cheseldine's."
+
+Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+
+Duane laughed. "I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure,
+he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I
+had for bein' on earth or some such like--why, I up an' told him."
+
+Fletcher appeared staggered.
+
+"Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?"
+
+"Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over
+there."
+
+All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white.
+"Cheseldine--Longstreth!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Gord Almighty! You
+braced the--" Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He
+gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he
+could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this
+rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement,
+the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a
+master of men!
+
+"WHO AIR YOU?" queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+
+"You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore
+it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin'
+in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana."
+
+The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he
+returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness--all
+without a word.
+
+Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and
+mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night.
+His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing
+his game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end,
+always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the
+approach that needed all his mind.
+
+He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail
+and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
+disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
+expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
+Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
+
+That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently
+well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane beard him say, before he
+could possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss
+of money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of
+this report. He pretended not to have heard.
+
+In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
+and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to
+a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took
+out a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
+handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through
+the roll.
+
+"Five hundred!" he exclaimed. "Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
+considerin' the job wasn't--"
+
+"Considerin' nothin'," interrupted Duane. "I'm makin' no reference to
+a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If
+thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this
+country."
+
+Fletcher was won.
+
+The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
+history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
+laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
+that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
+then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
+boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a
+stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any
+influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all
+the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved
+anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine
+was already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have
+killed Duane.
+
+Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed
+to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory!
+Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,
+high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job,
+where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed
+he basked in the sunshine before one or another of the public places
+he owned. He was there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the
+biggest job yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as
+yet been advised.
+
+Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details
+pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering
+a period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith
+was unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in
+its brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and
+grasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was
+stunned. Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher,
+stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane
+had ever known sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned
+Duane; the strange fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate
+inside working of his great system was equally stunning. But when Duane
+recovered from that the old terrible passion to kill consumed him,
+and it raged fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handed
+Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But
+they were not, and Duane with help of time got what he hoped was the
+upper hand of himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a leashed
+hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he
+was bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold,
+wild brow of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for
+Knell and Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting
+one.
+
+But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A
+messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do
+with Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful
+moods and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a
+striking contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw.
+Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few
+words whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger
+or fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger,
+a lean, dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy
+Guthrie, left the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the
+west. This west mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south
+beyond Mount Ord. Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not
+at present with the leader on the mountain. After the messenger left
+Fletcher grew silent and surly. He had presented a variety of moods to
+Duane's observation, and this latest one was provocative of thought.
+Fletcher was dangerous. It became clear now that the other outlaws
+of the camp feared him, kept out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet
+closely watched him.
+
+Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher
+manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then
+he went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape
+both to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep
+close until he returned. Then he mounted.
+
+"Come here, Dodge," he called.
+
+Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher
+walked his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log
+bridge, when he halted.
+
+"Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell," he said. "An' it 'pears I'm the cause
+of friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but
+Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, an'
+here it's been held up because of this scrap. He's waitin' over there on
+the mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's
+showin' up. I've got to stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the
+prospects."
+
+"What's the trouble about, Jim?" asked Duane.
+
+"Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge," said Fletcher, dryly. "Knell
+hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer a man onless he
+can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with
+my say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethin' about
+you that'll make both the boss an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But
+he's keepin' quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better
+go back to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come
+back."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too."
+
+"The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, I'll light a
+fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you don't see
+it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks
+to his pals. So long, Dodge."
+
+Then he rode away.
+
+He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been
+working out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not
+know which way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to
+Bradford. Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open
+hostility between one of them and another of the chief's right-hand
+men! Among outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such
+matters were settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from
+disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band had
+already begun. But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around
+the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this
+stranger in Ord, this new partner of Fletcher's, was no less than Buck
+Duane. Well, it was about time, thought Duane, that he made use of his
+name if it were to help him at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope.
+He had anchored all his scheme to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to
+ride off after Fletcher and stay with him. This, however, would hardly
+be fair to an outlaw who had been fair to him. Duane concluded to await
+developments and when the gang rode in to Ord, probably from their
+various hiding-places, he would be there ready to be denounced by Knell.
+Duane could not see any other culmination of this series of events than
+a meeting between Knell and himself. If that terminated fatally for
+Knell there was all probability of Duane's being in no worse situation
+than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here Duane accused
+himself again--tried in vain to revolt from a judgment that he was only
+reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws.
+
+Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his
+mountain retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than he was
+hurrying for his horse.
+
+He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of sight, he
+turned off the road, circled through the brush, and several miles south
+of town he struck a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told him
+led to Cheseldine's camp. The horse tracks along this trail were not
+less than a week old, and very likely much more. It wound between
+low, brush-covered foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with
+mesquite, cottonwood, and scrub-oak.
+
+In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he
+got a view of the rolling, black-spotted country, partly desert, partly
+fertile, with long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away to grow
+dim in the distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the
+open, downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to
+find the trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress. Finally
+he climbed into a region of all rock benches, rough here, smooth there,
+with only an occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide him. Many
+times he had to go ahead and then work to right or left till he found
+his way again. It was slow work; it took all day; and night found him
+half-way up the mountain. He halted at a little side-canon with grass
+and water, and here he made camp. The night was clear and cool at that
+height, with a dark-blue sky and a streak of stars blinking across. With
+this day of action behind him he felt better satisfied than he had been
+for some time. Here, on this venture, he was answering to a call that
+had so often directed his movements, perhaps his life, and it was one
+that logic or intelligence could take little stock of. And on this
+night, lonely like the ones he used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and
+memorable of them because of a likeness to that old hiding-place, he
+felt the pressing return of old haunting things--the past so long ago,
+wild flights, dead faces--and the places of these were taken by one
+quiveringly alive, white, tragic, with its dark, intent, speaking
+eyes--Ray Longstreth's.
+
+
+That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+
+In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than
+he had followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the head of the
+canon, there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar
+fenced him in. Then he went back and took up the trail on foot.
+
+Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts,
+wide canons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along precipices--a long,
+hard climb--till he reached what he concluded was a divide. Going down
+was easier, though the farther he followed this dim and winding trail
+the wider the broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black
+fringe of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow,
+like a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great
+escarpments, he saw the lower country beyond the range, and beyond this,
+vast and clear as it lay in his sight, was the great river that made the
+Big Bend. He went down and down, wondering how a horse could follow that
+broken trail, believing there must be another better one somewhere into
+Cheseldine's hiding-place.
+
+He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and presently
+came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen
+through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two sides he
+could see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet below him; and, plain as all
+the other features of that wild environment, there shone out a big red
+stone or adobe cabin, white water shining away between great borders,
+and horses and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful
+scene. Duane could not help grinding his teeth at the thought of
+rustlers living there in quiet and ease.
+
+Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a niche,
+he settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He made note of the
+position of the sun and saw that if anything developed or if he decided
+to descend any farther there was small likelihood of his getting back to
+his camp before dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would be
+vain effort.
+
+Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
+structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been built by
+outlaws.
+
+There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting for the
+rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with mud, the valley was
+as wild, probably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to have been
+watching for a long time before he saw any sign of man, and this one
+apparently went to the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+
+The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the darker
+places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer to that cabin.
+What had he taken this arduous climb for? He held back, however, trying
+to evolve further plans.
+
+While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and darkened. If he
+was to go back to camp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. And
+suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of two horsemen riding up the
+valley. The must have entered at a point below, round the huge abutment
+of rock, beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and
+stopped at the stream for a long drink.
+
+Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as fast
+as he could without making noise. It did not take him long to reach the
+valley floor. It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and there
+clumps of bushes. Twilight was already thick down there. Duane marked
+the location of the trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through
+the grass and from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he
+made out the dark outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry
+whistle, a coarse song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He
+smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light.
+Evidently there was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.
+
+Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus
+was able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward
+the back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make
+no noise, and he could scarcely be seen--if only there was no watch-dog!
+But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life
+at stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an
+Indian. He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their
+shadows, for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their
+tops. From there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with
+his hands.
+
+He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He
+saw a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He
+saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the
+fire. Voices came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther
+along--all the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only
+the flare of light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he
+paused at the crack again, saw that no man was in the room, and then
+he went on round that end of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There
+were bushes, an old shed, a wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that
+corner. He did not even need to crawl.
+
+Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
+close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from
+that he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no
+dread. There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the
+same. Then he looked.
+
+He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while
+he handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against
+the wall, with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second
+glance, not so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men,
+three in the shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+
+"It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one
+right over the mountain," one outlaw was saying.
+
+"What's eatin' you, Panhandle?" ejaculated another. "Blossom an' me rode
+from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang."
+
+"Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said
+nothin'."
+
+"It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well,"
+spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+
+Longstreth's voice--Cheseldine's voice!
+
+Here they were--Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith,
+Boldt--how well Duane remembered the names!--all here, the big men of
+Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest--Poggin. Duane had holed them, and
+his sensations of the moment deadened sight and sound of what was before
+him. He sank down, controlled himself, silenced a mounting exultation,
+then from a less-strained position he peered forth again.
+
+The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might have been
+that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane listened with
+eager ears, waiting for the business talk that he felt would come. All
+the time he watched with the eyes of a wolf upon its quarry. Blossom
+Kane was the lean-limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt
+was a giant in stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the
+red-faced cook, merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling many
+rustlers Duane had known, particularly Luke Stevens. And Knell, who sat
+there, tall, slim, like a boy in build, like a boy in years, with
+his pale, smooth, expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And
+Longstreth, who leaned against the wall, handsome, with his dark face
+and beard like an aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana planter
+Duane had met. The sixth man sat so much in the shadow that he could not
+be plainly discerned, and, though addressed, his name was not mentioned.
+
+Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully
+called out: "If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed
+you with a spoon."
+
+The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to
+their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+
+Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept round to
+the other side of the cabin. After he became used to the dark again
+he ventured to steal along the wall to the window and peeped in. The
+outlaws were in the first room and could not be seen.
+
+Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded.
+Longstreth entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of cigars
+from the table, he carried it out.
+
+"Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke," he said. "Knell, come on in
+now. Let's get it over."
+
+He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his
+booted feet on the table.
+
+Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished.
+There must have been a good trail, he thought, else how could all that
+stuff have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come
+over the trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside,
+and their voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated
+himself without any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as
+always, cold.
+
+"What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?" queried
+Longstreth.
+
+"Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway,
+an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept him, I reckon, more
+than anythin'."
+
+"What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job."
+
+"Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago--weeks--a
+stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he owned the place.
+He seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I
+left, tryin' to place him in my mind."
+
+"What'd he look like?"
+
+"Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard face,
+eyes like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he walked an'
+stood an' swung his right hand showed me what he was. You can't fool me
+on the gun-sharp. An' he had a grand horse, a big black."
+
+"I've met your man," said Longstreth.
+
+"No!" exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise expressed by
+this man that did not in the least show it in his strange physiognomy.
+Knell laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. "Boss, this here big gent
+drifts into Ord again an' makes up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is
+easy led. He likes men. An' when a posse come along trailin' a blind
+lead, huntin' the wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim--he
+up an' takes this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to him.
+Got money out of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more. What's this
+man's game? I happen to know, boss, that he couldn't have held up No.
+6."
+
+"How do you know?" demanded Longstreth.
+
+"Because I did the job myself."
+
+A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+
+"Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break
+like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?"
+
+"Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to
+kill me."
+
+"Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?"
+
+"It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake. I got
+the country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I just couldn't help
+it. You know what idleness means to one of us. You know also that this
+very life breeds fatality. It's wrong--that's why. I was born of good
+parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the
+end, that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes."
+
+"Fine wise talk from you, Knell," said Longstreth, scornfully. "Go on
+with your story."
+
+"As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're
+together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he knew an' then
+some. A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over
+from Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new
+man for the gang. Poggin, you know, is always ready for any new man.
+He says if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather
+liked the way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always
+hit it up together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was already in
+the gang, without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin'
+hard. Just where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never
+had seen him, which accounts for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget
+any man I'd seen. I dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over
+them. Letters, pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty
+good notion what I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of. At
+last I found it. An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin.
+Oh no! I want to have some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be
+wilder than a trapped wolf. I sent Blossom over to Ord to get word from
+Jim, an' when he verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a
+message calculated to make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for
+Jim, an' I could come over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet
+me in Ord."
+
+Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale
+eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell to a whisper.
+
+"Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?"
+
+"Who?" demanded Longstreth.
+
+"BUCK DUANE!"
+
+Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid.
+
+"That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed
+Bland, Alloway--?"
+
+"An' Hardin." Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the
+apparent circumstance demanded.
+
+"Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows--Buck Duane!"
+
+Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache seemed
+outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood
+each other without more words. It was enough that Buck Duane was there
+in the Big Bend. Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from
+which he drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+
+"Knell," began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, "I gathered you
+have some grudge against this Buck Duane."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men
+would--don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a Texas
+Ranger now."
+
+"The hell you say!" exclaimed Knell.
+
+"Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and
+they'll fix even Buck Duane."
+
+"All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane--"
+
+"Don't run into him!" Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of
+its passion and command. He wiped his face, drank again from the flask,
+sat down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket
+he began to study it.
+
+"Well, I'm glad that's settled," he said, evidently referring to the
+Duane matter. "Now for the new job. This is October the eighteenth. On
+or before the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of gold reach the
+Rancher's Bank of Val Verde. After you return to Ord give Poggin these
+orders. Keep the gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle
+Smith, and Boldt to be in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll
+leave Ord on the twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till you
+get within sight of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from Bradford to Val
+Verde--about the same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val
+Verde on the morning of the twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than
+trot your horses. At two o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town
+and up to the Rancher's Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been
+any holdups there. Town feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job.
+That's all. Have you got the details?"
+
+Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+
+"Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?" he asked.
+
+Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+
+"You never can tell what'll come off," continued Knell. "I'll do my
+best."
+
+"The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I
+say again--look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry
+the job through. But I want both of you in it. Break for the hills, and
+when you get up in the rocks where you can hide your tracks head for
+Mount Ord. When all's quiet again I'll join you here. That's all. Call
+in the boys."
+
+Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the level toward
+the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung wire. For a little while
+his mind was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, from which,
+like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The
+game was now in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat
+was improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford, forty
+miles from the foothills before eight o'clock next morning. He must
+telegraph MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty-fifth. He must ride
+back to Ord, to intercept Knell, face him be denounced, kill him, and
+while the iron was hot strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as
+he had wholly won Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws
+alone to bide their time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job
+in Val Verde. In the mean time he must plan to arrest Longstreth. It
+was a magnificent outline, incredible, alluring, unfathomable in
+its nameless certainty. He felt like fate. He seemed to be the iron
+consequences falling upon these doomed outlaws.
+
+Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags
+showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was merely a grayness
+between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not
+seem steep. His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and,
+looking down into the ebony gulf pierced by one point of light, he
+lifted a menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter
+till he reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there
+was none; but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches of rock
+above. Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of
+broken walls the moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the
+mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to magic silver light.
+It seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a
+transparent sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes,
+and, like a goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew his
+way and lost no time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then
+had all downhill before him. Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of
+his memory of the landmarks. He did not remember having studied them in
+the ascent, yet here they were, even in changed light, familiar to his
+sight. What he had once seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as
+a deer striking for home, he reached the canon where he had left his
+horse.
+
+Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle and pack,
+cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The worst was now to come.
+Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weathered slopes, narrow black
+gullies, a thousand openings in a maze of broken stone--these Duane had
+to descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked the
+loose fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+
+Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great opportunity. But
+he could not quell that self in him which reached back over the lapse
+of lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He who had been worse
+than dead was now grasping at the skirts of life--which meant victory,
+honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind.
+Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,
+his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true
+course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time
+a spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had
+left her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with
+the trap to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not
+dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and
+the dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and
+toil were nothing.
+
+The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to
+the other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks,
+with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work
+of the long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down
+to Ord. The little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of
+houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on
+the lower trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He
+watched the dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time
+to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous
+about the time Duane turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset
+they would meet.
+
+The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west.
+The stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the
+world, thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it
+lightened, until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.
+
+Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the
+tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard
+the clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An
+operator sat inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked
+up with startled glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.
+
+"Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick," whispered Duane.
+
+With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message
+he had carefully composed.
+
+"Send this--repeat it to make sure--then keep mum. I'll see you again.
+Good-by."
+
+The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+
+Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse
+a couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day.
+The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.
+
+When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord
+he saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew
+what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he
+could ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make
+his power felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That
+would be fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a
+presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities
+held them. He knew what to exaggerate.
+
+There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance
+that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the
+tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed
+two guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the
+right side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door
+and stepped inside.
+
+The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's
+pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom
+Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were
+familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or
+heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+great and evil deeds.
+
+There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table
+upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a
+huge gold-mounted gun.
+
+"Are you gents lookin' for me?" asked Duane. He gave his voice all the
+ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back,
+free of anything, with the outlaws all before him.
+
+Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other
+outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.
+
+"My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?" he said, plaintively, and
+slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He
+meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.
+
+"Back, Fletcher!" called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.
+
+"Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody," said Fletcher. "Let me talk,
+seein' I'm in wrong here."
+
+His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+
+"Go ahead. Talk," said Poggin.
+
+Fletcher turned to Duane. "Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet
+enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my fault. I'll stand
+by you if you let me."
+
+"No, Jim," replied Duane.
+
+"But what'd you come fer without the signal?" burst out Fletcher, in
+distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.
+
+"Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad--"
+
+Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a
+rude dignity.
+
+"Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd
+make him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer him than fer
+me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life.
+Here's my pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to
+be hell if you don't. An' us with a big job on hand!"
+
+While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his
+gaze riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He
+was tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But
+looked at closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that
+thing which shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that
+swelled and rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and
+face of the cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+
+Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal
+and hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward
+quaking fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within
+him and numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed,
+but did not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper
+than thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+
+That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+
+"Jim, I ante up," he said, "an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big
+hand--why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set in the game."
+
+Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one
+hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an
+assurance which made him master of the situation.
+
+"Poggin, you're a gambler, you are--the ace-high, straight-flush hand of
+the Big Bend," he said, with stinging scorn. "I'll bet you my roll to a
+greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play."
+
+"Phil, you're talkin' wild," growled Poggin, with both advice and menace
+in his tone.
+
+"If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody
+else when he's not. Thet so?"
+
+Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+
+"Well, Jim's new pard--this man Dodge--he's not who he seems. Oh-ho!
+He's a hell of a lot different. But _I_ know him. An' when I spring
+his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get
+me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be
+lightnin'--All because you'll realize you've been standin' there five
+minutes--five minutes ALIVE before him!"
+
+If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested
+itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust
+before Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could
+be plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging
+either way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center
+of the room.
+
+"Spring his name, then, you--" said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
+
+Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce.
+He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat
+expressive of what his face disguised.
+
+"BUCK DUANE!" he yelled, suddenly.
+
+The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's
+passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought
+to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's
+manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his
+passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw
+certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin,
+had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated
+and feared by all outlaws.
+
+Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility
+in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the
+great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
+
+"BUCK DUANE! Yes," he broke out, hotly. "The Nueces gunman! That
+two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard a thousand
+times of him--talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you!
+Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd
+fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know him. An' I know why he drifted
+in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me
+he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself.
+Don't you always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to
+meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I
+know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An' when I sprung his name,
+what ought you have done? What would the boss--anybody--have expected of
+Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
+froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love
+to have. Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
+damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
+we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
+Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
+lesser man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every
+gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad!
+Here's once I show you up!"
+
+The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade
+he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
+
+"Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?" he asked, in scarcely audible
+voice.
+
+"Yes," replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's
+attitude.
+
+"You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hardin was the best pard I ever had."
+
+His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
+
+The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words
+had passed. In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually
+stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a
+soul-piercing fire.
+
+Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought--the breaking of
+Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+
+Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's
+bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild
+thing in agony.
+
+Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a
+stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
+
+Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+
+"Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!" he yelled.
+
+With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
+
+Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he could
+think of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was
+slowly but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what
+love was and also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode like one
+possessed down the rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through
+the brush, with a sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the
+wind. Something dragged at him.
+
+Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other
+was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of
+sensations. He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily,
+he hurried faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive;
+it eased the weight. But the farther he went on the harder it was to
+continue. Had he turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life
+itself?
+
+There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of
+himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed
+haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under
+which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed
+up, then stopped, only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a low
+ridge, Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the
+sight was a conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and
+Duane sought the shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot,
+glary sun and no wind. Here Duane had to have out his fight. Duane was
+utterly unlike himself; he could not bring the old self back; he was
+not the same man he once had been. But he could understand why. It was
+because of Ray Longstreth. Temptation assailed him. To have her his
+wife! It was impossible. The thought was insidiously alluring. Duane
+pictured a home. He saw himself riding through the cotton and rice and
+cane, home to a stately old mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed him
+welcome, and a woman looked for him and met him with happy and beautiful
+smile. There might--there would be children. And something new, strange,
+confounding with its emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There
+would be children! Ray their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast
+always yearned for and never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+
+But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was
+then there was something cold and death-like in Duane's soul. For he
+knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was sure--he would have to kill
+either Longstreth or Lawson. Longstreth might be trapped into arrest;
+but Lawson had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a
+panther and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+
+Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore--in the most
+fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. He had
+fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams, now rendered poignant by
+reason of love. He drove away those dreams. In their places came the
+images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the
+dark, evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and
+sinister the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+
+It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for
+the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
+He found them at length, restless, somber, anxious, but unaware of the
+part he had played at Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was
+possible that Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+
+Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might
+need them, and then with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth's ranch.
+
+Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch
+he heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were
+quarreling again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of
+action, but his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions.
+He meant to take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men
+were out on the porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery
+and crouched low to watch for his opportunity.
+
+Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he
+had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid on a table near the
+wall. He wore no belt.
+
+Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink,
+though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate
+man in his last stand. It was his last stand, though he was ignorant of
+that.
+
+"What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings," said Lawson.
+
+"Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger," replied Longstreth.
+
+Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the
+rush of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane
+awaited his chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise.
+
+"But why should your daughter meet this ranger?" demanded Lawson,
+harshly.
+
+"She's in love with him, and he's in love with her."
+
+Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the
+force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was his game?
+
+Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then
+Longstreth.
+
+"You damned selfish fool!" cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. "All
+you think of is yourself--your loss of the girl. Think once of ME--my
+home--my life!"
+
+Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently dawned upon
+the other. Somehow through this girl her father and cousin were to be
+betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he could not tell how true
+it was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
+
+"To hell with you!" burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied.
+"I'll have her, or nobody else will!"
+
+"You never will," returned Longstreth, stridently. "So help me God I'd
+rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!"
+
+While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of
+hate and menace in his mien.
+
+"Lawson, you made me what I am," continued Longstreth. "I backed
+you--shielded you. YOU'RE Cheseldine--if the truth is told! Now it's
+ended. I quit you. I'm done!"
+
+Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+
+"GENTLEMEN!" Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out.
+"YOU'RE BOTH DONE!"
+
+They wheeled to confront Duane.
+
+"Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!" he warned.
+
+Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned
+from gray to ashen.
+
+"What d'ye mean?" yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
+obey a command, to see impending death.
+
+All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his
+left hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed
+brightly.
+
+Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer
+impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke
+his action.
+
+Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped
+behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the
+gun from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself
+with the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke;
+he heard quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like
+wind, light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him.
+The hot rend of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode,
+yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
+
+Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the
+hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the
+loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane
+waited, cool and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to
+edge him closer toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering
+the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent
+peering at Duane under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side.
+Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was
+never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like
+those. More than once Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top of
+Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.
+
+Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before
+Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered
+him, called piercingly to him:
+
+"Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill
+you!"
+
+Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane
+saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced
+Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that
+gun. He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill
+him.
+
+"Longstreth, listen," cried Duane, swiftly. "The game's up. You're done.
+But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life--I'll try to get you
+freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed--all the
+proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid.
+Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for
+Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man!
+Your answer!"
+
+"Suppose I refuse?" he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
+
+"Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
+death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second
+now--I'll kill you!"
+
+"All right, Buck Duane, I give my word," he said, and deliberately
+walked to the chair and fell into it.
+
+Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
+
+"There come the girls!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Can you help me drag
+Lawson inside? They mustn't see him."
+
+Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss
+Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching,
+evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the
+house before the girls saw him.
+
+"Duane, you're not hard hit?" said Longstreth.
+
+"Reckon not," replied Duane.
+
+"I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him!
+Always I've split over him!"
+
+"But the last time, Longstreth."
+
+"Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked
+me out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be
+harder than facing a gun."
+
+"Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right."
+
+"Duane, will you do me a favor?" he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
+
+"Sure."
+
+"Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter.
+Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll
+be here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change
+places with Lawson if I could!"
+
+"Glad you--said that, Longstreth," replied Duane. "And sure--Lawson
+plugged me. It's our secret."
+
+Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so
+different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She
+lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and
+mute, she gazed from that to her father.
+
+"Papa!" cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+
+"Don't give way," he replied, huskily. "Both you girls will need your
+nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is--is dead. Listen. Let me
+tell it quick. There's been a fight. It--it was Lawson--it was Lawson's
+gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm
+to divide my property--return so far as possible what I've stolen--leave
+Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get
+MacNelly, the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!"
+
+She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic
+glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+
+"You must rise above this," said Duane to her. "I expected this to ruin
+you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can
+promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor
+will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in
+San Antonio and Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line
+between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border
+days. Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher
+say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father
+drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's
+perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and
+morality of a civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with
+bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This
+matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out
+of court. I'm sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting.
+Then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing
+that took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him. And
+so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed that way
+out here. He could not control them. He became involved with them. And
+eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. That
+meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew
+into the leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be
+judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to
+catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him.
+Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not
+be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had
+turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it
+as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his
+party by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and
+reached Bradford as he had planned.
+
+That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was
+in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be
+there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of
+that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours
+and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the
+outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him
+leap.
+
+It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+
+Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car,
+changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken.
+Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a
+seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted
+briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed
+a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right
+alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty
+miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting
+eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang!
+He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward
+contraction. He thought he recognized the clean-cut Blossom Kane, the
+black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher.
+There was another man strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not
+have been Knell.
+
+Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
+
+"Look!" he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
+
+The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
+
+"Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?" whispered Duane.
+
+Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
+Verde.
+
+They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
+travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
+there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
+train.
+
+Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
+familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but
+was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him--MacNelly,
+clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
+
+When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
+hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
+yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from
+Duane to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did
+not look the part of an outlaw.
+
+"Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you," was the Captain's greeting. Then at
+closer look into Duane's face his warmth fled--something he saw there
+checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
+
+"MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine," said Duane, low-voiced.
+
+The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's
+instant action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
+
+"Any of your men down here?" queried Duane, sharply.
+
+"No. They're up-town."
+
+"Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come
+behind with them."
+
+They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on
+the way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a
+trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
+
+Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street.
+There was a big sign, "Rancher's Bank."
+
+"There's the hotel," said MacNelly. "Some of my men are there. We've
+scattered around."
+
+They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane
+asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the
+Captain complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and,
+drawing a deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable
+now," he said. "And don't be distressed." Then he turned to his captain.
+"MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I've brought to you, and
+this one is his niece."
+
+Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not
+spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+
+"When I went after Longstreth," concluded Duane, "it was either to kill
+him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his
+daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe
+he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return.
+The name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it'll fade."
+
+A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a
+hall, and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them--rangers!
+
+MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+
+"Boys, here he is."
+
+"How many men have you?" asked Duane.
+
+"Fifteen."
+
+MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the
+dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed,
+he sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside
+himself. And his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to
+run. They all talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent
+in their speech was "outlaws."
+
+MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+
+"This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the
+Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how'd you
+ever do it?"
+
+"Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The
+gang's coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They'll ride
+into town on the dot--two-thirty."
+
+"How many?" asked MacNelly.
+
+"Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another
+man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll
+bet they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced."
+
+"Poggin--that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since
+I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and
+blazes!"
+
+"Knell's dead."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and
+of harder aspect. "Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm only a ranger under
+orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make
+your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who're not here."
+
+"You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and
+that lot?" queried Duane.
+
+"No, I don't understand that," replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+
+"It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them
+they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no
+equal with a gun--unless--He's got to be killed quick. They'll all have
+to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in
+action."
+
+"Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The
+boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now."
+
+"Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let
+him hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we
+might fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It's
+well situated for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the
+bank--four men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game
+begins. They want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise
+before they're down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your
+men put inside behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to
+the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, and don't let them
+shut up the bank. You want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold.
+But the clerks and cashier ought to be at their desks or window when
+Poggin rides up. He'll glance in before he gets down. They make no
+mistakes, these fellows. We must be slicker than they are, or lose. When
+you get the bank people wise, send your men over one by one. No hurry,
+no excitement, no unusual thing to attract notice in the bank."
+
+"All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?"
+
+Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had
+seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he was confronted
+by the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with
+lowered head.
+
+"Where'll you wait, Duane?" insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes
+speculating.
+
+"I'll wait in front, just inside the door," replied Duane, with an
+effort.
+
+"Why?" demanded the Captain.
+
+"Well," began Duane, slowly, "Poggin will get down first and start in.
+But the others won't be far behind. They'll not get swift till inside.
+The thing is--they MUSTN'T get clear inside, because the instant they
+do they'll pull guns. That means death to somebody. If we can we want to
+stop them just at the door."
+
+"But will you hide?" asked MacNelly.
+
+"Hide!" The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+
+"There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a vestibule, with
+steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in the vestibule, too. It
+leads somewhere. We can put men in there. You can be there."
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+"See here, Duane," began MacNelly, nervously. "You shan't take any undue
+risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?"
+
+"No!" The word was wrenched from Duane.
+
+MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit
+over his face.
+
+"Duane, I can give you no orders to-day," he said, distinctly. "I'm only
+offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've done a grand
+job for the service--already. You've paid me a thousand times for
+that pardon. You've redeemed yourself.--The Governor, the
+adjutant-general--the whole state will rise up and honor you. The game's
+almost up. We'll kill these outlaws, or enough of them to break for
+ever their power. I say, as a ranger, need you take more risk than your
+captain?"
+
+Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces. And one,
+a tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him.
+Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the weaker, found a
+voice.
+
+"Captain, you want this job to be sure?" he asked.
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met. Just
+WHAT I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings like this the
+moment decides. But I'll be there!"
+
+MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and
+sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+
+"Now you've done your work--laid the trap--is this strange move of yours
+going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?" asked MacNelly, in significant low
+voice.
+
+Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked
+up as if he had seen a ghost.
+
+Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: "You can win her, Duane! Oh, you
+can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover--then go
+back to her. You will have served the Texas Rangers as no other man has.
+I'll accept your resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That girl
+loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She's--"
+
+But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet,
+and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still
+there was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.
+
+"Enough. I'm done," he said, somberly. "I've planned. Do we agree--or
+shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?"
+
+MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled
+chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they rested upon
+Duane.
+
+Duane was left alone.
+
+Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses
+of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him
+before any one else had a chance--Poggin first--and then the others!
+He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its
+acceptance he had become stone.
+
+Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared nothing
+for the state. He had no thought of freeing the community of a dangerous
+outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle to its progress and
+prosperity. He wanted to kill Poggin. It was significant now that
+he forgot the other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the
+gun-fighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit
+of the surviving pioneer--these had been in him; and the killings, one
+after another, the wild and haunted years, had made him, absolutely in
+spite of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly.
+The thing he had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the gunman.
+Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kind--the
+need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last
+victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still there in his mind,
+and now it stalked out, worse, more powerful, magnified by its rest,
+augmented by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to that
+strange, wild product of the Texas frontier--the gun-fighter. And those
+passions were so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought
+to have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record! Actual
+vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any rival!
+
+Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice. What
+he had feared for years had become a monstrous reality. Respect for
+himself, blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to while in
+outlawry--all, like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood
+stripped bare, his soul naked--the soul of Cain. Always since the first
+brand had been forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now
+with conscience flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this
+tiger instinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the
+utter abasement the soul he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with
+the thought of Ray Longstreth.
+
+Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal
+meeting--as all his swift and deadly genius must be occupied with
+Poggin, perhaps in vain--as hard-shooting men whom he could not watch
+would be close behind, this almost certainly must be the end of Buck
+Duane. That did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All
+her sweetness, her fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+
+"Duane," she said, softly. "Captain MacNelly sent me to you."
+
+"But you shouldn't have come," replied Duane.
+
+"As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not.
+You left me--all of us--stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I
+do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't
+expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and
+here I'm selfishly using time."
+
+"Go, then--and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a
+desperate game to finish."
+
+"Need it be desperate?" she whispered, coming close to him.
+
+"Yes; it can't be else."
+
+MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt
+that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful,
+and they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
+
+"You're going to take some mad risk," she said. "Let me persuade you not
+to. You said--you cared for me--and I--oh, Duane--don't you--know--?"
+
+The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and
+failed.
+
+Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of
+thought.
+
+She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in
+a flood of tears.
+
+"My God! You can't care for me?" he cried, hoarsely.
+
+Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+
+"But I do-I do!"
+
+Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood
+holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing breast and the
+clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear.
+He felt her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all
+the demons that possessed him. And he held her as if she had been his
+soul, his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+
+The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there
+rushed over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and full, strong
+like an intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and
+terrible as the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become
+an outcast, a wanderer, a gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost
+and suffered worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the
+endless bloody trail, a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly
+and inevitably closed to all except the instinct to survive and a black
+despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her swelling breast
+against his, in this moment almost of resurrection, he bent under the
+storm of passion and joy possible only to him who had endured so much.
+
+"Do you care--a little?" he whispered, unsteadily.
+
+He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+
+She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped up to
+his neck.
+
+"A littler Oh, Duane--Duane--a great deal!"
+
+Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth
+seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry
+heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats. He felt the outcast's need
+of love. And he gave up to the enthralling moment. She met him half-way,
+returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes
+closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+shoulder.
+
+Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she
+had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not even her life, in
+that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of regret at
+his unrestraint.
+
+Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and leaned upon
+him with her face upturned. He felt her hands on his, and they were
+soft, clinging, strong, like steel under velvet. He felt the rise and
+fall, the warmth of her breast. A tremor ran over him. He tried to draw
+back, and if he succeeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing
+closer. She held her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was
+wonderful now: white, yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark
+eyes alluring. But that was not all. There was passion, unquenchable
+spirit, woman's resolve deep and mighty.
+
+"I love you, Duane!" she said. "For my sake don't go out to meet this
+outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you. Conquer it if you love
+me."
+
+Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his arms again
+he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed
+more than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She was throbbing,
+palpitating, quivering, with hot wet cheeks and arms that clung to him
+like vines. She lifted her mouth to his, whispering, "Kiss me!" She
+meant to change him, hold him.
+
+Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him close.
+With his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss closed his
+eyes, and he could not lift his head. He sat motionless holding her,
+blind and helpless, wrapped in a sweet dark glory. She kissed him--one
+long endless kiss--or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks,
+her hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her
+arms, the swell of her breast--all these seemed to inclose him.
+
+Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and arms,
+watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure now of her
+intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost lost.
+This was what it was to be loved by a woman. His years of outlawry had
+blotted out any boyish love he might have known. This was what he had
+to give up--all this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he
+feared yet loved, this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never
+until that moment had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That
+meaning was physical inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what
+marvel in the touch of quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he
+saw there might have been for him, under happier circumstances, a life
+of noble deeds lived for such a woman.
+
+"Don't go! Don't go!" she cried, as he started violently.
+
+"I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you."
+
+He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+
+"Ray, dearest--I believe--I'll come back!" he whispered.
+
+These last words were falsehood.
+
+He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever
+in memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
+
+"DUANE!"
+
+He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+
+To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
+Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar,
+with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's
+wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had
+sent the cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated
+life so? Poggin was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous
+instinct, now deep as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild
+and fatal issue. There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance
+that Poggin likewise had been taunted in fear of him.
+
+So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
+fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
+as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+
+There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
+clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
+vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
+were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
+cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men--the rangers--crouching
+down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
+iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money
+in sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
+to-morrow.
+
+Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into
+the country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no
+person near him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural
+strain.
+
+At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
+appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot--a
+group that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They
+came a little faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they
+were four blocks away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle
+of the vestibule, up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide
+doorway.
+
+There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
+ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the
+street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There
+was a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
+
+Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted
+quickly. They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to
+conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the
+bank door, quickening step a little. The others, close together, came
+behind him. Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was
+left at the curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.
+
+Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
+other, a little in his rear.
+
+As he strode in he saw Duane.
+
+"HELL'S FIRE!" he cried.
+
+Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
+fear?
+
+"BUCK DUANE!" echoed Kane.
+
+One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+
+Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his
+arm.
+
+The guns boomed almost together.
+
+Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
+like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in
+his hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his
+breast. He pulled--pulled--at random. Thunder of booming shots all about
+him! Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end;
+yes, the end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's,
+back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns spouting red!
+
+All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
+There it drifted--Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark, tragic
+eyes, fading from his sight... fading.. . fading...
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Light shone before Duane's eyes--thick, strange light that came and
+went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all.
+It was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden;
+darkness, light, sound, movement; and vague, obscure sense of time--time
+that was very long. There was fire--creeping, consuming fire. A dark
+cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.
+
+He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
+over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
+clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full
+of those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff,
+like a stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his
+bound body racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
+
+A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
+old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent
+over him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a
+distance: "Duane--Duane! Ah, he knew me!"
+
+After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light
+came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him.
+It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
+
+Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move
+them.
+
+"Poggin!" he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
+Ruling passion--eternal instinct!
+
+"Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces," replied MacNelly, solemnly.
+"What a fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he
+was a tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him."
+
+"Who-got--away?"
+
+"Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
+job's done--it's done! Why, man, you're--"
+
+"What of--of--HER?"
+
+"Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped
+the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when
+you sank low--so low--I think it was her spirit that held yours back.
+Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her
+nerve for a moment. Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go
+with us. Colonel Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I
+advised it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave."
+
+"Have I--a--chance--to recover?"
+
+"Chance? Why, man," exclaimed the Captain, "you'll get well! You'll pack
+a sight of lead all your life. But you can stand that. Duane, the whole
+Southwest knows your story. You need never again be ashamed of the name
+Buck Duane. The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes you've been
+a secret ranger all the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your
+mother, of this noble girl--of your future."
+
+The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+
+A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had
+grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was
+carried from the train.
+
+A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he
+remembered--schoolmates, friends, old neighbors. There was an upflinging
+of many hands. Duane was being welcomed home to the town from which he
+had fled. A deadness within him broke. This welcome hurt him somehow,
+quickened him; and through his cold being, his weary mind, passed a
+change. His sight dimmed.
+
+Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real!
+His heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet
+strange it was, and all seemed magnified.
+
+They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and
+lifted his head upon pillows. The house was still, though full of
+people. Duane's gaze sought the open door.
+
+Some one entered--a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a light
+upon her face. She was leading an old lady, gray-haired, austere-faced,
+somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked erect. She
+was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity.
+
+The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His
+mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+
+"This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where
+is my son? My son--oh, my son!"
+
+When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west window and
+watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his talk. The old man
+was broken now. He told many interesting things about people Duane had
+known--people who had grown up and married, failed, succeeded, gone
+away, and died. But it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of
+guns, outlaws, fights. He could not seem to divine how mention of these
+things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great pride
+in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there
+was one thing more than another that pleased him it was to talk about
+the bullets which Duane carried in his body.
+
+"Five bullets, ain't it?" he asked, for the hundredth time.
+
+"Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?"
+
+"Yes, uncle," replied Duane.
+
+"Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all
+that lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards,
+right here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem
+to mind them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad
+man in his day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger
+than you--got more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the
+doctor only bein' able to cut one bullet out of you--that one in your
+breastbone? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it,
+and I wanted it, but Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there
+was a bullet left in one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same
+kind as the one cut out of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if
+it'd stayed there."
+
+"It would indeed, uncle," replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
+mood returned.
+
+But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping
+Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine
+Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all
+suggestion.
+
+One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came
+for him. They read it together.
+
+You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+
+MACNELLEY.
+
+Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak
+then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but
+sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes
+were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
+
+"I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's," said Duane.
+
+She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank
+a little.
+
+"The pain--Is it any worse to-day?" she asked, instantly.
+
+"No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you
+know. But I don't mind a little pain."
+
+"Then--it's the old mood--the fear?" she whispered. "Tell me."
+
+"Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon--able to go out. Then that--that
+hell will come back!"
+
+"No, no!" she said, with emotion.
+
+"Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every
+town, wherever I go," he went on, miserably. "Buck Duane! To kill Buck
+Duane!"
+
+"Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde,
+when I came to you--plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a
+terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle
+between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved
+you then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that--that thing
+which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have
+to kill another man, thank God!"
+
+Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not
+voice his passionate query.
+
+She put tender arms round his neck. "Because you'll have me with
+you always," she replied. "Because always I shall be between you and
+that--that terrible thing."
+
+It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came
+to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger
+woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day.
+
+"We'll--we'll be married and leave Texas," she said, softly, with the
+red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+
+"Ray!"
+
+"Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir."
+
+"But, dear--suppose," he replied, huskily, "suppose there might be--be
+children--a boy. A boy with his father's blood!"
+
+"I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even
+so--he'll be half my blood."
+
+Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of
+joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made
+him weak as a child. How could she love him--how could she so bravely
+face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her
+hands round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and
+beauty--these she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past.
+They were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think
+of accepting her sacrifice.
+
+"But Ray--you dear, noble girl--I'm poor. I have nothing. And I'm a
+cripple."
+
+"Oh, you'll be well some day," she replied. "And listen. I have money.
+My mother left me well off. All she had was her father's--Do you
+understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to
+Louisiana--to my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to
+work. There are horses and cattle--a great cypress forest to cut. Oh,
+you'll have much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my
+home. It's a beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss
+blows all day and the nightingales sing all night."
+
+"My darling!" cried Duane, brokenly. "No, no, no!"
+
+Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not
+resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?
+
+"We'll be happy," she whispered. "Oh, I know. Come!--come!-come!"
+
+Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous,
+waiting lips.
+
+With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed
+to him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills
+in the west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the
+Nueces and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see
+again.
+
+It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness
+and faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be
+stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.
+
+It would come back--that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that
+driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those
+pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his
+life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be
+the faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Star Ranger, by Zane Grey
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey
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+The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey
+This etext was prepared by Ken Smidge of Mt. Clemens, MI.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE STAR RANGER
+
+
+
+
+To
+CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
+and his Texas Rangers
+
+
+
+It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard
+on the Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck
+Duane--outlaw and gunman.
+
+But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes
+has haunted me, and I have given full rein to imagination and
+have retold it in my own way. It deals with the old law--the
+old border days--therefore it is better first. Soon, perchance,
+I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of to-day,
+which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, "Shore is 'most as bad
+an' wild as ever!"
+
+In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier
+of the West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in
+stories. As I think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he
+made that remark, while he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet
+wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that typical son of
+stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head, his
+thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him.
+Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
+memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time,
+Russell and Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
+
+Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and
+the hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the
+truth about a strange, unique, and misunderstood body of
+men--the Texas Rangers--who made the great Lone Star State
+habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are
+passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
+come into their own.
+
+ZANE GREY
+
+
+
+BOOK 1   THE OUTLAW
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a
+driving intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that
+old fighting stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead
+father, nor the pleading of his soft-voiced mother, nor the
+warning of this uncle who stood before him now, had brought to
+Buck Duane so much realization of the dark passionate strain in
+his blood. It was the recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in
+power, of a strange emotion that for the last three years had
+arisen in him.
+
+"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for
+you," repeated the elder man, gravely.
+
+"It's the second time," muttered Duane, as if to himself.
+
+"Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up.
+He ain't got it in for you when he's not drinkin'."
+
+"But what's he want me for?" demanded Duane. "To insult me
+again? I won't stand that twice."
+
+"He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy.
+He wants gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you."
+
+Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood,
+like a wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding
+to leave him strangely chilled.
+
+"Kill me! What for?" he asked.
+
+"Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with
+most of the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to
+Everall's kill one another dead all because they got to jerkin'
+at a quirt among themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you.
+His girl was sweet on you."
+
+"I quit when I found out she was his girl."
+
+"I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's
+here, just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill
+somebody. He's one of them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like
+to be thought bad. There's a lot of wild cowboys who're
+ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick they are
+on the draw. T hey ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all
+the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs
+along the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about
+how they'd fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to
+bother with, if you only keep out of his way."
+
+"You mean for me to run?" asked Duane, in scorn.
+
+"I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm
+not afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town.
+You've your father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What
+I'm most afraid of is that you'll kill Bain."
+
+Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in,
+trying to realize their significance.
+
+"If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these
+outlaws, why, a young man will have a lookout," went on the
+uncle. "You're twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine
+fellow, barrin' your temper. You've a chance in life. But if
+you go gun-fightin', if you kill a man, you're ruined. Then
+you'll kill another. It'll be the same old story. An' the
+rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law an'
+order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with
+them. If you resist arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to
+arrest, then you go to jail, an' mebbe you hang."
+
+"I'd never hang," muttered Duane, darkly.
+
+"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like
+your father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times
+like these, with the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad
+would have been driven to the river. An', son, I'm afraid
+you're a chip off the old block. Can't you hold in--keep your
+temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only result in you
+gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed in a
+street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
+bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible
+nature of a man to be able to do that. If you have any such
+blood in you, never give it a chance."
+
+"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but
+the only way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain
+and his outfit have already made me look like a coward. He says
+I'm afraid to come out and face him. A man simply can't stand
+that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me in the back
+some day if I didn't face him."
+
+"Well, then, what're you goin' to do?" inquired the elder man.
+
+"I haven't decided--yet."
+
+"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is
+workin' in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you
+used to be moody an' lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was
+much afraid of you then. But now you're gettin' cool an' quiet,
+an' you think deep, an' I don't like the light in your eye. It
+reminds me of your father."
+
+"I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and
+here," said Duane.
+
+"What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never
+wore a glove on his right hand for twenty years?"
+
+"Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he
+would have done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let
+Cal Bain find me."
+
+Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with
+downcast eyes, and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of
+the future. Presently he turned to Duane with an expression
+that denoted resignation, and yet a spirit which showed wherein
+they were of the same blood.
+
+"You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this
+country. After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a
+saddle-bag packed for you and the horse ready."
+
+With that he turned on his heel and went into the house,
+leaving Duane to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck
+wondered presently if he shared his uncle's opinion of the
+result of a meeting between himself and Bain. His thoughts were
+vague. But on the instant of final decision, when he had
+settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm of
+passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken
+with ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his
+hand was like a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle
+about him quivered. He had no fear of Bain or of any other man;
+but a vague fear of himself, of this strange force in him, made
+him ponder and shake his head. It was as if he had not all to
+say in this matter. There appeared to have been in him a
+reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from
+a distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled
+him. That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living,
+and in it he became a thoughtful man.
+
+He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun
+was a Colt .45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He
+had packed it, on and off, for five years. Before that it had
+been used by his father. There were a number of notches filed
+in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun was the one his
+father had fired twice after being shot through the heart, and
+his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in the death-grip
+that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn
+upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
+cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used.
+Duane could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty
+feet he could split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
+
+Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he
+thought, she was away from home. He went out and down the path
+toward the gate. The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms
+and the melody of birds. Outside in the road a neighbor woman
+stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they spoke to him;
+and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride down
+the road toward the town.
+
+Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part
+of the great state because it was the trading-center of several
+hundred miles of territory. On the main street there were
+perhaps fifty buildings, some brick, some frame, mostly adobe,
+and one-third of the lot, and by far the most prosperous, were
+saloons. From the road Duane turned into this street. It was a
+wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and saddled horses
+and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down the
+street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
+leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane
+slackened his stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's
+place, which was the first saloon, he was walking slowly.
+Several people spoke to him and turned to look back after they
+had passed. He paused at the door of White's saloon, took a
+sharp survey of the interior, then stepped inside.
+
+The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke.
+The noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing
+presently broke to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a
+monte table. Sol White, who was behind the bar, straightened up
+when he saw Duane; then, without speaking, he bent over to
+rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the Mexican gamblers
+were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
+speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for
+trouble; they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane
+intend to do? Several of the cowboys and ranchers present
+exchanged glances. Duane had been weighed by unerring Texas
+instinct, by men who all packed guns. The boy was the son of
+his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned to their
+drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
+upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long
+mustache waxed to sharp points.
+
+"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly
+and averted his dark gaze for an instant.
+
+"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's
+a gent in town looking for me bad."
+
+"Reckon there is, Buck," replied White. "He came in heah aboot
+an hour ago. Shore he was some riled an' a-roarin' for gore.
+Told me confidential a certain party had given you a white silk
+scarf, an' he was hell-bent on wearin' it home spotted red."
+
+"Anybody with him?" queried Duane.
+
+"Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen
+before. They-all was coaxin' trim to leave town. But he's
+looked on the flowin' glass, Buck, an' he's heah for keeps."
+
+"Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?"
+
+"Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at
+Flesher's ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely. An' so the
+town's shore wide open."
+
+Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the
+whole length of the long block, meeting many people--farmers,
+ranchers, clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. It
+was a singular fact that when he turned to retrace his steps
+the street was almost empty. He had not returned a hundred
+yards on his way when the street was wholly deserted. A few
+heads protruded from doors and around corners. That main street
+of Wellston saw some such situation every few days. If it was
+an instinct for Texans to fight, it was also instinctive for
+them to sense with remarkable quickness the signs of a coming
+gun-play. Rumor could not fly so swiftly. In less than ten
+minutes everybody who had been on the street or in the shops
+knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet his enemy.
+
+Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty paces of a saloon
+he swerved out into the middle of the street, stood there for a
+moment, then went ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on
+in this way the length of the block. Sol White was standing in
+the door of his saloon.
+
+"Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off," he said, quick and low-voiced.
+"Cal Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a-huntin' you bad, as he
+brags, he'll show there."
+
+Duane crossed the street and started down. Notwithstanding
+White's statement Duane was wary and slow at every door.
+Nothing happened, and he traversed almost the whole length of
+the block without seeing a person. Everall's place was on the
+corner.
+
+Duane knew himself to be cold, steady. He was conscious of a
+strange fury that made him want to leap ahead. He seemed to
+long for this encounter more than anything he had ever wanted.
+But, vivid as were his sensations, he felt as if in a dream.
+
+Before he reached Everall's he heard loud voices, one of which
+was raised high. Then the short door swung outward as if
+impelled by a vigorous hand. A bow-legged cowboy wearing wooley
+chaps burst out upon the sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed
+to bound into the air, and he uttered a savage roar.
+
+Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk,
+perhaps a dozen rods from Everall's door.
+
+If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He
+swaggered forward, rapidly closing up the gap. Red, sweaty,
+disheveled, and hatless, his face distorted and expressive of
+the most malignant intent, he was a wild and sinister figure.
+He had already killed a man, and this showed in his demeanor.
+His hands were extended before him, the right hand a little
+lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor in
+speech mostly curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then
+halted. A good twenty-five paces separated the men.
+
+"Won't nothin' make you draw, you--!" he shouted, fiercely.
+
+"I'm waitin' on you, Cal," replied Duane.
+
+Bain's right hand stiffened--moved. Duane threw his gun as a
+boy throws a ball underhand--a draw his father had taught him.
+He pulled twice, his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt
+boomed while it was pointed downward and he was falling. His
+bullet scattered dust and gravel at Duane's feet. He fell
+loosely, without contortion.
+
+In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held
+his gun ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain.
+But Bain lay upon his back, and all that moved were his breast
+and his eyes. How strangely the red had left his face--and also
+the distortion! The devil that had showed in Bain was gone. He
+was sober and conscious. He tried to speak, but failed. His
+eyes expressed something pitifully human. They
+changed--rolled--set blankly.
+
+Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and
+cool, glad the fray was over. One violent expression burst from
+him. "The fool!"
+
+When he looked up there were men around him.
+
+"Plumb center," said one.
+
+Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table,
+leaned down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of
+spades in his hand. He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black
+figure on the card covered the two bullet-holes just over
+Bain's heart.
+
+Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:
+
+"Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay.
+Like father like son!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he
+might have spared himself concern through his imagining how
+awful it would be to kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He
+had rid the community of a drunken, bragging, quarrelsome
+cowboy.
+
+When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there
+with a mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags
+all in place, a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had
+slipped his mind--the consequence of his act. But sight of the
+horse and the look of his uncle recalled the fact that he must
+now become a fugitive. An unreasonable anger took hold of him.
+
+"The d--d fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn't
+much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that
+I've got to go on the dodge."
+
+"Son, you killed him--then?" asked the uncle, huskily.
+
+"Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have
+been done by."
+
+"I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to
+cry over spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of
+the country."
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed Duane.
+
+"She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to
+her--what she always feared."
+
+Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
+
+"My God! Uncle, what have I done?" His broad shoulders shook.
+
+"Listen, son, an' remember what I say," replied the elder man,
+earnestly. "Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to
+see you take it this way, because maybe you'll never grow hard
+an' callous. You're not to blame. This is Texas. You're your
+father's son. These are wild times. The law as the rangers are
+laying it down now can't change life all in a minute. Even your
+mother, who's a good, true woman, has had her share in making
+you what you are this moment. For she was one of the
+pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of
+wild times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to
+fight, to save her life, her children, an' that instinct has
+cropped out in you. It will be many years before it dies out of
+the boys born in Texas."
+
+"I'm a murderer," said Duane, shuddering.
+
+"No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to
+be an outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home."
+
+"An outlaw?"
+
+"I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial.
+But we've neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no
+place for Buckley Duane. Strike for the wild country, an'
+wherever you go an' whatever you do-be a man. Live honestly, if
+that's possible. If it isn't, be as honest as you can. If you
+have to herd with outlaws try not to become bad. There are
+outlaws who 're not all bad--many who have been driven to the
+river by such a deal as this you had. When you get among these
+men avoid brawls. Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you
+what to do if it comes to gun-play, as likely it will. You
+can't come home. When this thing is lived down, if that time
+ever comes, I'll get word into the unsettled country. It'll
+reach you some day. That's all. Remember, be a man. Goodby."
+
+Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his
+uncle's hand and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped
+astride the black and rode out of town.
+
+As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane
+put a distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With
+that he slowed up, and the matter of riding did not require all
+his faculties. He passed several ranches and was seen by men.
+This did not suit him, and he took an old trail across country.
+It was a flat region with a poor growth of mesquite and
+prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of low
+hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that section, and
+knew where to find grass and water. When he reached this higher
+ground he did not, however, halt at the first favorable
+camping-spot, but went on and on. Once he came out upon the
+brow of a hill and saw a considerable stretch of country
+beneath him. It had the gray sameness characterizing all that
+he had traversed. He seemed to want to see wide spaces--to get
+a glimpse of the great wilderness lying somewhere beyond to the
+southwest. It was sunset when he decided to camp at a likely
+spot he came across. He led the horse to water, and then began
+searching through the shallow valley for a suitable place to
+camp. He passed by old camp-sites that he well remembered.
+These, however, did not strike his fancy this time, and the
+significance of the change in him did not occur at the moment.
+At last he found a secluded spot, under cover of thick
+mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from the old trail. He
+took saddle and pack off the horse. He looked among his effects
+for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had failed to put one
+in, he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, and
+never on this horse. He cut a few feet off the end of his lasso
+and used that. The horse, unused to such hampering of his free
+movements, had to be driven out upon the grass.
+
+Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his supper. This
+done, ending the work of that day, he sat down and filled his
+pipe. Twilight had waned into dusk. A few wan stars had just
+begun to show and brighten. Above the low continuous hum of
+insects sounded the evening carol of robins. Presently the
+birds ceased their singing, and then the quiet was more
+noticeable. When night set in and the place seemed all the more
+isolated and lonely for that Duane had a sense of relief.
+
+It dawned upon him all at once that he was nervous, watchful,
+sleepless. The fact caused him surprise, and he began to think
+back, to take note of his late actions and their motives. The
+change one day had wrought amazed him. He who had always been
+free, easy, happy, especially when out alone in the open, had
+become in a few short hours bound, serious, preoccupied. The
+silence that had once been sweet now meant nothing to him
+except a medium whereby he might the better hear the sounds of
+pursuit. The loneliness, the night, the wild, that had always
+been beautiful to him, now only conveyed a sense of safety for
+the present. He watched, he listened, he thought. He felt
+tired, yet had no inclination to rest. He intended to be off by
+dawn, heading toward the southwest. Had he a destination? It
+was vague as his knowledge of that great waste of mesquite and
+rock bordering the Rio Grande. Somewhere out there was a
+refuge. For he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw.
+
+This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no
+rest, no sleep, no content, no life worth the livingl He must
+be a lone wolf or he must herd among men obnoxious to him. If
+he worked for an honest living he still must hide his identity
+and take risks of detection. If he did not work on some distant
+outlying ranch, how was he to live? The idea of stealing was
+repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber enough. And
+he was twenty-three years old.
+
+Why had this hard life been imposed upon him?
+
+The bitter question seemed to start a strange iciness that
+stole along his veins. What was wrong with him? He stirred the
+few sticks of mesquite into a last flickering blaze. He was
+cold, and for some reason he wanted some light. The black
+circle of darkness weighed down upon him, closed in around him.
+Suddenly he sat bolt upright and then froze in that position.
+He had heard a step. It was behind him--no--on the side. Some
+one was there. He forced his hand down to his gun, and the
+touch of cold steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. But
+all was silent--silent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with
+its low murmuring of wind in the mesquite. Had he heard a step?
+He began to breathe again.
+
+But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire? It had
+taken on a strange green luster and seemed to be waving off
+into the outer shadows. Duane heard no step, saw no movement;
+nevertheless, there was another present at that camp-fire
+vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in the middle of the green
+brightness, prostrate, motionless, dying. Cal Bain! His
+features were wonderfully distinct, clearer than any cameo,
+more sharply outlined than those of any picture. It was a hard
+face softening at the threshold of eternity. The red tan of
+sun, the coarse signs of drunkenness, the ferocity and hate so
+characteristic of Bain were no longer there. This face
+represented a different Bain, showed all that was human in him
+fading, fading as swiftly as it blanched white. The lips wanted
+to speak, but had not the power. The eyes held an agony of
+thought. They revealed what might have been possible for this
+man if he lived--that he saw his mistake too late. Then they
+rolled, set blankly, and closed in death.
+
+That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there in a cold
+sweat, a remorse gnawing at his vitals, realizing the curse
+that was on him. He divined that never would he be able to keep
+off that phantom. He remembered how his father had been
+eternally pursued by the furies of accusing guilt, how he had
+never been able to forget in work or in sleep those men he had
+killed.
+
+The hour was late when Duane's mind let him sleep, and then
+dreams troubled him. In the morning he bestirred himself so
+early that in the gray gloom he had difficulty in finding his
+horse. Day had just broken when he struck the old trail again.
+
+He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady spot to rest and
+graze his horse. In the afternoon he took to the trail at an
+easy trot. The country grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains
+broke the level of the monotonous horizon. About three in the
+afternoon he came to a little river which marked the boundary
+line of his hunting territory.
+
+The decision he made to travel up-stream for a while was owing
+to two facts: the river was high with quicksand bars on each
+side, and he felt reluctant to cross into that region where his
+presence alone meant that he was a marked man. The bottom-lands
+through which the river wound to the southwest were  more
+inviting than the barrens he had traversed. The rest or that
+day he rode leisurely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated the
+brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. It seemed
+to him that in this lonely cover he would feel easy and
+content. But he did not. Every feeling, every imagining he had
+experienced the previous night returned somewhat more vividly
+and accentuated by newer ones of the same intensity and color.
+
+In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days,
+during which he crossed a number of trails, and one road where
+cattle--stolen cattle, probably--had recently passed. Thus time
+exhausted his supply of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and
+sugar, of which he had a quantity. There were deer in the.
+brakes; but, as he could not get close enough to kill them with
+t a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a rabbit. He knew
+he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
+assuredly would be his lot.
+
+Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville.
+It was distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a
+reputation throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been
+there. The fact was this reputation was such that honest
+travelers gave the town a wide berth. Duane had considerable
+money for him in his possession, and he concluded to visit
+Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of provisions.
+
+The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road
+which he believed might lead to the village. There were a good
+many fresh horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him
+thoughtful. Nevertheless, he followed the road, proceeding
+cautiously. He had not gone very far when the sound of rapid
+hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his rear. In the
+darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back
+along the road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders,
+whoever they were, had approached closer than he liked. To go
+farther down the road was not to be thought of, so he turned a
+little way in among the mesquites and halted, hoping to escape
+being seen or heard. As he was now a fugitive, it seemed every
+man was his enemy and pursuer.
+
+The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast
+of Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of
+saddles, the clink of spurs.
+
+"Shore he crossed the river below," said one man.
+
+"I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us," replied
+another.
+
+Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The
+knowledge gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not
+have been hunting him. But the feeling their proximity gave him
+was identical to what it would have been had he been this
+particular hunted man. He held his breath; he clenched his
+teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his horse. Suddenly he
+became aware that these horsemen had halted. They were
+whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed.
+What had made them halt so suspiciously?
+
+"You're wrong, Bill," said a man, in a low but distinct voice.
+
+"The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And
+you're hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go
+home and eat."
+
+"Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand," replied the man
+called Bill.
+
+Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of
+boots on the ground. There followed a short silence which was
+broken by a sharply breathed exclamation.
+
+Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred
+his horse straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound
+there came yells from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the
+hiss of a bullet close by his ear, and as it struck a branch it
+made a peculiar singing sound. These shots and the proximity of
+that lead missile roused in Duane a quick, hot resentment which
+mounted into a passion almost ungovernable. He must escape, yet
+it seemed that he did not care whether he did or not. Something
+grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these men.
+After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from
+over the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging
+branches, and tried to guide his horse. In the dark shadows
+under mesquites and cottonwoods he was hard put to it to find
+open passage; however, he succeeded so well and made such
+little noise that gradually he drew away from his pursuers. The
+sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died away.
+Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably
+they would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks.
+He started on again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at
+the ground, so that he might take advantage of the first trail
+he crossed. It seemed a long while until he came upon one. He
+followed it until a late hour, when, striking the willow brakes
+again and hence the neighborhood of the river, he picketed his
+horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep. His mind
+bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made
+efforts to think of other things, but in vain.
+
+Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness
+that yet was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly
+imagined lights and shades of the night--these things that
+presaged the coming of Cal Bain. Doggedly Duane fought against
+the insidious phantom. He kept telling himself that it was just
+imagination, that it would wear off in time. Still in his heart
+he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not give up; he
+would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.
+
+Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river.
+Half an hour of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and
+willow thickets. These he threaded to come at length to the
+ford. It was a gravel bottom, and therefore an easy crossing.
+Once upon the opposite shore he reined in his horse and looked
+darkly back. This action marked his acknowledgment of his
+situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge of the outlaws;
+he was beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse passed
+his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien
+shore.
+
+He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring
+whether or not he left a plain trail.
+
+"Let them hunt me!" he muttered.
+
+When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and
+thirst made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him
+for a place to halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a
+road which was hard packed and smooth from the tracks of
+cattle. He doubted not that he had come across one of the roads
+used by border raiders. He headed into it, and had scarcely
+traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank upon
+a single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their
+mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more
+than a hundred paces separated them. They stood then for a
+moment watching each other.
+
+"Mawnin', stranger," called the man, dropping his hand from his
+hip.
+
+"Howdy," replied Duane, shortly.
+
+They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they
+halted again.
+
+"I seen you ain't no ranger," called the rider, "an' shore I
+ain't none."
+
+He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
+
+"How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?" asked Duane, curiously.
+Somehow he had instantly divined that his horseman was no
+officer, or even a rancher trailing stolen stock.
+
+"Wal," said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk,
+"a ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man."
+
+He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and
+armed to the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had
+quick, dancing brown eyes, at once frank and bold, and a
+coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he was a good-natured ruffian.
+
+Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over
+in his mind how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a
+hunted man.
+
+"My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're
+you?" said this stranger.
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+"I reckon you're Buck Duane," went on Stevens. "I heerd you was
+a damn bad man with a gun."
+
+This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at
+the idea that the first outlaw he met should know him. Here was
+proof of how swiftly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas
+border.
+
+"Wal, Buck," said Stevens, in a friendly manner, "I ain't
+presumin' on your time or company. I see you're headin' fer the
+river. But will you stop long enough to stake a feller to a
+bite of grub?"
+
+"I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself," admitted Duane.
+
+"Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better
+stock up before you hit thet stretch of country."
+
+He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the
+southwest, and there was that in his action which seemed
+significant of a vast and barren region.
+
+"Stock up?" queried Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+"Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can rustle along
+without whisky, but not without grub. Thet's what makes it so
+embarrassin' travelin' these parts dodgin' your shadow. Now,
+I'm on my way to Mercer. It's a little two-bit town up the
+river a ways. I'm goin' to pack out some grub."
+
+Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's
+companionship, but he did not openly say so. Duane kept
+silence, however, and then Stevens went on.
+
+"Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. 1
+never was much on this lone-wolf dodgin', though I've done it
+of necessity. It takes a damn good man to travel alone any
+length of time. Why, I've been thet sick I was jest achin' fer
+some ranger to come along an' plug me. Give me a pardner any
+day. Now, mebbe you're not thet kind of a feller, an' I'm shore
+not presumin' to ask. But I just declares myself sufficient."
+
+"You mean you'd like me to go with you?" asked Duane.
+
+Stevens grinned. "Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud
+to be braced with a man of your reputation."
+
+"See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense," declared
+Duane, in some haste.
+
+"Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster," replied
+Stevens. "I hate a brag. An' I've no use fer these four-flush
+cowboys thet 're always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin'
+gun-play. Buck, I don't know much about you. But every man
+who's lived along the Texas border remembers a lot about your
+Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your rep was
+established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you
+was lightnin' on the draw, an' when you cut loose with a gun,
+why the figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of
+bullet-holes. Thet's the word thet's gone down the border. It's
+the kind of reputation most sure to fly far an' swift ahead of
+a man in this country. An' the safest, too; I'll gamble on
+thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now you're only a boy,
+though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now, Buck, I'm not a
+spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe a little
+of my society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the
+country."
+
+There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
+
+"I dare say you're right," replied Duane, quietly. "And I'll go
+to Mercer with you."
+
+Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had
+never been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult.
+But his companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose,
+voluble fellow, probably glad now to hear the sound of his own
+voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he thought with a pang of
+the distinction of name and heritage of blood his father had
+left to him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and
+Stevens, having rested their horses in the shade of some
+mesquites near the town of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to
+move.
+
+"Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon
+you'd better hang up out here," Stevens was saying, as he
+mounted. "You see, towns an' sheriffs an' rangers are always
+lookin' fer new fellers gone bad. They sort of forget most of
+the old boys, except those as are plumb bad. Now, nobody in
+Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been a thousand
+men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
+truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my
+besettin' sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions.
+In which case there'll be--"
+
+His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes
+danced with a kind of wild humor.
+
+"Stevens, have you got any money?" asked Duane.
+
+"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a
+two-bit piece since--wal, fer some time."
+
+"I'll furnish money for grub," returned Duane. "And for whisky,
+too, providing you hurry back here--without making trouble."
+
+"Shore you're a downright good pard," declared Stevens, in
+admiration, as he took the money. "I give my word, Buck, an'
+I'm here to say I never broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me
+back quick."
+
+With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites
+toward the town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile,
+Mercer appeared to be a cluster of low adobe houses set in a
+grove of cottonwoods. Pastures of alfalfa were dotted by horses
+and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder driving in a meager flock.
+
+Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane
+waited, hoping the outlaw would make good his word. Probably
+not a quarter of an hour had elapsed when Duane heard the clear
+reports of a Winchester rifle, the clatter of rapid hoof-beats,
+and yells unmistakably the kind to mean danger for a man like
+Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the mesquites.
+
+He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running
+fast. Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the
+shots, for he had a steady seat in his saddle and his riding,
+even at that moment, struck Duane as admirable. He carried a
+large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking back. The shots
+had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw several men
+running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and
+got into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him.
+Presently the outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning,
+but there was now no fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil
+that danced n them. His face seemed a shade paler.
+
+"Was jest comin' out of the store," yelled Stevens. "Run plumb
+into a rancher--who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think
+they'll chase us."
+
+They covered several miles before there were any signs of
+pursuit, and when horsemen did move into sight out of the
+cottonwoods Duane and his companion steadily drew farther away.
+
+"No hosses in thet bunch to worry us," called out Stevens.
+
+Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again.
+He rode somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the
+rapid thudding of hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him.
+At sunset they reached the willow brakes and the river. Duane's
+horse was winded and lashed with sweat and lather. It was not
+until the crossing had been accomplished that Duane halted to
+rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low, sandy bank. He
+reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise Duane
+leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
+
+Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole
+front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
+
+"You're shot!" cried Duane.
+
+"Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a
+lift--on this here pack?"
+
+Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to
+dismount. The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was
+spitting blood.
+
+"Oh, why didn't you say so!" cried Duane. "I never thought. You
+seemed all right."
+
+"Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but
+sometimes he doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no
+good."
+
+Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the
+blood from his breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the
+breast, fairly low down, and the bullet had gone clear through
+him. His ride, holding himself and that heavy pack in the
+saddle, had been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane did
+not see how it had been possible, and he felt no hope for the
+outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
+
+"Feller's name was Brown," Stevens said. "Me an' him fell out
+over a hoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a
+shootin'-scrape then. Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back
+there in Mercer I seen this Brown, an' seen him before he seen
+me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't breakin' my word
+to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he did--an'
+fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?"
+
+"It's pretty bad," replied Duane; and he could not look the
+cheerful outlaw in the eyes.
+
+"I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over.
+Guess mebbe I can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place
+in the brakes, leave me some grub an' water at my hand, an'
+then you clear out."
+
+"Leave you here alone?" asked Duane, sharply.
+
+"Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his
+friends will foller us across the river a ways. You've got to
+think of number one in this game."
+
+"What would you do in my case?" asked Duane, curiously.
+
+"Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide," replied
+Stevens.
+
+Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his
+own part he decided his conduct without further speech. First
+he watered the horses, filled canteens and water bag, and then
+tied the pack upon his own horse. That done, he lifted Stevens
+upon his horse, and, holding him in the saddle, turned into the
+brakes, being careful to pick out hard or grassy ground that
+left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ran across a
+trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild
+country.
+
+"Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark--till I drop,"
+concluded Stevens, with a laugh.
+
+All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the
+wounded outlaw, walked the trail and never halted till
+daybreak. He was tired then and very hungry. Stevens seemed in
+bad shape, although he was still spirited and cheerful. Duane
+made camp. The outlaw refused food, but asked for both whisky
+and water. Then he stretched out.
+
+"Buck, will you take off my boots?" he asked, with a faint
+smile on his pallid face.
+
+Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought
+that he did not want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed
+to read his mind.
+
+"Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged.
+But I wasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way
+to croak."
+
+"You've a chance to-to get over this," said Duane.
+
+"Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say,
+pard, if I do go over, jest you remember thet I was
+appreciatin' of your kindness."
+
+Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
+
+Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an
+abundance of dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After
+that was done he prepared himself a much-needed meal. The sun
+was getting warm when he lay down to sleep, and when he awoke
+it was sinking in the west. Stevens was still alive, for he
+breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All was quiet
+except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
+then rose and went for the horses.
+
+When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed,
+cheerful as usual, and apparently stronger.
+
+"Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's
+ride," he said. "Guess about all I need now is a big pull on
+thet bottle. Help me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't
+swallowin' my blood this evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was
+in me."
+
+While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the
+little outfit, and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking.
+He seemed to be in a hurry to tell Duane all about the country.
+Another night ride would put them beyond fear of pursuit,
+within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the
+hiding-places of the outlaws.
+
+When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon
+you can pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh
+accompanying the words Duane detected a subtle change in the
+outlaw's spirit.
+
+On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail
+was broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride
+while upholding Stevens in the saddle.
+
+The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a
+walk. They were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not
+do for Stevens. The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow
+prevailed for a while; darkness set in; then the broad expanse
+of blue darkened and the stars brightened. After a while
+Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept
+the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane
+thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that there
+was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
+grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of
+mesquite and cactus.
+
+Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank
+of a rocky little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into
+Duane's arms, and one look at the haggard face showed Duane
+that the outlaw had taken his last ride. He knew it, too. Yet
+that cheerfulness prevailed.
+
+"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he
+said, and seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed
+them.
+
+This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought.
+He made Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to
+his own needs. And the outlaw took up the thread of his
+conversation where he had left off the night before.
+
+"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it
+leads to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like
+yourself--some like me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves,
+rustlers, an' such. It's easy livin', Buck. I reckon, though,
+that you'll not find it easy. You'll never mix in. You'll be a
+lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man can stand the
+loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe lone-wolfin'
+it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in here
+will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a
+chance they'll kill you."
+
+Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he
+did not want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
+
+"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."
+
+"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See
+here, pard, you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll
+be useful. From this camp we'll--you'll meet men right along.
+An' none of them will be honest men. All the same, some are
+better'n others. I've lived along the river fer twelve years.
+There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you know him,
+I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
+folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with
+him ant his gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the
+Rim Rock way up the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen
+him, though I stayed once right in his camp. Late years he's
+got rich an' keeps back pretty well hid. But Bland--I knowed
+Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him. Bland has the
+biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
+sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore
+there's some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp
+all the time. Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not
+countin' greasers."
+
+Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
+
+"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently.
+"You're too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief.
+Fer he's got women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your
+possibilities with a gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful,
+though. Bland's no fool, an' he loves his hide. I reckon any of
+the other gangs would be better fer you when you ain't goin' it
+alone."
+
+Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice
+Stevens had been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and
+lay with closed eyes. Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze
+waved the mesquites; the birds came down to splash in the
+shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortable seat. By and by
+something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but with a
+changed tone.
+
+"Feller's name--was Brown," he rambled. "We fell out--over a
+hoss I stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's
+one of them sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends
+to be honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You
+an' me are pards now."
+
+"I'll remember, if I ever meet him," said Duane.
+
+That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift
+his head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was
+creeping across the bronzed rough face.
+
+"My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?"
+
+Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see
+them. The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered
+incoherently. Then he fell asleep. Duane believed that sleep
+was final. The day passed, with Duane watching and waiting.
+Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed clearer.
+Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
+surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he
+wanted anything. There was something bright about him, and
+suddenly Duane realized what it meant.
+
+"Pard, you--stuck--to me!" the outlaw whispered.
+
+Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint
+surprise in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little
+child.
+
+To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of
+mystery he could not understand.
+
+Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of
+stones to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's
+horse, hung the weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own
+steed, he rode down the trail in the gathering twilight.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged
+the two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail
+and found himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful
+green valley at his feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande
+shining in the sun, and the great, wild, mountainous barren of
+Mexico stretching to the south.
+
+Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
+likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led
+him he had not the slightest idea, except that here was the
+river, and probably the inclosed valley was the retreat of some
+famous outlaw.
+
+No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had
+spent the last two days climbing the roughest and most
+difficult trail he had ever seen. From the looks of the descent
+he imagined the worst part of his travel was yet to come. Not
+improbably it was two thousand feet down to the river. The
+wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood, and
+nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight
+and a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level
+and to find a place to rest, Duane began the descent.
+
+The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended
+slowly. He kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind
+him. And in a short time he reached the valley, entering at the
+apex of the wedge. A stream of clear water tumbled out of the
+rocks here, and most of it ran into irrigation-ditches. His
+horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that fullness and
+gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet water.
+Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would
+be his reception.
+
+The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high
+elevation. Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed
+evidently by good hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise.
+Horses and cattle were everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods
+surrounded a small adobe house. Duane saw Mexicans working in
+the fields and horsemen going to and fro. Presently he passed a
+house bigger than the others with a porch attached. A woman,
+young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. No one
+else appeared to notice him.
+
+Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind
+of square lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of
+rudest structure. Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of
+steers, Mexican women with children, and white men, all of whom
+appeared to be doing nothing. His advent created no interest
+until he rode up to the white men, who were lolling in the
+shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and saloon,
+and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
+
+As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose
+with a loud exclamation:
+
+"Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!"
+
+The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to
+advance toward Duane.
+
+"How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?" queried the
+first man.
+
+"Plain as your nose," replied the fellow called Euchre.
+
+"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer
+Bosomer's nose is shore plain on the landscape."
+
+These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them
+he thought they could have been recognized anywhere as
+desperadoes. The man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward,
+had a forbidding face which showed yellow eyes, an enormous
+nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch of sandy
+hair.
+
+"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet
+bay hoss?" he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's
+horse, then the weapons hung on the saddle, and finally turned
+their glinting, hard light upward to Duane.
+
+Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and
+he remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with
+curious interest in regard to something that leaped inside him
+and made his breast feel tight. He recognized it as that
+strange emotion which had shot through him often of late, and
+which had decided him to go out to the meeting with Bain. Only
+now it was different, more powerful.
+
+"Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more
+civilly.
+
+"My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly.
+
+"An'  how'd you come by the hoss?"
+
+Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short
+silence, during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to
+twist the ends of his beard.
+
+"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an'
+guns," presently said Euchre.
+
+"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I
+happen to be Luke Stevens's side-pardner."
+
+Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his
+slouchy sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
+
+"An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
+
+"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just
+fetched them in. But the pack is mine," replied Duane. "And
+say, I befriended your pard. If you can't use a civil tongue
+you'd better cinch it."
+
+"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How
+do we know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an'
+jest happened to stumble down here?"
+
+"You'll have to take my word, that's all," replied Duane,
+sharply.
+
+"I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!"
+
+With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he
+stamped into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
+
+Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
+
+"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed," said the man Euchre.
+He did not appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
+
+At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door,
+and the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique.
+His manner proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a
+flaming red beard, and clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in
+close scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in truth, Duane
+did not recognize one of these outlaws as native to his state.
+
+"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you
+and what're you doing here?"
+
+Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw
+chief appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane
+told his story again, this time a little more in detail.
+
+"I believe you," replied Bland, at once. "Think I know when a
+fellow is lying."
+
+"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet
+about Luke wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke
+hed a mortal dread of dyin' with his boots on."
+
+At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
+
+"You said Duane--Buck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of
+that Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?"
+
+"Yes," replied Duane.
+
+"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim
+humor. "So you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What
+kind of trouble?"
+
+"Had a fight."
+
+"Fight? Do you mean gun-play?" questioned Bland. He seemed
+eager, curious, speculative.
+
+"Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say," answered Duane,
+
+"Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,"
+went on Bland, ironically. "Well, I'm sorry you bucked against
+trouble in my camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make
+yourself scarce."
+
+"Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?" asked Duane,
+quietly.
+
+"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't
+a free place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here.
+Do you want to join my band?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer.
+He's an ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who
+wants to kill somebody all the time. Most men like that are
+fourflushes. But Bosomer is all one color, and that's red.
+Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the trail."
+
+"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as
+he spoke he felt that he did not know himself.
+
+Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain
+him, and as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered
+a snarl like an angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had
+spent inside the saloon had been devoted to drinking and
+talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other outlaws
+quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer
+saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change
+passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did
+that the men who had followed him out piled over one another in
+their hurry to get to one side.
+
+Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of
+it, and in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was
+keen, and he had expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened
+antagonist. Duane knew he was neither. He felt like iron, and
+yet thrill after thrill ran through him. It was almost as if
+this situation had been one long familiar to him. Somehow he
+understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to
+kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a
+stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of
+his ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of
+killing. Duane divined that no sudden animosity was driving
+Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment murder would
+have been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his pretext
+for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were absorbed in
+conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
+
+But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long
+moment, his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
+
+That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the
+thought that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill
+another man. Still he would have to fight, and he decided to
+cripple Bosomer. When Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was
+spouting fire. Two shots only--both from Duane's gun--and the
+outlaw fell with his right arm shattered. Bosomer cursed
+harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the gun
+with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane
+would not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and
+prevented any further madness on his part.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most
+inclined to lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane
+and the horses away to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses
+in an open shed and removed their saddles. Then, gathering up
+Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the house.
+
+It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One
+room contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the
+other a stone fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box
+cupboard, and various blackened utensils.
+
+"Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay," said
+Euchre. "I ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's
+here, an' you're welcome."
+
+"Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played
+out," replied Duane.
+
+Euchre gave him a keen glance.
+
+"Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass."
+Euchre left Duane alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and
+mechanically he wiped the sweat from his face. He was laboring
+under some kind of a spell or shock which did not pass off
+quickly. When it had worn away he took off his coat and belt
+and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
+thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it
+make on the morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray
+outlook of the future. He felt glad when Euchre came bustling
+in, and for the first time he took notice of the outlaw.
+
+Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his
+face clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut
+from long gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his
+thin frame denoted strength and endurance still unimpaired.
+
+"Hey a drink or a smoke?" he asked.
+
+Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky,
+and he had used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But
+now, strangely, he felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He
+did not understand clearly what he felt. There was that vague
+idea of something wild in his blood, something that made him
+fear himself.
+
+Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a
+little sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?"
+
+"I'm twenty-three," replied Duane.
+
+Euchre showed surprise. "You're only a boy! I thought you
+thirty anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin'
+thet with my own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet.
+Throwin' a gun in self-defense--thet ain't no crime!"
+
+Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself.
+
+"Huh," replied the old man. "I've been on this river fer years,
+an' I've seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of
+them, though, was no good. An' thet kind don't last long. This
+river country has been an' is the refuge fer criminals from all
+over the states. I've bunked with bank cashiers, forgers, plain
+thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all of which had no bizness
+on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions. He's no
+Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all
+over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
+fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves
+they'd shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a
+peaceable, decent feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't
+join his gang. Thet'll not make him take a likin' to you. Have
+you any money?"
+
+"Not much," replied Duane.
+
+"Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?"
+
+"No."
+
+"When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't
+any work a decent feller could do. You can't herd with
+greasers. Why, Bland's men would shoot at you in the fields.
+What'll you do, son?"
+
+"God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money
+last as long as possible--then starve."
+
+"Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got
+anythin'."
+
+Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and
+eager which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws
+had lacked this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues.
+To him, as to the outside world, they had been merely vicious
+men without one redeeming feature.
+
+"I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of
+course I won't live with any one unless I can pay my share."
+
+"Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre,
+good-humoredly. "You make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin'
+grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man doesn't live who can beat
+my bread."
+
+"How do you ever pack supplies in here?" asked Duane, thinking
+of the almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
+
+"Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river.
+Thet river trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to
+any supply point. Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes,
+too, he gets supplies in from down-river. You see, Bland sells
+thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this stock has to go down
+by boat to meet the ships."
+
+"Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?" asked
+Duane.
+
+"Thet's not my secret," replied Euchre, shortly. "Fact is, I
+don't know. I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me
+through the Rim Rock with them."
+
+Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that
+interest had been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland
+and his gang, and glad to have something to think about. For
+every once in a while he had a sensation that was almost like a
+pang. He wanted to forget. In the next hour he did forget, and
+enjoyed helping in the preparation and eating of the meal.
+Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several utensils, put
+on his hat and turned to go out.
+
+"Come along or stay here, as you want," he said to Duane.
+
+"I'll stay," rejoined Duane, slowly.
+
+The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling
+cheerfully.
+
+Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read;
+but all the printed matter he could find consisted of a few
+words on cartridge-boxes and an advertisement on the back of a
+tobacco-pouch. There seemed to be nothing for him to do. He had
+rested; he did not want to lie down any more. He began to walk
+to and fro, from one end of the room to the other. And as he
+walked he fell into the lately acquired habit of brooding over
+his misfortune.
+
+Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had
+drawn his gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in
+his hand, he looked at it in consternation. How had he come to
+draw it? With difficulty he traced his thoughts backward, but
+could not find any that was accountable for his act. He
+discovered, however, that he had a remarkable tendency to drop
+his hand to his gun. That might have come from the habit long
+practice in drawing had given him. Likewise, it might have come
+from a subtle sense, scarcely thought of at all, of the late,
+close, and inevitable relation between that weapon and himself.
+He was amazed to find that, bitter as he had grown at fate, the
+desire to live burned strong in him. If he had been as
+unfortunately situated, but with the difference that no man
+wanted to put him in jail or take his life, he felt that this
+burning passion to be free, to save himself, might not have
+been so powerful. Life certainly held no bright prospects for
+him. Already he had begun to despair of ever getting back to
+his home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let
+himself be handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken,
+bragging cowboy, or be shot in cold blood by some border brute
+who merely wanted to add another notch to his gun--these things
+were impossible for Duane because there was in him the temper
+to fight. In that hour he yielded only to fate and the spirit
+inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living part of him.
+Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long
+discontinued--the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly
+business with him. He did not need to fire the gun, for
+accuracy was a gift and had become assured. Swiftness on the
+draw, however, could be improved, and he set himself to acquire
+the limit of speed possible to any man. He stood still in his
+tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down, put himself
+in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced
+throwing his gun--practiced it till he was hot and tired and
+his arm ached and his hand burned. That practice he determined
+to keep up every day. It was one thing, at least, that would
+help pass the weary hours.
+
+Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods.
+From this point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under
+different circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed
+such a beautiful spot. Euchre's shack sat against the first
+rise of the slope of the wall, and Duane, by climbing a few
+rods, got a view of the whole valley. Assuredly it was an
+outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans, who, of
+course, were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous
+flat-boats, crude of structure, moored along the banks of the
+river. The Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. A cable,
+sagging deep in the middle, was stretched over the wide yellow
+stream, and an old scow, evidently used as a ferry, lay
+anchored on the far shore.
+
+The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on
+a big scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken
+trails of the Rim Rock. And the open end of the valley could be
+defended against almost any number of men coming down the
+river. Access to Mexico was easy and quick. What puzzled Duane
+was how Bland got cattle down to the river, and he wondered if
+the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by use of
+boats.
+
+Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for
+when he returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around
+the camp-fire.
+
+"Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale about the gills as you
+was," he said, by way of greeting. "Pitch in an' we'll soon
+have grub ready. There's shore one consolin' fact round this
+here camp."
+
+"What's that?" asked Duane.
+
+"Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short
+bit."
+
+"But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life,
+too, doesn't it?"
+
+"I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me
+none. An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas."
+
+"Who is Bland?" asked Duane, quickly changing the subject.
+"What do you know about him?"
+
+"We don't know who he is or where he hails from," replied
+Euchre. "Thet's always been somethin' to interest the gang. He
+must have been a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's
+middle-aged. I remember how years ago he was soft-spoken an'
+not rough in talk or act like he is now. Bland ain't likely his
+right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor you, an' he's shore a
+knowin' feller with tools. He's the kind thet rules men.
+Outlaws are always ridin' in here to join his gang, an' if it
+hadn't been fer the gamblin' an' gun-play he'd have a thousand
+men around him."
+
+"How many in his gang now?"
+
+"I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies.
+Then Bland has several small camps up an' down the river. Also
+he has men back on the cattle-ranges."
+
+"How does he control such a big force?" asked Duane.
+"Especially when his band's composed of bad men. Luke Stevens
+said he had no use for Bland. And I heard once somewhere that
+Bland was a devil."
+
+"Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in
+temper, never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave
+Rugg an' Chess Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a
+lot of fellers, an' some fer nothin'. The reason thet outlaws
+gather round him an' stick is because he's a safe refuge, an'
+then he's well heeled. Bland is rich. They say he has a hundred
+thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of gold. But he's free
+with money. He gambles when he's not off with a shipment of
+cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is there's always
+plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty,
+bloody money!"
+
+"It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the
+border!" exclaimed Duane.
+
+"Wal," replied Euchre, dryly, "he's been quicker on the draw
+than the other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all."
+
+Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment.
+Such remarks always made his mind revolve round facts
+pertaining to himself.
+
+"Speakin' of this here swift wrist game," went on Euchre,
+"there's been considerable talk in camp about your throwin' of
+a gun. You know, Buck, thet among us fellers--us hunted
+men--there ain't anythin' calculated to rouse respect like a
+slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this afternoon--an' he
+said it serious-like an' speculative--thet he'd never seen your
+equal. He was watchin' of you close, he said, an' just couldn't
+follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you
+meet Bosomer had somethin' to say. Bo was about as handy with a
+gun as any man in this camp, barrin' Chess Alloway an' mebbe
+Bland himself. Chess is the captain with a Colt--or he was. An'
+he shore didn't like the references made about your speed.
+Bland was honest in acknowledgin' it, but he didn't like it,
+neither. Some of the fellers allowed your draw might have been
+just accident. But most of them figgered different. An' they
+all shut up when Bland told who an' what your Dad was. 'Pears
+to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone,
+years ago. Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, an' I
+says: 'What ails you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an
+inch when Bo came roarin' out, blood in his eye? Wasn't he cool
+an' quiet, steady of lips, an' weren't his eyes readin' Bo's
+mind? An' thet lightnin' draw--can't you-all see thet's a
+family gift?' "
+
+Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was
+rolling a slap with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had
+proclaimed himself a champion and partner of Duane's, with all
+the pride an old man could feel in a young one whom he admired.
+
+"Wal," he resumed, presently, "thet's your introduction to the
+border, Buck. An' your card was a high trump. You'll be let
+severely alone by real gun-fighters an' men like Bland,
+Alloway, Rugg, an' the bosses of the other gangs. After all,
+these real men are men, you know, an' onless you cross them
+they're no more likely to interfere with you than you are with
+them. But there's a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river
+country. They'll all want your game. An' every town you ride
+into will scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a
+long-haired four-flush gunman or a sheriff--an' these men will
+be playin' to the crowd an' yellin' for your blood. Thet's the
+Texas of it. You'll have to hide fer ever in the brakes or
+you'll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this ain't
+cheerful news to a decent chap like you. I'm only tellin' you
+because I've taken a likin' to you, an' I seen right off thet
+you ain't border-wise. Let's eat now, an' afterward we'll go
+out so the gang can see you're not hidin'."
+
+When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a
+blue range of mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley
+appeared to open to the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful
+scene. Somewhere in a house near at hand a woman was singing.
+And in the road Duane saw a little Mexican boy driving home
+some cows, one of which wore a bell. The sweet, happy voice of
+a woman and a whistling barefoot boy--these seemed utterly out
+of place here.
+
+Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses
+Duane remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the
+dust where Bosomer had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset
+him that he should be affected strangely by the sight of it.
+
+"Let's have a look in here," said Euchre.
+
+Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself
+in a very large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with
+brush. It was full of rude benches, tables, seats. At one
+corner a number of kegs and barrels lay side by side in a rack.
+A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on posts that sustained
+the log rafters of the roof.
+
+"The only feller who's goin' to put a close eye on you is
+Benson," said Euchre. "He runs the place an' sells drinks. The
+gang calls him Jackrabbit Benson, because he's always got his
+eye peeled an' his ear cocked. Don't notice him if he looks you
+over, Buck. Benson is scared to death of every new-comer who
+rustles into Bland's camp. An' the reason, I take it, is
+because he's done somebody dirt. He's hidin'. Not from a
+sheriff or ranger! Men who hide from them don't act like
+Jackrabbit Benson. He's hidin' from some guy who's huntin' him
+to kill him. Wal, I'm always expectin' to see some feller ride
+in here an' throw a gun on Benson. Can't say I'd be grieved."
+
+Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a
+spare, gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red
+and bronze and dark skins of the men around him. It was a
+cadaverous face. The black mustache hung down; a heavy lock of
+black hair dropped down over the brow; deep-set, hollow,
+staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had a restless,
+alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that
+served as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duane's
+glance he turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.
+
+"What have you got against him?" inquired Duane, as he sat down
+beside Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from
+real interest. What did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-
+faced criminal?
+
+"Wal, mebbe I'm cross-grained," replied Euchre, apologetically.
+"Shore an outlaw an' rustler such as me can't be touchy. But I
+never stole nothin' but cattle from some rancher who never
+missed 'em anyway. Thet sneak Benson--he was the means of
+puttin' a little girl in Bland's way."
+
+"Girl?" queried Duane, now with real attention.
+
+"Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl
+when we get out of here. Some of the gang are goin' to be
+sociable, an' I can't talk about the chief."
+
+During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by
+Duane and Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a
+moment. They were all gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-
+natured. Duane replied civilly and agreeably when he was
+personally addressed; but he refused all invitations to drink
+and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a way, as one of
+their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his affair
+with Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One
+outlaw borrowed money from him: another asked for tobacco.
+
+By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and
+Mexicans, most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers,
+especially the Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in
+the place came from the drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen
+gambling-resorts--some of the famous ones in San Antonio and El
+Paso, a few in border towns where license went unchecked. But
+this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed him as one where
+guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his perhaps
+rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
+gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the
+tables were piles of silver--Mexican pesos--as large and high
+as the crown of his hat. There were also piles of gold and
+silver in United States coin. Duane needed no experienced eyes
+to see that betting was heavy and that heavy sums exchanged
+hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an intenser
+passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly, as
+befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were
+manifestly winning, for there were brother outlaws there who
+wagered coin with grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous
+talk and laughter among the drinking men drowned, except at
+intervals, the low, brief talk of the gamblers. The clink of
+coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low, steady musical
+rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there was a
+silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on  a table with the butt
+of his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars
+while he studied his opponent's face. The noises, however, in
+Benson's den did not contribute to any extent to the sinister
+aspect of the place. That seemed to come from the grim and
+reckless faces, from the bent, intent heads, from the dark
+lights and shades. There were bright lights, but these served
+only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked
+unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a
+something at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and
+hell.
+
+"Bland's not here to-night," Euchre was saying. "He left today
+on one of his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his
+other man, Rugg, he's here. See him standin' with them three
+fellers, all close to Benson. Rugg's the little bow-legged man
+with the half of his face shot off. He's one-eyed. But he can
+shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn me! there's
+Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as
+Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an'
+unassumin' he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in
+a while to see Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange.
+Do you see thet greaser there--the one with gold an' lace on
+his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a Mexican bandit. He's a great
+gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin. Next to him is Bill
+Marr--the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in
+the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot
+more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny,
+because Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run
+than shoot. But he's the best rustler Bland's got--a grand
+rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see the tow-headed
+youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland's gang. Fuller
+has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year out on the
+border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of
+Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with
+Bland. Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut."
+
+Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as
+he happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have
+been a marked man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his
+place with more or less distinction, according to the record of
+his past wild prowess and his present possibilities. Duane,
+realizing that he was tolerated there, received in careless
+friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts, experienced
+a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror. Was his
+being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such
+ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proof--he
+was a criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.
+
+For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but
+Euchre's heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm,
+brought him back to outside things.
+
+The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had
+ceased. There was a silence that manifestly had followed some
+unusual word or action sufficient to still the room. It was
+broken by a harsh curse and the scrape of a bench on the floor.
+Some man had risen.
+
+"You stacked the cards, you--!"
+
+"Say that twice," another voice replied, so different in its
+cool, ominous tone from the other.
+
+"I'll say it twice," returned the first gamester, in hot haste.
+"I'll say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You
+light-fingered gent! You stacked the cards!"
+
+Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For
+all that Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then
+suddenly the room was full of disorder as men rose and ran and
+dived everywhere.
+
+"Run or duck!" yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that
+he dashed for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a
+jostling mob. Heavy gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the
+crowd Duane was with pell-mell out into the darkness. There
+they all halted, and several peeped in at the door.
+
+"Who was the Kid callin'?" asked one outlaw.
+
+"Bud Marsh," replied another.
+
+"I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin'
+to him," went on yet another.
+
+"How many shots?"
+
+"Three or four, I counted."
+
+"Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's .38.
+Listen! There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed,
+anyway."
+
+At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into
+the room. Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in
+Benson's den for one night and he started slowly down the walk.
+Presently Euchre caught up with him.
+
+"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The
+Kid--young Fuller thet I was tellin' you about--he was drinkin'
+an' losin'. Lost his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way.
+Bud's as straight at cards as any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud,
+who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm was knocked up. He
+only hit a greaser."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had
+fastened on him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a
+trail leading round the river bluff. He thought and thought.
+After a while he made out that the trouble with him probably
+was that he could not resign himself to his fate. He abhorred
+the possibility chance seemed to hold in store for him. He
+could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared
+beyond his power to tell.
+
+Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his
+peril--the danger threatening his character as a man, just as
+much as that which threatened his life. He cared vastly more,
+he discovered, for what he considered honor and integrity than
+he did for life. He saw that it was bad for him to be alone.
+But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years inevitably
+must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright light of
+day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at
+twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day these visitations
+became to him what they really were--phantoms of his
+conscience. He could dismiss the thought of them then. He could
+scarcely remember or believe that this strange feat of fancy or
+imagination had troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless
+and sick.
+
+That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out
+of the unstable condition of his mind. But at length he
+determined to create interest in all that he came across and so
+forget himself as much as possible. He had an opportunity now
+to see just what the outlaw's life really was. He meant to
+force himself to be curious, sympathetic, clear-sighted. And he
+would stay there in the valley until its possibilities had been
+exhausted or until circumstances sent him out upon his
+uncertain way.
+
+When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
+
+"Say, Buck, I've news for you," he said; and his tone conveyed
+either pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane.
+"Feller named Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some
+about you. Told about the ace of spades they put over the
+bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you plugged. Then there
+was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles south of
+Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?"
+
+"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane.
+
+"Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be
+saddled with gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever
+get famous, as seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime.
+The border'll make an outlaw an' murderer out of you. Wal,
+thet's enough of thet. I've more news. You're goin' to be
+popular."
+
+"Popular? What do you mean?"
+
+"I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day
+when you rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some
+of the other women in camp. They always want to meet the new
+fellers who've just come in. It's lonesome for women here, an'
+they like to hear news from the towns."
+
+"Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not
+meet any women," rejoined Duane.
+
+"I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are
+hell. I was hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet
+poor lonesome kid."
+
+"What kid?" inquired Duane, in surprise.
+
+"Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin'
+here--the one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?"
+
+"You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now," replied Duane,
+abruptly.
+
+"Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it
+ain't. Some years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy
+mescal an' other drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a
+while. An' as I get it he run across a gang of greasers with
+some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I reckon there was
+some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched the
+girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she
+was only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been
+harmed. I reckon she was then about fourteen years old.
+Benson's idee, he said, was to use her in his den sellin'
+drinks an' the like. But I never went much on Jackrabbit's
+word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her--bought her
+from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from notions
+of chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was
+better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but
+she's kept Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid
+shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an all-fired pretty girl,
+an' Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see hell brewin'
+over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why I wish you'd come over
+with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's invited you.
+Shore, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on--Wal, thet 'd
+complicate matters. But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you
+could help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin'
+to put her in your way. You're a man an' can think fer
+yourself. I had a baby girl once, an' if she'd lived she be as
+big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I wouldn't want her here in
+Bland's camp."
+
+"I'll go, Euchre. Take me over," replied Duane. He felt
+Euchre's eyes upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to
+say.
+
+In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they
+reached Bland's cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he
+had seen the pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not
+recall what she looked like. The cabin was the same as the
+other adobe structures in the valley, but it was larger and
+pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cottonwoods. In
+the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman's
+hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of bright
+Mexican blankets and rugs.
+
+Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
+
+"Is that you, Euchre?" asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly.
+The tone of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck
+Duane. He wondered what she would be like.
+
+"Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?" answered Euchre.
+
+"She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick," replied the
+girl.
+
+Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of
+the outlaw's eyes was added significance to Duane.
+
+"Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was
+tellin' you about," Euchre said.
+
+"Oh, I can't! I look so--so--"
+
+"Never mind how you look," interrupted the outlaw, in a
+whisper. "It ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's young
+Duane. Jennie, he's no rustler, no thief. He's different. Come
+out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll--"
+
+Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with
+his glance shifting from side to side.
+
+But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She
+appeared in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red
+in her white cheek. She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
+
+"Don't be bashful, Jennie," said Euchre. "You an' Duane have a
+chance to talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I
+won't be hurryin'."
+
+With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
+
+"I'm glad to meet you, Miss--Miss Jennie," said Duane. "Euchre
+didn't mention your last name. He asked me to come over to--"
+
+Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted
+her lashes to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through
+Duane. Her gray eyes were beautiful, but it had not been beauty
+that cut short his speech. He seemed to see a tragic struggle
+between hope and doubt that shone in her piercing gaze. She
+kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence. It was no
+ordinary moment.
+
+"What did you come here for?" she asked, at last.
+
+"To see you," replied Duane, glad to speak.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well--Euchre thought--he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you
+up a bit," replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes
+embarrassed him.
+
+"Euchre's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's
+been good to me. But he's afraid of Bland. He said you were
+different. Who are you?"
+
+Duane told her.
+
+"You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man
+come here to hide?"
+
+"No, I'm not," replied Duane, trying to smile.
+
+"Then why are you here?"
+
+"I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a
+shooting-scrape at home and had to run off. When it blows over
+I hope to go back."
+
+"But you can't be honest here?"
+
+"Yes, I can."
+
+"Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different." She
+kept the strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the
+hard lines of her youthful face were softening.
+
+Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized
+the unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.
+
+"O God! Maybe you're the man to save me--to take me away before
+it's too later"
+
+Duane's spirit leaped.
+
+"Maybe I am," he replied, instantly.
+
+She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her
+cheek flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her
+ragged dress. Then the glow began to fade; doubt once more
+assailed her.
+
+"It can't be. You're only--after me, too, like Bland--like all
+of them."
+
+Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders.
+He shook her.
+
+"Look at me--straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't
+you a father--a brother?"
+
+"They're dead--killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I
+was carried away," Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an
+appealing hand to him. "Forgive me. I believe--I know you're
+good. It was only--I live so much in fear--I'm half crazy--I've
+almost forgotten what good men are like, Mister Duane, you'll
+help me?"
+
+"Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any
+plan?"
+
+"Oh no. But take me away."
+
+"I'll try," said Duane, simply. "That won't be easy, though. I
+must have time to think. You must help me. There are many
+things to consider. Horses, food, trails, and then the best
+time to make the attempt. Are you watched--kept prisoner?"
+
+"No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd
+only have fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that.
+Mrs. Bland beats me, half starves me, but she has kept me from
+her husband and these other dogs. She's been as good as that,
+and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it for love of me, though.
+She always hated me. And lately she's growing jealous. There
+was' a man came here by the name of Spence--so he called
+himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn't let him.
+She was in love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot
+Spence, and that ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I
+hear her fighting with Bland about me. She swears she'll kill
+me before he gets me. And Bland laughs in her face. Then I've
+heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland to give me to him.
+But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately before Bland went
+away things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished
+Mrs. Bland would kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they
+ruin me. Duane, you must be quick if you'd save me."
+
+"I realize that," replied he, thoughtfully. "I think my
+difficulty will be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me
+she'd have the whole gang of outlaws on me at once."
+
+"She would that. You've got to be careful--and quick."
+
+"What kind of woman is she?" inquired Duane.
+
+"She's--she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get
+drunk sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper.
+She's vain. She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy
+enough if you'd lower yourself to--to--"
+
+"To make love to her?" interrupted Duane.
+
+Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.
+
+"My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here," he
+said, bluntly.
+
+"But--Duane," she faltered, and again she put out the appealing
+hand. "Bland will kill you."
+
+Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising
+strange tumult in his breast. The old emotion--the rush of an
+instinct to kill! He turned cold all over.
+
+"Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't," went on Jennie,
+with her tragic eyes on Duane's.
+
+"Maybe he will," replied Duane. It was difficult for him to
+force a smile. But he achieved one.
+
+"Oh, better take me off at once," she said. "Save me without
+risking so much--without making love to Mrs. Bland!"
+
+"Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman."
+
+"That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you."
+
+"Wait--a moment," whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors.
+"We've settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word
+to you, perhaps through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your courage.
+Remember I'll save you somehow. We'll try strategy first.
+Whatever you see or hear me do, don't think less of me--"
+
+Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of
+eyes.
+
+"I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart," she
+whispered, passionately.
+
+It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she
+was lame and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet.
+
+He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his
+attention to the approaching couple. The trees of the grove
+were thick enough for him to make reasonably sure that Mrs.
+Bland had not seen him talking to Jennie. When the outlaw's
+wife drew near Duane saw that she was a tall, strong, full-
+bodied woman, rather good-looking with a fullblown, bold
+attractiveness. Duane was more concerned with her expression
+than with her good looks; and as she appeared unsuspicious he
+felt relieved. The situation then took on a singular zest.
+
+Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to
+Mrs. Bland. She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and
+not quite so prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large,
+rather prominent, and brown in color. Her mouth, too, was
+large, with the lips full, and she had white teeth.
+
+Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was
+glad to meet her.
+
+Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was
+loud and rather musical.
+
+"Mr. Duane--Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?" she asked.
+
+"Buckley," corrected Duane. "The nickname's not of my
+choosing."
+
+"I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane," she said, as
+she took the seat Duane offered her. "Sorry to have been out.
+Kid Fuller's lying over at Deger's. You know he was shot last
+night. He's got fever to-day. When Bland's away I have to nurse
+all these shot-up boys, and it sure takes my time. Have you
+been waiting here alone? Didn't see that slattern girl of
+mine?"
+
+She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary
+play of feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was
+not pretty at all.
+
+"I've been alone," replied Duane. "Haven't seen anybody but a
+sick-looking girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me."
+
+"That was Jen," said Mrs. Bland. "She's the kid we keep here,
+and she sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about
+her?"
+
+"Now that I think of it, he did say something or other."
+
+"What did he tell you about me?" bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
+
+"Wal, Kate," replied Euchre, speaking for himself, "you needn't
+worry none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments."
+
+Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance
+rested with amusement upon him.
+
+"As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day," went on the
+woman. "It's a common enough story along this river. Euchre
+here is a tender-hearted old fool, and Jen has taken him in."
+
+"Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct," replied
+Euchre, dryly, "I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may."
+
+"Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend," said Mrs.
+Bland, amiably. "You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and
+that's why, I guess."
+
+When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to
+Duane with curiosity and interest in her gaze.
+
+"Bland told me about you."
+
+"What did he say?" queried Duane, in pretended alarm.
+
+"Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt Bland's not that kind
+of a man. He said: 'Kate, there's a young fellow in camp--rode
+in here on the dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join
+my band. Wish he would. Slickest hand with a gun I've seen for
+many a day! I'd like to see him and Chess meet out there in the
+road.' Then Bland went on to tell how you and Bosomer came
+together."
+
+"What did you say?" inquired Duane, as she paused.
+
+"Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like," she replied,
+gayly.
+
+"Well?" went on Duane.
+
+"Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the
+valley. Just a great blue-eyed sunburned boy!"
+
+"Humph!" exclaimed Duane. "I'm sorry he led you to expect
+somebody worth seeing."
+
+"But I'm not disappointed," she returned, archly. "Duane, are
+you going to stay long here in camp?"
+
+"Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?"
+
+Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The
+smiles and flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish
+about her, had lent her a certain attractiveness, almost beauty
+and youth. But with some powerful emotion she changed and
+instantly became a woman of discontent, Duane imagined, of
+deep, violent nature.
+
+"I'll tell you, Duane," she said, earnestly, "I'm sure glad if
+you mean to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm
+an outlaw's wife, and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I
+come of a good family in Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an
+outlaw till long after he married me. We were separated at
+times, and I imagined he was away on business. But the truth
+came out. Bland shot my own cousin, who told me. My family cast
+me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then.
+I've lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I
+never hear anything about my old home or folks or friends. I'm
+buried here--buried alive with a lot of thieves and murderers.
+Can you blame me for being glad to see a young fellow--a
+gentleman--like the boys I used to go with? I tell you it makes
+me feel full--I want to cry. I'm sick for somebody to talk to.
+I have no children, thank God! If I had I'd not stay here. I'm
+sick of this hole. I'm lonely--"
+
+There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this.
+Genuine emotion checked, then halted the hurried speech. She
+broke down and cried. It seemed strange to Duane that an
+outlaw's wife--and a woman who fitted her consort and the wild
+nature of their surroundings--should have weakness enough to
+weep. Duane believed and pitied her.
+
+"I'm sorry for you," he said.
+
+"Don't be SORRY for me," she said. "That only makes me see
+the--the difference between you and me. And don't pay any
+attention to what these outlaws say about me. They're ignorant.
+They couldn't understand me. You'll hear that Bland killed men
+who ran after me. But that's a lie. Bland, like all the other
+outlaws along this river, is always looking for somebody to
+kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He explains that
+gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing--that it is
+provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I
+know is that somebody is being killed every other day. He hated
+Spence before Spence ever saw me."
+
+"Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?" inquired
+Duane.
+
+"No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself
+when he comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of
+his men fell in love with me, and when half drunk got to
+fighting. You're not going to do that."
+
+"I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain," replied
+Duane.
+
+He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire.
+Before she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that
+put an end to the conversation.
+
+Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little
+more to say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while
+Duane listened. He tried to form some estimate of her
+character. Manifestly she had suffered a wrong, if not worse,
+at Bland's hands. She was bitter, morbid, overemotional. If she
+was a liar, which seemed likely enough, she was a frank one,
+and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing which
+struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In
+that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had
+discovered a trait through which he could manage her.
+
+Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to
+glance into the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he
+caught a pale gleam of Jennie's face with great, staring eyes
+on him. She had been watching him, listening to what he said.
+He saw from her expression that she had realized what had been
+so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance, he flashed a
+look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her face
+was wonderful.
+
+Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning
+"Adios--manana," and was walking along beside the old outlaw,
+he found himself thinking of the girl instead of the woman, and
+of how he had seen her face blaze with hope and gratitude.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking
+and sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and
+grateful to Euchre for having put something worth while into
+his mind. During breakfast, however, he was unusually
+thoughtful, working over the idea of how much or how little he
+would confide in the outlaw. He was aware of Euchre's scrutiny.
+
+"Wal," began the old man, at last, "how'd you make out with the
+kid?"
+
+"Kid?" inquired Duane, tentatively.
+
+"Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?"
+
+"We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up."
+
+Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying
+Duane.
+
+"Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is
+mebbe you done the job too well."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought she was half
+crazy. She was burstin' with excitement, an' the look in her
+eyes hurt me. She wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But
+she hung onto my hands, an' showed every way without speakin'
+how she wanted to thank me fer bringin' you over. Buck, it was
+plain to me thet you'd either gone the limit or else you'd been
+kinder prodigal of cheer an' hope. I'd hate to think you'd led
+Jennie to hope more'n ever would come true."
+
+Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he
+went on:
+
+"Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You
+can trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin' you over there
+an' puttin' you wise to my tryin' to help thet poor kid?"
+
+Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell the conversations
+with Jennie and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had
+reached an end Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to
+stare, and at the conclusion of the story his face lost some of
+its red color and beads of sweat stood out thickly on his brow.
+
+"Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!" he ejaculated, blinking at
+Duane. "Young man, I figgered you was some swift, an' sure to
+make your mark on this river; but I reckon I missed your real
+caliber. So thet's what it means to be a man! I guess I'd
+forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my heart was in the right
+place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you know what it'll
+take to do all you promised Jen?"
+
+"I haven't any idea," replied Duane, gravely.
+
+"You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland's eyes, ant even
+if she falls in love with you, which's shore likely, thet won't
+be easy. An' she'd kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got
+wise. You ain't mistaken her none, are you?"
+
+"Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any
+man."
+
+"Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an'
+mebbe some others, before you can ride off into the hills with
+thet girl."
+
+"Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an
+opportune time sneak off without any gun-play?"
+
+"Don't see how on earth," returned Euchre, earnestly. "When
+Bland's away he leaves all kinds of spies an' scouts watchin'
+the valley trails. They've all got rifles. You couldn't git by
+them.
+
+But when the boss is home there's a difference. Only, of
+course, him an' Chess keep their eyes peeled. They both stay to
+home pretty much, except when they're playin' monte or poker
+over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to pick out a good
+time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a couple
+of hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take
+Jennie with you, an' make a rush to git out of the valley. If
+you had luck you might pull thet stunt without throwin' a gun.
+But I reckon the best figgerin' would include dodgin' some lead
+an' leavin' at least Bland or Alloway dead behind you. I'm
+figgerin', of course, thet when they come home an' find out
+you're visitin' Kate frequent they'll jest naturally look fer
+results. Chess don't like you, fer no reason except you're
+swift on the draw--mebbe swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of
+this gun-play business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter
+of two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination
+mebbe you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil onless
+there was reason not to, an' then I don't believe he'd invite
+himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put
+you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if you came
+across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was
+with Bosomer."
+
+"All right. I'll meet what comes," said Duane, quickly. "The
+great point is to have horses ready and pick the right moment,
+then rush the trick through."
+
+"Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it
+alone."
+
+"I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you
+behind!"
+
+"Wal, I'll take my chances," replied Euchre, gruffly. "I'm
+goin' to help Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet.
+There's only four men in this camp who would shoot me--Bland,
+an' his right-hand pards, an' thet rabbit-faced Benson. If you
+happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd stand a good show with
+the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired--what's the difference
+if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if I
+am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the
+right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now
+let's figger all the little details."
+
+They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who
+planned, Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the
+return of Bland and his lieutenants it would be well for Duane
+to grow friendly with the other outlaws, to sit in a few games
+of monte, or show a willingness to spend a little money. The
+two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day--Euchre to
+carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to blind
+the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon,
+they proceeded to put them into action.
+
+No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
+good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order
+than theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later
+sinking to their lower level. Besides, with them everything was
+easy come, easy go. That was why life itself went on so
+carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. There were men among
+them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible inexplicable
+wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He
+could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a
+deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could
+no longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these men.
+Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could
+scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden
+valley, a robbers' den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild
+place stained red by deeds of wild men. And because of that
+there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest, idlest,
+most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in
+ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate
+characters it could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that
+Duane sensed was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny,
+fragrant, a place to dream in; the mountaintops were always
+blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid slowly and
+majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the horses
+grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love,
+freedom, happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with
+money and speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe homes,
+smoked, gambled, talked, laughed, whiled away the idle
+hours--and all the time life there was wrong, and the simplest
+moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most awful
+of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brooding
+shadow over the valley.
+
+Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the
+Bland woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience
+was never troubled about the beginning of that affair. She
+launched herself. It took no great perspicuity on his part to
+see that. And the thing which evidently held her in check was
+the newness, the strangeness, and for the moment the
+all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted
+himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and
+always with deference. That was his strong point, and it had
+made his part easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole
+scheme through without involving himself any deeper.
+
+He was playing at a game of love--playing with life and deaths
+Sometimes he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or
+any other man, but at the deeps of life he had come to see
+into. He was carried out of his old mood. Not once since this
+daring motive had stirred him had he been haunted by the
+phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been haunted by
+Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
+able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had
+with her was through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he
+caught glimpses of her every time he went to the Bland house.
+She contrived somehow to pass door or window, to give him a
+look when chance afforded. And Duane discovered with surprise
+that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with
+Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just inside the
+window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was all
+made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she
+was almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to
+listen, to understand that this was Duane's only chance to help
+keep her mind from constant worry, to gather the import of
+every word which had a double meaning.
+
+Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain,
+to burn up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But
+all the difference Duane could see was a paler face and darker,
+more wonderful eyes. The eyes seemed to be entreating him to
+hurry, that time was flying, that soon it might be too late.
+Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a strange fire
+wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash gone in an
+instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in
+any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he
+knew that Jennie's face, and especially the warm, fleeting
+glance she gave him, was responsible for a subtle and gradual
+change in him. This change he fancied, was only that through
+remembrance of her he got rid of his pale, sickening ghosts.
+
+One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into
+the brush matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den,
+and there was a fire which left little more than the adobe
+walls standing. The result was that while repairs were being
+made there was no gambling and drinking. Time hung very heavily
+on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days passed by without
+a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace
+than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but
+empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on
+all the trails leading out of the valley; he had a care for the
+condition of his two horses.
+
+Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre
+suggested that they go down to the river to the boat-landing.
+
+"Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin'," said Euchre. "River
+gettin' low an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a
+greaser freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear
+news from the freighters. Bland's supposed to be in Mexico."
+
+Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank,
+lolling in the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was
+oppressive. Not an outlaw offered to help the freighters, who
+were trying to dig a heavily freighted wagon out of the
+quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let alone for
+the despised Mexicans.
+
+Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them.
+Euchre lighted a black pipe, and, drawing his hat over his
+eyes, lay back in comfort after the manner of the majority of
+the outlaws. But Duane was alert, observing, thoughtful. He
+never missed anything. It was his belief that any moment an
+idle word might be of benefit to him. Moreover, these rough men
+were always interesting.
+
+"Bland's been chased across the river," said one.
+
+"New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship," replied
+another.
+
+"Big deal on, hey?"
+
+"Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen
+thousand."
+
+"Say, that order'll take a year to fill."
+
+"New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill
+orders bigger 'n thet."
+
+"Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer."
+
+Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among
+the outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to
+him.
+
+"Kid Fuller's goin' to cash," said a sandy-whiskered little
+outlaw.
+
+"So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole
+wasn't bad. But he took the fever," rejoined a comrade.
+
+"Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'."
+
+"Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She
+hasn't got time."
+
+A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence.
+Some of the outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Duane. They bore
+him no ill will. Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's
+infatuation.
+
+"Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before."
+
+"Shore. Wal, it's happened before."
+
+This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances
+at Duane. He did not choose to ignore them any longer.
+
+"Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any
+lady's name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days."
+
+He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled; but the good
+humor in no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was
+significant to a class of men who from inclination and
+necessity practiced at gun-drawing until they wore callous and
+sore places on their thumbs and inculcated in the very deeps of
+their nervous organization a habit that made even the simplest
+and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip.
+There was something remarkable about a gun-fighter's hand. It
+never seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of
+sight or in an awkward position.
+
+There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had
+many notches on their gun-handles, and they, with their
+comrades, accorded Duane silence that carried conviction of the
+regard in which he was held.
+
+Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall
+a familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never
+before hinted of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he
+could not have done better.
+
+"Orful hot, ain't it?" remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill
+could not keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas
+desperado, had never been anything else. He was
+stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding; a wiry little
+man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black
+from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving,
+cruel eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled
+breast.
+
+"Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go
+swimmin'?" he asked.
+
+"My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!" exclaimed a comrade.
+
+This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed
+eager to join him in a bath.
+
+"Laziest outfit I ever rustled with," went on Bill,
+discontentedly. "Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim
+maybe some of you'll gamble?"
+
+He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the
+motionless crowd.
+
+"Bill, you're too good at cards," replied a lanky outlaw.
+
+"Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet,
+er I might take it to heart," replied Black, with a sudden
+change of tone.
+
+Here it was again--that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit
+to reply would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an
+even balance.
+
+"No offense, Bill," said Jasper, placidly, without moving.
+
+Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and
+dissatisfied. Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And
+as Benson's place was out of running-order, Black was like a
+fish on dry land.
+
+"Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet
+on?" he asked, in disgust.
+
+"Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits."
+replied one.
+
+Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter.
+The game obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the
+mumbly peg contest with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He
+won. Other comrades tried their luck with him and lost.
+Finally, when Bill had exhausted their supply of two-bit pieces
+or their desire for that particular game, he offered to bet on
+anything.
+
+"See thet turtle-dove there?" he said, pointing. "I'll bet
+he'll scare at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or
+he won't fly when some one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?"
+
+That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several
+outlaws could withstand.
+
+"Take thet. Easy money," said one.
+
+"Who's goin' to chuck the stone?" asked another.
+
+"Anybody," replied Bill.
+
+"Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone," said the
+first outlaw.
+
+"We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick," chimed in the
+others.
+
+The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle-dove took
+flight, to the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill.
+
+"I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five
+minnits," he offered, imperturbably.
+
+Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their
+alacrity to cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody
+had a watch, and they all sat down, dividing attention between
+the timepiece and the tree. The minutes dragged by to the
+accompaniment of various jocular remarks anent a fool and his
+money. When four and three-quarter minutes had passed a
+turtle-dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an
+impressive silence while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty
+dollars.
+
+"But it hadn't the same dove!" exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly.
+"This 'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple."
+
+Bill eyed the speaker loftily.
+
+"Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe,
+pard? Now I'll bet any gent heah the fifty I won thet I can
+scare thet dove with one stone."
+
+No one offered to take his wager.
+
+"Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare
+him with one stone."
+
+Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in
+no wise disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous allusions to their
+banding together. The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly.
+Thereafter, in regard to that bird, Bill was unable to coax or
+scorn his comrades into any kind of wager.
+
+He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then
+he appeared at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager.
+Presently a little ragged Mexican boy came along the river
+trail, a particularly starved and poor-looking little fellow.
+Bill called to him and gave him a handful of silver coins.
+Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging the money.
+
+"I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road," declared
+Bill. "I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers."
+
+Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith
+became sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in
+spite of the fact that he had won considerable.
+
+Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and
+wondered what was in his mind. These men were more variable
+than children, as unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite.
+
+"Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the
+bucket thet peon's packin'," said the outlaw called Jim.
+
+Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop.
+
+Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled
+peon carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a
+half-witted Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for
+the Mexicans. Duane had met him often.
+
+"Jim, I'll take you up," replied Black.
+
+Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to
+whirl. He caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye.
+
+"Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot," said Jasper, as Black rested
+an elbow on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The
+distance to the peon was about fifty paces, too far for even
+the most expert shot to hit a moving object so small as a
+bucket.
+
+Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was
+positive that Black held too high. Another look at the hard
+face, now tense and dark with blood, confirmed Duane's
+suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at the bucket at all.
+Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his hand.
+Another outlaw picked it up.
+
+Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not
+seem the same man, or else he was cowed by Duane's significant
+and formidable front. Sullenly he turned away without even
+asking for his gun.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day
+presented to the state of his soul!
+
+The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican
+mountains; twilight came slowly; a faint breeze blew from the
+river cool and sweet; the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle
+of a cowbell were the only sounds; a serene and tranquil peace
+lay over the valley.
+
+Inside Duane's body there was strife. This third facing of a
+desperate man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been
+fatal, but it threatened so much. The better side of his nature
+seemed to urge him to die rather than to go on fighting or
+opposing ignorant, unfortunate, savage men. But the perversity
+of him was so great that it dwarfed reason, conscience. He
+could not resist it. He felt something dying in him. He
+suffered. Hope seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and
+was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jennie.
+
+He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to
+save her. He had forgotten that he meant to snuff out as many
+lives as might stand between her and freedom. The very
+remembrance sheered off his morbid introspection. She made a
+difference. How strange for him to realize that! He felt
+grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry; she had been
+stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met
+in the river fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing
+life, she to be the means, perhaps, of keeping him from sinking
+to the level of her captors. He became conscious of a strong
+and beating desire to see her, talk with her.
+
+These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to
+Mrs. Bland's house. He had let Euchre go on ahead because he
+wanted more time to compose himself. Darkness had about set in
+when he reached his destination. There was no light in the
+house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for him on the porch.
+
+She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact
+sent such a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep
+game he was playing. She, however, in her agitation did not
+notice his shrinking. From her embrace and the tender,
+incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered that Euchre
+had acquainted her of his action with Black.
+
+"He might have killed your" she whispered, more clearly; and if
+Duane had ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It
+softened him. After all, she was a woman, weak, fated through
+her nature, unfortunate in her experience of life, doomed to
+unhappiness and tragedy. He met her advance so far that he
+returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such as she showed
+would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain charm.
+It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved
+that, whatever her abandonment might become, he would not go
+further than the lie she made him act.
+
+"Buck, you love me?" she whispered.
+
+"Yes--yes," he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he
+spoke he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the
+window. He felt a shame he was glad she could not see. Did she
+remember that she had promised not to misunderstand any action
+of his? What did she think of him, seeing him out there in the
+dusk with this bold woman in his arms? Somehow that dim sight
+of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes, thrilled him,
+inspired him to his hard task of the present.
+
+"Listen, dear," he said to the woman, and he meant his words
+for the girl. "I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den
+if I have to kill Bland, Alloway, Rugg--anybody who stands in
+my path. You were dragged here. You are good--I know it.
+There's happiness for you somewhere--a home among good people
+who will care for you. Just wait till--"
+
+His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate
+Bland closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane
+felt her heart beat against his, and conscience smote him a
+keen blow. If she loved him so much! But memory and
+understanding of her character hardened him again, and he gave
+her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no more.
+
+"Boy, that's good of you," she whispered, "but it's too late.
+I'm done for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love
+me a little and stop your gun-throwing."
+
+The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and
+now the valley was flooded with mellow light, and shadows of
+cottonwoods wavered against the silver.
+
+Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Duane to
+raise his head and listen. Horses were coming down the road
+from the head of the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to
+come in. Presently the narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its
+far end by black moving objects. Two horses Duane discerned.
+
+"It's Bland!" whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking
+hands. "You must run! No, he'd see you. That 'd be worse. It's
+Bland! I know his horse's trot."
+
+"But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here," protested
+Duane. "Euchre's with me. It'll be all right."
+
+"Maybe so," she replied, with visible effort at self-control.
+Manifestly she had a great fear of Bland. "If I could only
+think!"
+
+Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in.
+
+"Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl!  I'll
+tell Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away
+I'll wring your neck."
+
+The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane that Mrs. Bland
+was herself again. Duane stepped close to Jennie, who stood
+near the window. Neither spoke, but her hands were outstretched
+to meet his own. They were small, trembling hands, cold as ice.
+He held them close, trying to convey what he felt--that he
+would protect her. She leaned against him, and they looked out
+of the window. Duane felt calm and sure of himself. His most
+pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a
+curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He
+saw the riders dismount down the lane and wearily come forward.
+A boy led away the horses. Euchre, the old fox, was talking
+loud and with remarkable ease, considering what he claimed was
+his natural cowardice.
+
+"--that was way back in the sixties, about the time of the
+war," he was saying. "Rustlin' cattle wasn't nuthin' then to
+what it is now. An' times is rougher these days. This
+gun-throwin' has come to be a disease. Men have an itch for the
+draw same as they used to have fer poker. The only real gambler
+outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill, an' I presume
+Bill is burnin' now."
+
+The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so
+from the porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation,
+ostensibly meant to express surprise, and hurried out to meet
+them. She greeted her husband warmly and gave welcome to the
+other man. Duane could not see well enough in the shadow to
+recognize Bland's companion, but he believed it was Alloway.
+
+"Dog-tired we are and starved," said Bland, heavily. "Who's
+here with you?"
+
+"That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with
+Jen," replied Mrs. Bland.
+
+"Duane!" he exclaimed. Then he whispered low--something Duane
+could not catch.
+
+"Why, I asked him to come," said the chief's wife. She spoke
+easily and naturally and made no change in tone. "Jen has been
+ailing. She gets thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here
+one day with Euchre, saw Jen, and went loony over her pretty
+face, same as all you men. So I let him come."
+
+Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made
+a violent action of some kind and apparently was quieted by a
+restraining hand.
+
+"Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?" queried Bland,
+incredulously.
+
+"Yes, I did," replied the wife, stubbornly. "Why not? Jen's in
+love with him. If he takes her away and marries her she can be
+a decent woman."
+
+Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and
+harsh.
+
+"Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my
+wife?"
+
+"She's lyin' or she's crazy," replied Alloway, and his voice
+carried an unpleasant ring.
+
+Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's
+lieutenant to keep his mouth shut.
+
+"Ho, ho, ho!" rolled out Bland's laugh.
+
+Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the
+weapons he was carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a
+bench.
+
+"How are you, boss?" asked Euchre.
+
+"Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in."
+
+Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the
+rail. He answered Euchre's greeting with a nod. Then he stood
+there a dark, silent figure.
+
+Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to
+ease the situation. Bland replied briefly to her, reporting a
+remarkably successful trip.
+
+Duane thought it time to show himself. He had a feeling that
+Bland and Alloway would let him go for the moment. They were
+plainly non-plussed, and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding.
+"Jennie," whispered Duane, "that was clever of Mrs. Bland.
+We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be ready!"
+
+She pressed close to him, and a barely audible "Hurry!" came
+breathing into his ear.
+
+"Good night, Jennie," he said, aloud. "Hope you feel better
+to-morrow."
+
+Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland
+returned the greeting, and, though he was not amiable, he did
+not show resentment.
+
+"Met Jasper as I rode in," said Bland, presently. "He told me
+you made Bill Black mad, and there's liable to be a fight. What
+did you go off the handle about?"
+
+Duane explained the incident. "I'm sorry I happened to be
+there," he went on. "It wasn't my business."
+
+"Scurvy trick that 'd been," muttered Bland. "You did right.
+All the same, Duane, I want you to stop quarreling with my men.
+If you were one of us--that'd be different. I can't keep my men
+from fighting. But I'm not called on to let an outsider hang
+around my camp and plug my rustlers."
+
+"I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere," said
+Duane.
+
+"Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Duane,
+and if I know this border you'll never be a respectable citizen
+again. You're a born killer. I know every bad man on this
+frontier. More than one of them have told me that something
+exploded in their brain, and when sense came back there lay
+another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a little
+shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to
+rid myself of the last one. My dead men don't sit on my chest
+at night. That's the gun-fighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has
+to kill a new man--he's driven to it to forget the last one."
+
+"But I'm no gun-fighter," protested Duane. "Circumstances made
+me--"
+
+"No doubt," interrupted Bland, with a laugh. "Circumstances
+made me a rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young;
+you've got a temper; your father was one of the most dangerous
+men Texas ever had. I don't see any other career for you.
+Instead of going it alone--a lone wolf, as the Texans say--why
+not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live longer."
+
+Euchre squirmed in his seat.
+
+"Boss, I've been givin' the boy egzactly thet same line of
+talk. Thet's why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes
+pards among us there won't be any more trouble. An' he'd be a
+grand feller fer the gang. I've seen Wild Bill Hickok throw a
+gun, an' Billy the Kid, an' Hardin, an' Chess here--all the
+fastest men on the border. An' with apologies to present
+company, I'm here to say Duane has them all skinned. His draw
+is different. You can't see how he does it."
+
+Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little
+silence. Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs
+jangling faintly, and did not lift his head. Bland seemed
+thoughtful.
+
+"That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible
+for your band," said Duane, easily.
+
+"It's good enough," replied Bland, shortly. "Will you consider
+the idea?"
+
+"I'll think it over. Good night."
+
+He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the
+end of the lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland
+called Euchre back. Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit
+road to the cabin and sat down under the cottonwoods to wait
+for Euchre. The night was intense and quiet, a low hum of
+insects giving the effect of a congestion of life. The beauty
+of the soaring moon, the ebony canons of shadow under the
+mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made
+Duane shudder in the realization of how far aloof he now was
+from enjoyment of these things. Never again so long as he lived
+could he be natural. His mind was clouded. His eye and ear
+henceforth must register impressions of nature, but the joy of
+them had fled.
+
+Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker
+work ahead of him there was yet a strange sweetness left to
+him, and it lay in thought of Jennie. The pressure of her cold
+little hands lingered in his. He did not think of her as a
+woman, and he did not analyze his feelings. He just had vague,
+dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were interspersed in the
+constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.
+
+A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing
+the moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw
+reached him Duane saw that he was laboring under great
+excitement. It scarcely affected Duane. He seemed to be
+acquiring patience, calmness, strength.
+
+"Bland kept you pretty long," he said.
+
+"Wait till I git my breath," replied Euchre. He sat silent a
+little while, fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night
+was cool, and then he went into the cabin to return presently
+with a lighted pipe.
+
+"Fine night," he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane
+with Euchre's quaint humor. "Fine night for love-affairs, by
+gum!"
+
+"I'd noticed that," rejoined Duane, dryly.
+
+"Wal, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand an' watch Bland
+choke his wife till her tongue stuck out an' she got black in
+the face."
+
+"No!" ejaculated Duane.
+
+"Hope to die if I didn't. Buck, listen to this here yarn. When
+I got back to the porch I seen Bland was wakin' up. He'd been
+too fagged out to figger much. Alloway an' Kate had gone in the
+house, where they lit up the lamps. I heard Kate's high voice,
+but Alloway never chirped. He's not the talkin' kind, an' he's
+damn dangerous when he's thet way. Bland asked me some
+questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them, an' I
+swore the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Bland always
+trusted me, an' liked me, too, I reckon. I hated to lie black
+thet way. But he's a hard man with bad intentions toward
+Jennie, an' I'd double-cross him any day.
+
+"Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone to her little
+room, an' Bland called her to come out. She said she was
+undressin'. An' he ordered her to put her clothes back on.
+Then, Buck, his next move was some surprisin'. He deliberately
+thronged a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he pointed his big blue Colt
+right at her, an' he says:
+
+"'I've a mind to blow out your brains.'
+
+"'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be.
+
+"'You lied to me,' he roars.
+
+"Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the gun down an' made
+a grab fer her. She fought him, but wasn't a match fer him, an'
+he got her by the throat. He choked her till I thought she was
+strangled. Alloway made him stop. She flopped down on the bed
+an' gasped fer a while. When she come to them hardshelled
+cusses went after her, trying to make her give herself away. I
+think Bland was jealous. He suspected she'd got thick with you
+an' was foolin' him. I reckon thet's a sore feelin' fer a man
+to have--to guess pretty nice, but not to BE sure. Bland gave
+it up after a while. An' then he cussed an' raved at her. One
+sayin' of his is worth pinnin' in your sombrero: 'It ain't
+nuthin' to kill a man. I don't need much fer thet. But I want
+to KNOW, you hussy!'
+
+"Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to
+dress. He was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got
+thet injury fightin' off one of them devils in the dark. An'
+when I seen Bland twist her--hurt her--I had a queer hot
+feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the only time in my life I
+wished I was a gun-fighter.
+
+"Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes
+were big and stary, but she had nerve. Fust time I ever seen
+her show any.
+
+"'Jennie,' he said, 'my wife said Duane came here to see you. I
+believe she's lyin'. I think she's been carryin' on with him,
+an' I want to KNOW. If she's been an' you tell me the truth
+I'll let you go. I'll send you out to Huntsville, where you can
+communicate with your friends. I'll give you money.'
+
+"Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate Bland. If evet
+I seen death in a man's eye I seen it in Bland's. He loves her.
+Thet's the strange part of it.
+
+"'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked,
+fierce-like.
+
+"'No,' said Jennie.
+
+"'He's been after you?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.'
+
+"'I--I'm not--I don't know--he hasn't told me.'
+
+"'But you're in love with him?'
+
+"'Yes,' she said; an', Buck, if you only could have seen her!
+She thronged up her head, an' her eyes were full of fire. Bland
+seemed dazed at sight of her. An' Alloway, why, thet little
+skunk of an outlaw cried right out. He was hit plumb center.
+He's in love with Jen. An' the look of her then was enough to
+make any feller quit. He jest slunk out of the room. I told
+you, mebbe, thet he'd been tryin' to git Bland to marry Jen to
+him. So even a tough like Alloway can love a woman!
+
+"Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard.
+
+"'Jennie,' he said, once more turnin' to her. 'You swear in
+fear of your life thet you're tellin' truth. Kate's not in love
+with Duane? She's let him come to see you? There's been nuthin'
+between them?'
+
+"'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man
+licked.
+
+"'Go to bed, you white-faced--' Bland choked on some word or
+other--a bad one, I reckon--an' he positively shook in his
+chair.
+
+"Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your
+Uncle Euchre ducked his nut out of the door an' come home."
+
+Duane did not have a word to say at the end of Euchre's long
+harangue. He experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had
+expected a good deal worse. He thrilled at the thought of
+Jennie perjuring herself to save that abandoned woman. What
+mysteries these feminine creatures were!
+
+"Wal, there's where our little deal stands now," resumed
+Euchre, meditatively. "You know, Buck, as well as me thet if
+you'd been some feller who hadn't shown he was a wonder with a
+gun you'd now be full of lead. If you'd happen to kill Bland
+an' Alloway, I reckon you'd be as safe on this here border as
+you would in Santone. Such is gun fame in this land of the
+draw."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of
+trouble ahead, thoughtful of the fact that the time for the
+long-planned action was at hand. It was remarkable that a man
+as loquacious as Euchre could hold his tongue so long; and this
+was significant of the deadly nature of the intended deed.
+During breakfast he said a few words customary in the service
+of food. At the conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an
+end of deliberation.
+
+"Buck, the sooner the better now," he declared, with a glint in
+his eye. "The more time we use up now the less surprised
+Bland'll be."
+
+"I'm ready when you are," replied Duane, quietly, and he rose
+from the table.
+
+"Wal, saddle up, then," went on Euchre, gruffly. "Tie on them
+two packs I made, one fer each saddle. You can't tell--mebbe
+either hoss will be carryin' double. It's good they're both
+big, strong hosses. Guess thet wasn't a wise move of your Uncle
+Euchre's--bringin' in your hosses an' havin' them ready?"
+
+"Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid
+you are. Let me do the rest now," said Duane.
+
+The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically.
+
+"Thet 'd be turrible now, wouldn't it? If you want to know,
+why, I'm in bad already. I didn't tell you thet Alloway called
+me last night. He's gettin' wise pretty quick."
+
+"Euchre, you're going with me?" queried Duane, suddenly
+divining the truth. '
+
+"Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I
+wisht I was a gun-fighter. I hate to leave here without takin'
+a peg at Jackrabbit Benson. Now, Buck, you do some hard
+figgerin' while I go nosin' round. It's pretty early, which 's
+all the better."
+
+Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that
+he wore a gun-and-cartridge belt. It was the first time Duane
+had ever seen the outlaw armed.
+
+Duane packed his few belongings into his saddlebags, and then
+carried the saddles out to the corral. An abundance of alfalfa
+in the corral showed that the horses had fared well. They had
+gotten almost fat during his stay in the valley. He watered
+them, put on the saddles loosely cinched, and then the bridles.
+His next move was to fill the two canvas water-bottles. That
+done, he returned to the cabin to wait.
+
+At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind.
+There was no more thinking and planning to do. The hour had
+arrived, and he was ready. He understood perfectly the
+desperate chances he must take. His thoughts became confined to
+Euchre and the surprising loyalty and goodness in the hardened
+old outlaw. Time passed slowly. Duane kept glancing at his
+watch. He hoped to start the thing and get away before the
+outlaws were out of their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of
+Euchre's boots on the hard path. The sound was quicker than
+usual.
+
+When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not
+so astounded as he was concerned to see the outlaw white and
+shaking. Sweat dripped from him. He had a wild look.
+
+"Luck ours--so-fur, Buck!" he panted.
+
+"You don't look it," replied Duane.
+
+"I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!"
+
+"Who?" asked Duane, startled.
+
+"Jackrabbit Benson. An' sick as I am, I'm gloryin' in it. I
+went nosin' round up the road. Saw Alloway goin' into Deger's.
+He's thick with the Degers. Reckon he's askin' questions.
+Anyway, I was sure glad to see him away from Bland's. An' he
+didn't see me. When I dropped into Benson's there wasn't nobody
+there but Jackrabbit an' some greasers he was startin' to work.
+Benson never had no use fer me. An' he up an' said he wouldn't
+give a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why.
+
+"'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said.
+
+"'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him.
+
+"He straightened up surprised an' mean-lookin'. An' I let him
+have it, plumb center! He wilted, an' the greasers run. I
+reckon I'll never sleep again. But I had to do it."
+
+Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside.
+
+"I didn't see anybody but the greasers, an' I sure looked
+sharp. Comin' back I cut across through the cottonwoods past
+Bland's cabin. I meant to keep out of sight, but somehow I had
+an idee I might find out if Bland was awake yet. Sure enough I
+run plumb into Beppo, the boy who tends Bland's hosses. Beppo
+likes me. An' when I inquired of his boss he said Bland had
+been up all night fightin' with the Senora. An', Buck, here's
+how I figger. Bland couldn't let up last night. He was sore,
+an' he went after Kate again, tryin' to wear her down. Jest as
+likely he might have went after Jennie, with wuss intentions.
+Anyway, he an' Kate must have had it hot an' heavy. We're
+pretty lucky."
+
+"It seems so. Well, I'm going," said Duane, tersely.
+
+"Lucky! I should smiler Bland's been up all night after a most
+draggin' ride home. He'll be fagged out this mornin', sleepy,
+sore, an' he won't be expectin' hell before breakfast. Now, you
+walk over to his house. Meet him how you like. Thet's your
+game. But I'm suggestin', if he comes out an' you want to
+parley, you can jest say you'd thought over his proposition an'
+was ready to join his band, or you ain't. You'll have to kill
+him, an' it 'd save time to go fer your gun on sight. Might be
+wise, too, fer it's likely he'll do thet same."
+
+"How about the horses?"
+
+"I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you.
+'Pears to me you ought to have the job done an' Jennie outside
+by the time I git there. Once on them hosses, we can ride out
+of camp before Alloway or anybody else gits into action. Jennie
+ain't much heavier than a rabbit. Thet big black will carry you
+both."
+
+"All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay--not to
+mix any more in this," said Duane, earnestly.
+
+"Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway
+wouldn't give me the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last
+word--look out fer thet Bland woman!"
+
+Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were
+ready, he strode away through the grove. Accounting for the
+short cut across grove and field, it was about five minutes'
+walk up to Bland's house. To Duane it seemed long in time and
+distance, and he had difficulty in restraining his pace. As he
+walked there came a gradual and subtle change in his feelings.
+Again he was going out to meet a man in conflict. He could have
+avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of his courting the
+encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of
+blood. The motive of this deadly action was not personal, and
+somehow that made a difference.
+
+No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with
+cattle. Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the
+cabins. The fragrant smell of it reminded Duane of his home and
+cutting wood for the stove. He noted a cloud of creamy mist
+rising above the river, dissolving in the sunlight.
+
+Then he entered Bland's lane.
+
+While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry
+voices of man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He
+took a quick survey of the surroundings. There was now not even
+a Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a little. Halfway down the
+lane he turned his head to peer through the cottonwoods. This
+time he saw Euchre coming with the horses. There was no
+indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end.
+Duane had feared this.
+
+Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached
+the porch and then distinguished what was said inside the
+cabin.
+
+"If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!" That was
+panted out in Kate Bland's full voice.
+
+"Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!" replied Bland,
+hoarsely.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to
+have the laugh on her new lover."
+
+"You lie!" cried Kate Bland.
+
+"I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!" His voice grew
+hoarser with passion. "Let me go now!"
+
+"No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of
+her--you'll kill her."
+
+"The TRUTH!" hissed Bland.
+
+"Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You
+needn't--murder her--for that."
+
+Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of
+bodies in violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the
+jangle of spurs--a crash of sliding table or chair, and then
+the cry of a woman in pain.
+
+Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland
+lay half across a table where she had been flung, and she was
+trying to get to her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had
+opened the door into Jennie's room and had one foot across the
+threshold. Duane caught the girl's low, shuddering cry. Then he
+called out loud and clear.
+
+With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the
+threshold. His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's
+menacing unmistakable position.
+
+Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to
+reach for his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane
+read in his eyes the desperate calculation of chances. For a
+fleeting instant Bland shifted his glance to his wife. Then his
+whole body seemed to vibrate with the swing of his arm.
+
+Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit
+into the floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers.
+Duane stood over him, stooped to turn him on his back. Bland
+looked up with clouded gaze, then gasped his last.
+
+"Duane, you've killed him!" cried Kate Bland, huskily. "I knew
+you'd have to!"
+
+She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong
+hands clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared
+shocked, half stunned, but showed no grief.
+
+"Jennie!" called Duane, sharply.
+
+"Oh--Duane!" came a halting reply.
+
+"Yes. Come out. Hurry!"
+
+She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she
+stumbled over Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her
+behind him. He feared the woman when she realized how she had
+been duped. His action was protective, and his movement toward
+the door equally as significant.
+
+"Duane," cried Mrs. Bland.
+
+It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind
+him. At that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out
+in the lane. Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned
+back her amazement was changing to realization.
+
+"Where 're you taking Jen?" she cried, her voice like a man's.
+"Get out of my way," replied Duane. His look perhaps, without
+speech, was enough for her. In an instant she was transformed
+into a fury.
+
+"You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to
+me! You let me believe--you swore you loved me! Now I see what
+was queer about you. All for that girl! But you can't have her.
+You'll never leave here alive. Give me that girl! Let me--get
+at her! She'll never win any more men in this camp."
+
+She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to
+ward off her onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie over his upheld
+arm. Every second her fury increased.
+
+"HELP! HELP! HELP!" she shrieked, in a voice that must have
+penetrated to the remotest cabin in the valley.
+
+"Let go! Let go!" cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his
+gun in his right hand, and it began to be hard for him to ward
+the woman off. His coolness had gone with her shriek for help.
+"Let go!" he repeated, and he shoved her fiercely.
+
+Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and backed away, her
+strong hands fumbling at the lever. As she jerked it down,
+throwing a shell into the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane
+leaped upon her. He struck up the rifle as it went off, the
+powder burning his face.
+
+"Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!" he said.
+
+Jennie flashed out of the door.
+
+With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. He had
+grasped it with his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he
+swung the crazed woman off the floor. But he could not loose
+her grip. She was as strong as he.
+
+"Kate! Let go!"
+
+He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in
+her face, or reason had given way to such an extent to passion
+that she did not care. She cursed. Her husband had used the
+same curses, and from her lips they seemed strange, unsexed,
+more deadly. Like a tigress she fought him; her face no longer
+resembled a woman's. The evil of that outlaw life, the wildness
+and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in such a moment
+terribly impressed upon Duane.
+
+He heard a cry from outside--a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
+
+It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might
+yet block his plan.
+
+"Let go!" he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the
+grimness of that instant he relaxed his hold on the
+rifle-barrel.
+
+With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the
+rifle down and discharged it. Duane felt a blow--a shock--a
+burning agony tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he
+jerked so powerfully upon the rifle that he threw the woman
+against the wall. She fell and seemed stunned.
+
+Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch.
+The sharp cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding
+to the bridle of his bay horse. Euchre was astride the other,
+and he had a Colt leveled, and he was firing down the lane.
+Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre's ceased. He fell
+from the horse.
+
+A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane.
+Chess Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then
+in an instant he saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he
+swung up his arm. But that slight pause was fatal. Duane shot,
+and Alloway was falling when his gun went off. His bullet
+whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
+
+Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the
+plunging bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole
+in his shirt, his face set hard, and his hands twisted round
+gun and bridle.
+
+"Jennie, you've nerve, all right!" cried Duane, as he dragged
+down the horse she was holding. "Up with you now! There! Never
+mind--long stirrups! Hang on somehow!"
+
+He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped
+astride. The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered
+down the lane into the road. Duane saw men running from cabins.
+He heard shouts. But there were no shots fired. Jennie seemed
+able to stay on her horse, but without stirrups she was thrown
+about so much that Duane rode closer and reached out to grasp
+her arm.
+
+Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up
+over, the steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb
+Duane looked back. No pursuers were in sight.
+
+"Jennie, we're going to get away!" he cried, exultation for her
+in his voice.
+
+She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to
+look back he faced her.
+
+"Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!" she faltered, pointing
+with trembling fingers.
+
+With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he
+instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he
+had sustained a terrible wound.
+
+Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give
+him grave apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by
+the bullet bled freely both at its entrance and where it had
+come out, but with no signs of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at
+the mouth; however, he began to cough up a reddish-tinged foam.
+
+As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked
+at him.
+
+"I'm badly hurt, Jennie," he said, "but I guess I'll stick it
+out."
+
+"The woman--did she shoot you?"
+
+"Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I
+wasn't quick enough."
+
+"You didn't have to--to--" shivered the girl.
+
+"No! no!" he replied.
+
+They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made
+compresses, which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh
+horses made fast time up the rough trail. From open places
+Duane looked down. When they surmounted the steep ascent and
+stood on top of the Rim Rock, with no signs of pursuit down in
+the valley, and with the wild, broken fastnesses before them,
+Duane turned to the girl and assured her that they now had
+every chance of escape.
+
+"But--your--wound!" she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. "I
+see--the blood--dripping from your back!"
+
+"Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing," he said.
+
+Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was
+aware presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this
+route. But that did not matter; any trail leading out beyond
+the Rim Rock was safe enough. What he wanted was to get far
+away into some wild retreat where he could hide till he
+recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire inside his
+breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for him
+to take a swallow of water every little while. He began to
+suffer considerable pain, which increased as the hours went by
+and then gave way to a numbness. From that time on he had need
+of his great strength and endurance. Gradually he lost his
+steadiness and his keen sight; and he realized that if he were
+to meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should come up with him,
+he could make only a poor stand. So he turned off on a trail
+that appeared seldom traveled.
+
+Soon after this move he became conscious of a further
+thickening of his senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle
+for a while longer, but he was failing. Then he thought he
+ought to advise Jennie, so in case she was left alone she would
+have some idea of what to do.
+
+"Jennie, I'll give out soon," he said. "No-I don't mean--what
+you think. But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If I
+die--you ride back to the main trail. Hide and rest by day.
+Ride at night. That trail goes to water. I believe you could
+get across the Nueces, where some rancher will take you in."
+
+Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He
+rode on, and soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse.
+He did not know whether they traveled a mile or many times that
+far. But he was conscious when the horse stopped, and had a
+vague sense of falling and feeling Jennie's arms before all
+became dark to him.
+
+When consciousness returned he found himself lying in a little
+hut of mesquite branches. It was well built and evidently some
+years old. There were two doors or openings, one in front and
+the other at the back. Duane imagined it had been built by a
+fugitive--one who meant to keep an eye both ways and not to be
+surprised. Duane felt weak and had no desire to move. Where was
+he, anyway? A strange, intangible sense of time, distance, of
+something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of the two packs
+Euchre had made brought his thought to Jennie. What had become
+of her? There was evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and
+a little blackened coffee-pot. Probably she was outside looking
+after the horses or getting water. He thought he heard a step
+and listened, but he felt tired, and presently his eyes closed
+and he fell into a doze.
+
+Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some
+way she seemed to have changed. When he spoke she gave a start
+and turned eagerly to him.
+
+"Duane!" she cried.
+
+"Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?" he said, finding it
+a little difficult to talk.
+
+"Oh, I'm all right," she replied. "And you've come to--your
+wound's healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I guess. I did all
+I could."
+
+Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and
+tightness of skin, a hollowness of eye, a look of strain.
+
+"Fever? How long have we been here?" he asked.
+
+She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and
+counted them.
+
+"Nine. Nine days," she answered.
+
+"Nine days!" he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at
+her assured him that she meant what she said. "I've been sick
+all the time? You nursed me?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bland's men didn't come along here?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Where are the horses?"
+
+"I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good
+grass and water."
+
+"Have you slept any?"
+
+"A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake."
+
+"Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting
+here day and night nursing me, watching for the outlaws. Come,
+tell me all about it."
+
+"There's nothing much to tell."
+
+"I want to know, anyway, just what you did--how you felt."
+
+"I can't remember very well," she replied, simply. "We must
+have ridden forty miles that day we got away. You bled all the
+time. Toward evening you lay on your horse's neck. When we came
+to this place you fell out of the saddle. I dragged you in here
+and stopped your bleeding. I thought you'd die that night. But
+in the morning I had a little hope. I had forgotten the horses.
+But luckily they didn't stray far. I caught them and kept them
+down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and you began to
+breathe stronger I thought you'd get well quick. It was fever
+that put you back. You raved a lot, and that worried me,
+because I couldn't stop you. Anybody trailing us could have
+heard you a good ways. I don't know whether I was scared most
+then or when you were quiet, and it was so dark and lonely and
+still all around. Every day I put a stone in your hat."
+
+"Jennie, you saved my life," said Duane.
+
+"I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do," she replied.
+"You saved mine--more than my life."
+
+Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close
+clasp.
+
+"Jennie, we're going to get away," he said, with gladness.
+"I'll be well in a few days. You don't know how strong I am.
+We'll hide by day and travel by night. I can get you across the
+river."
+
+"And then?" she asked.
+
+"We'll find some honest rancher."
+
+"And then?" she persisted.
+
+"Why," he began, slowly, "that's as far as my thoughts ever
+got. It was pretty hard, I tell you, to assure myself of so
+much. It means your safety. You'll tell your story. You'll be
+sent to some village or town and taken care of until a relative
+or friend is notified."
+
+"And you?" she inquired, in a strange voice.
+
+Duane kept silence.
+
+"What will you do?" she went on.
+
+"Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face
+among respectable people. I'm an outlaw."
+
+"You're no criminal!" she declared, with deep passion.
+
+"Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out
+law and a criminal doesn't count for much."
+
+"You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your
+gentleness and sweetness--all that's good about you? Oh, Duane,
+don't--don't go!"
+
+"I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No,
+I'll go alone. I'll lone-wolf it, as they say on the border.
+What else can I do, Jennie?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip,out of
+Texas--go far away?"
+
+"I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could
+hide, but a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie."
+
+In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his
+horse. During daylight, by short relays, he and Jennie rode
+back to the main trail, where they hid again till he had
+rested. Then in the dark they rode out of the canons and
+gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the morning halted at the
+first water to camp.
+
+From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into
+hiding during the day. Once across the Nueces River, Duane was
+assured of safety for her and great danger for himself. They
+had crossed into a country he did not know. Somewhere east of
+the river there were scattered ranches. But he was as liable to
+find the rancher in touch with the outlaws as he was likely to
+find him honest. Duane hoped his good fortune would not desert
+him in this last service to Jennie. Next to the worry of that
+was realization of his condition. He had gotten up too soon; he
+had ridden too far and hard, and now he felt that any moment he
+might fall from his saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren
+mesquite-dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of
+green and a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed his horse
+for it and turned a face he tried to make cheerful for Jennie's
+sake. She seemed both happy and sorry.
+
+When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer.
+And thrift spoke for honesty. There were fields of alfalfa,
+fruit-trees, corrals, windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, all
+surrounding a neat little adobe house. Some children were
+playing in the yard. The way they ran at sight of Duane hinted
+of both the loneliness and the fear of their isolated lives.
+Duane saw a woman come to the door, then a man. The latter
+looked keenly, then stepped outside. He was a sandy-haired,
+freckled Texan.
+
+"Howdy, stranger," he called, as Duane halted. "Get down, you
+an' your woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let
+me--"
+
+Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the
+rancher. He thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He
+risked all on that one sharp glance. Then he almost plunged
+from the saddle.
+
+The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
+
+"Martha, come out here!" he called. "This man's sick. No; he's
+shot, or I don't know blood-stains."
+
+Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane
+appeared about to faint.
+
+"Air you his wife?" asked the rancher.
+
+"No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler
+Duane, Duane!"
+
+"Buck Duane!" exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. "The man who
+killed Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll
+pay it, young woman."
+
+The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and
+practical essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not
+so far gone that he could not recognize its contents, which he
+refused, and weakly asked for water. When that was given him he
+found his voice.
+
+"Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself--just all in. The
+wounds I got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl
+in--hide her awhile till the excitement's over among the
+outlaws?"
+
+"I shore will," replied the Texan.
+
+"Thanks. I'll remember you--I'll square it."
+
+"What 're you goin' to do?"
+
+"I'll rest a bit--then go back to the brakes."
+
+"Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here--any
+rustlers on your trail?"
+
+"I think we gave Bland's gang the slip."
+
+"Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the
+girl, an' hide both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My
+nearest neighbor is five miles off. We don't have much
+company."
+
+"You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting
+me," said Duane.
+
+"Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An'  have always got
+along with outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you
+a good turn."
+
+"My horses might betray you," added Duane.
+
+"I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass.
+Nobody goes to it. Come now, let me help you indoors."
+
+Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the
+strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy
+boots, and of Jennie's soft, cool hands on his hot face.
+
+He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was
+another week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk
+of the evenings. After that his strength returned rapidly. And
+it was only at the end of this long siege that he recovered his
+spirits. During most of his illness he had been silent, moody.
+
+"Jennie, I'll be riding off soon," he said, one evening. "I
+can't impose on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never
+forget his kindness. His wife, too--she's been so good to us.
+Yes, Jennie, you and I will have to say good-by very soon."
+
+"Don't hurry away," she replied.
+
+Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from
+the girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her
+reluctance to say good-by as another indication of her regret
+that he must go back to the brakes. Yet somehow it made him
+observe her more closely. She wore a plain, white dress made
+from material Mrs. Andrews had given her. Sleep and good food
+had improved her. If she had been pretty out there in the
+outlaw den now she was more than that. But she had the same
+paleness, the same strained look, the same dark eyes full of
+haunting shadows. After Duane's realization of the change in
+her he watched her more, with a growing certainty that he would
+be sorry not to see her again.
+
+"It's likely we won't ever see each other again," he said.
+"That's strange to think of. We've been through some hard days,
+and I seem to have known you a long time."
+
+Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject
+to something less personal.
+
+Andrews returned one evening from a several days' trip to
+Huntsville.
+
+"Duane, everybody's talkie' about how you cleaned up the Bland
+outfit," he said, important and full of news. "It's some
+exaggerated, accordin' to what you told me; but you've shore
+made friends on this side of the Nueces. I reckon there ain't a
+town where you wouldn't find people to welcome you. Huntsville,
+you know, is some divided in its ideas. Half the people are
+crooked. Likely enough, all them who was so loud in praise of
+you are the crookedest. For instance, I met King Fisher, the
+boss outlaw of these parts. Well, King thinks he's a decent
+citizen. He was tellin' me what a grand job yours was for the
+border an' honest cattlemen. Now that Bland and Alloway are
+done for, King Fisher will find rustlin' easier. There's talk
+of Hardin movie' his camp over to Bland's. But I don't know how
+true it is. I reckon there ain't much to it. In the past when a
+big outlaw chief went under, his band almost always broke up
+an' scattered. There's no one left who could run thet outfit."
+
+"Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?" asked Duane.
+
+"Nobody from Bland's outfit is huntin' you, thet's shore,"
+replied Andrews. "Fisher said there never was a hoss straddled
+to go on your trail. Nobody had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his
+men would be afraid to trail you. An' you could go right in to
+Huntsville, where you'd be some popular. Reckon you'd be safe,
+too, except when some of them fool saloon loafers or bad
+cowpunchers would try to shoot you for the glory in it. Them
+kind of men will bob up everywhere you go, Duane."
+
+"I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two,"
+went on Duane. "Then I'll go--I'd like to talk to you about
+Jennie."
+
+"She's welcome to a home here with us."
+
+"Thank you, Andrews. You're a kind man. But I want Jennie to
+get farther away from the Rio Grande. She'd never be safe here.
+Besides, she may be able to find relatives. She has some,
+though she doesn't know where they are."
+
+"All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. I reckon now you'd
+better take her to some town. Go north an' strike for
+Shelbyville or Crockett. Them's both good towns. I'll tell
+Jennie the names of men who'll help her. You needn't ride into
+town at all."
+
+"Which place is nearer, and how far is it?"
+
+"Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock
+country, so you ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the same,
+better hit the trail at night an' go careful."
+
+At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses
+and said good-by to the rancher and his wife. Andrews would not
+listen to Duane's thanks.
+
+"I tell you I'm beholden to you yet," he declared.
+
+"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Duane. "I may come along
+here again some day."
+
+"Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I
+reckon there ain't nothin' I can think of--I just happen to
+remember--" Here he led Duane out of earshot of the women and
+went on in a whisper. "Buck, I used to be well-to-do. Got
+skinned by a man named Brown--Rodney Brown. He lives in
+Huntsville, an' he's my enemy. I never was much on fightin', or
+I'd fixed him. Brown ruined me--stole all I had. He's a hoss
+an' cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect
+him. I reckon I needn't say any more."
+
+"Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?" queried
+Duane, curiously.
+
+"Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he
+plugged Stevens through the middle. But the outlaw rode off,
+an' nobody ever knew for shore."
+
+"Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him," said Duane.
+
+Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to
+the women.
+
+"The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take
+the left-hand road and keep on straight. That what you said,
+Andrews?"
+
+"Shore. An' good luck to you both!"
+
+Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gathering twilight. At
+the moment an insistent thought bothered Duane. Both Luke
+Stevens and the rancher Andrews had hinted to Duane to kill a
+man named Brown. Duane wished with all his heart that they had
+not mentioned it, let alone taken for granted the execution of
+the deed. What a bloody place Texas was! Men who robbed and men
+who were robbed both wanted murder. It was in the spirit of the
+country. Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this
+Rodney Brown. And that very determination showed Duane how
+dangerous he really was--to men and to himself. Sometimes he
+had a feeling of how little stood between his sane and better
+self and a self utterly wild and terrible. He reasoned that
+only intelligence could save him--only a thoughtful
+understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
+
+Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out
+hopeful views of her future, and presently darkness set in. The
+sky was overcast with heavy clouds; there was no air moving;
+the heat and oppression threatened storm. By and by Duane could
+not see a rod in front of him, though his horse had no
+difficulty in keeping to the road. Duane was bothered by the
+blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible, and any
+moment he might miss the road that led off to the left. So he
+was compelled to give all his attention to peering into the
+thick shadows ahead. As good luck would have it, he came to
+higher ground where there was less mesquite, and therefore not
+such impenetrable darkness; and at this point he came to where
+the road split.
+
+Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To
+his annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in. Jennie was
+not well dressed for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither
+was he. His coat, which in that dry warm climate he seldom
+needed, was tied behind his saddle, and he put it on Jennie.
+
+They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing
+thicker. Duane grew uncomfortably wet and chilly. Jennie,
+however, fared somewhat better by reason of the heavy coat. The
+night passed quickly despite the discomfort, and soon a gray,
+dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers.
+
+Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a fire could be
+built to dry his clothes. He was not in a fit condition to risk
+catching cold. In fact, Duane's teeth were chattering. To find
+a shelter in that barren waste seemed a futile task. Quite
+unexpectedly, however, they happened upon a deserted adobe
+cabin situated a little off the road. Not only did it prove to
+have a dry interior, but also there was firewood. Water was
+available in pools everywhere; however, there was no grass for
+the horses.
+
+A good fire and hot food and drink changed the aspect of their
+condition as far as comfort went. And Jennie lay down to sleep.
+For Duane, however, there must be vigilance. This cabin was no
+hiding-place. The rain fell harder all the time, and the wind
+changed to the north. "It's a norther, all right," muttered
+Duane. "Two or three days." And he felt that his extraordinary
+luck had not held out. Still one point favored him, and it was
+that travelers were not likely to come along during the storm.
+Jennie slept while Duane watched. The saving of this girl meant
+more to him than any task he had ever assumed. First it had
+been partly from a human feeling to succor an unfortunate
+woman, and partly a motive to establish clearly to himself that
+he was no outlaw. Lately, however, had come a different sense,
+a strange one, with something personal and warm and protective
+in it.
+
+As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl with
+bedraggled dress and disheveled hair, her face, pale and quiet,
+a little stern in sleep, and her long, dark lashes lying on her
+cheek, he seemed to see her fragility, her prettiness, her
+femininity as never before. But for him she might at that very
+moment have been a broken, ruined girl lying back in that cabin
+of the Blands'. The fact gave him a feeling of his importance
+in this shifting of her destiny. She was unharmed, still young;
+she would forget and be happy; she would live to be a good wife
+and mother. Somehow the thought swelled his heart. His act,
+death-dealing as it had been, was a noble one, and helped him
+to hold on to his drifting hopes. Hardly once since Jennie had
+entered into his thought had those ghosts returned to torment
+him.
+
+To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a
+possibility of finding her relatives. He thanked God for ,that;
+nevertheless, he felt a pang.
+
+She slept more than half the day. Duane kept guard, always
+alert, whether he was sitting, standing, or walking. The rain
+pattered steadily on the roof and sometimes came in gusty
+flurries through the door. The horses were outside in a shed
+that afforded poor shelter, and they stamped restlessly. Duane
+kept them saddled and bridled.
+
+About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. They cooked a
+meal and afterward sat beside the little fire. She had never
+been, in his observation of her, anything but a tragic figure,
+an unhappy girl, the farthest removed from serenity and poise.
+That characteristic capacity for agitation struck him as
+stronger in her this day. He attributed it, however, to the
+long strain, the suspense nearing an end. Yet sometimes when
+her eyes were on him she did not seem to be thinking of her
+freedom, of her future.
+
+"This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville," he said.
+
+"Where will you be?" she asked, quickly.
+
+"Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,' he
+replied.
+
+The girl shuddered.
+
+"I've been brought up in Texas. I remember what a hard lot the
+men of my family had. But poor as they were, they had a roof
+over their heads, a hearth with a fire, a warm bed--somebody to
+love them. And you, Duane--oh, my God! What must your life be?
+You must ride and hide and watch eternally. No decent food, no
+pillow, no friendly word, no clean clothes, no woman's hand!
+Horses, guns, trails, rocks, holes--these must be the important
+things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding, killing
+until you meet--"
+
+She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane
+was amazed, deeply touched.
+
+"My girl, thank you for that thought of me," he said, with a
+tremor in his voice. "You don't know how much that means to
+me."
+
+She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent,
+beautiful.
+
+"I've heard tell--the best of men go to the bad out there. You
+won't. Promise me you won't. I never--knew any man--like you.
+I--I--we may never see each other again--after to-day. I'll
+never forget you. I'll pray for you, and I'll never give up
+trying to--to do something. Don't despair. It's never too late.
+It was my hope that kept me alive--out there at Bland's--before
+you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But if I could hope--so
+can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. Fight for your
+life. Stick out your exile--and maybe--some day--"
+
+Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with
+feeling as deep as hers promised to remember her words. In her
+despair for him she had spoken wisdom--pointed out the only
+course.
+
+Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner
+reasserted itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one
+Jennie rode, had broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet
+earth had deadened the sound of his hoofs. His tracks were
+plain in the mud. There were clumps of mesquite in sight, among
+which the horse might have strayed. It turned out, however,
+that he had not done so.
+
+Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the cabin so near
+the road. So he put her up on his horse and bade her follow.
+The rain had ceased for the time being, though evidently the
+storm was not yet over. The tracks led up a wash to a wide flat
+where mesquite, prickly pear, and thorn-bush grew so thickly
+that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane was thoroughly
+concerned. He must have her horse. Time was flying. It would
+soon be night. He could not expect her to scramble quickly
+through that brake on foot. Therefore he decided to risk
+leaving her at the edge of the thicket and go in alone.
+
+As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the breaking of a
+branch he had stepped on or thrust aside? He heard the
+impatient pound of his horse's hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still
+he listened, not wholly satisfied. He was never satisfied in
+regard to safety; he knew too well that there never could be
+safety for him in this country.
+
+The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the thicket. Duane
+wondered what had drawn him there. Certainly it had not been
+grass, for there was none. Presently he heard the horse
+tramping along, and then he ran. The mud was deep, and the
+sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up with the horse,
+and at the same moment crossed a multitude of fresh
+horse-tracks.
+
+He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed to find that
+they had been made very recently, even since it had ceased
+raining. They were tracks of well-shod horses. Duane
+straightened up with a cautious glance all around. His instant
+decision was to hurry back to Jennie. But he had come a goodly
+way through the thicket, and it was impossible to rush back.
+Once or twice he imagined he heard crashings in the brush, but
+did not halt to make sure. Certain he was now that some kind of
+danger threatened.
+
+Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of horses' hoofs off
+somewhere to the fore. Then a scream rent the air. It ended
+abruptly. Duane leaped forward, tore his way through the thorny
+brake. He heard Jennie cry again--an appealing call quickly
+hushed. It seemed more to his right, and he plunged that way.
+He burst into a glade where a smoldering fire and ground
+covered with footprints and tracks showed that campers had
+lately been. Rushing across this, he broke his passage out to
+the open. But he was too late. His horse had disappeared.
+Jennie was gone. There were no riders in sight. There was no
+sound. There was a heavy trail of horses going north. Jennie
+had been carried off--probably by outlaws. Duane realized that
+pursuit was out of the question--that Jennie was lost.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A hundred miles from the haunts most familiar with Duane's
+deeds, far up where the Nueces ran a trickling clear stream
+between yellow cliffs, stood a small deserted shack of covered
+mesquite poles. It had been made long ago, but was well
+preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail, and another faced
+down into a gorge of dense thickets. On the border fugitives
+from law and men who hid in fear of some one they had wronged
+never lived in houses with only one door.
+
+It was a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habitation except
+for the outcast. He, perhaps, might have found it hard to leave
+for most of the other wild nooks in that barren country. Down
+in the gorge there was never-failing sweet water, grass all the
+year round, cool, shady retreats, deer, rabbits, turkeys,
+fruit, and miles and miles of narrow-twisting, deep canon full
+of broken rocks and impenetrable thickets. The scream of the
+panther was heard there, the squall of the wildcat, the cough
+of the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring blossoms,
+and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. All day there was
+continuous song of birds, that of the mocking-bird loud and
+sweet and mocking above the rest.
+
+On clear days--and rare indeed were cloudy days--with the
+subsiding of the wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall around
+the little hut. Far-distant dim-blue mountains stood
+gold-rimmed gradually to fade with the shading of light.
+
+At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the gorge and sat in
+the westward door of the hut. This lonely watcher of the west
+and listener to the silence was Duane. And this hut was the one
+where, three years before, Jennie had nursed him back to life.
+
+The killing of a man named Sellers, and the combination of
+circumstances that had made the tragedy a memorable regret, had
+marked, if not a change, at least a cessation in Duane's
+activities. He had trailed Sellers to kill him for the supposed
+abducting of Jennie. He had trailed him long after he had
+learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted absolute assurance
+of Jennie's death. Vague rumors, a few words here and there,
+unauthenticated stories, were all Duane had gathered in years
+to substantiate his belief--that Jennie died shortly after the
+beginning of her second captivity. But Duane did not know
+surely. Sellers might have told him. Duane expected, if not to
+force it from him at the end, to read it in his eyes. But the
+bullet went too unerringly; it locked his lips and fixed his
+eyes.
+
+After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranchhouse of a
+friend, and when he recovered from the wound Sellers had given
+him he started with two horses and a pack for the lonely gorge
+on the Nueces. There he had been hidden for months, a prey to
+remorse, a dreamer, a victim of phantoms.
+
+It took work for him to find subsistence in that rocky
+fastness. And work, action, helped to pass the hours. But he
+could not work all the time, even if he had found it to do.
+Then in his idle moments and at night his task was to live with
+the hell in his mind.
+
+The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable.
+The little hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to hold Jennie's
+presence. It was not as if he felt her spirit. If it had been
+he would have been sure of her death. He hoped Jennie had not
+survived her second misfortune; and that intense hope had
+burned into belief, if not surety. Upon his return to that
+locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had
+found things just as they had left them, and a poor, faded
+piece of ribbon Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair.
+No wandering outlaw or traveler had happened upon the lonely
+spot, which further endeared it to Duane.
+
+A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of
+it--the failure of years, toil, strife, death-dealing to dim
+it--to deaden the thought of what might have been. He had a
+marvelous gift of visualization. He could shut his eyes and see
+Jennie before him just as clearly as if she had stood there in
+the flesh. For hours he did that, dreaming, dreaming of life he
+had never tasted and now never would taste. He saw Jennie's
+slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged dress in which
+he had seen her first at Bland's, her little feet in Mexican
+sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and
+swelling throat, and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its
+staring dark eyes. He remembered every look she had given him,
+every word she had spoken to him, every time she had touched
+him. He thought of her beauty and sweetness, of the few things
+which had come to mean to him that she must have loved him; and
+he trained himself to think of these in preference to her life
+at Bland's, the escape with him, and then her recapture,
+because such memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had to
+fight suffering because it was eating out his heart.
+
+Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead
+and his white-haired mother. He saw the old home life,
+sweetened and filled by dear new faces and added joys, go on
+before his eyes with him a part of it.
+
+Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter
+reality, he would send out a voiceless cry no less poignant
+because it was silent: "Poor fool! No, I shall never see mother
+again--never go home--never have a home. I am Duane, the Lone
+Wolf! Oh, God! I wish it were over! These dreams torture me!
+What have I to do with a mother, a home, a wife? No
+bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl will ever love me. I am an
+outlaw, an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am
+alone--alone. Better be a callous brute or better dead! I shall
+go mad thinking! Man, what is left to you? A hiding-place like
+a wolf's--lonely silent days, lonely nights with phantoms! Or
+the trail and the road with their bloody tracks, and then the
+hard ride, the sleepless, hungry ride to some hole in rocks or
+brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why can't I end it all?
+What is left? Only that damned unquenchable spirit of the
+gun-fighter to live--to hang on to miserable life--to have no
+fear of death, yet to cling like a leach--to die as
+gun-fighters seldom die, with boots off! Bain, you were first,
+and you're long avenged. I'd change with you. And Sellers, you
+were last, and you're avenged. And you others--you're avenged.
+Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!"
+
+But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
+
+A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and,
+gathering round him, escorted him to his bed.
+
+When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape
+pursuers, or passion-bent in his search, the constant action
+and toil and exhaustion made him sleep. But when in hiding, as
+time passed, gradually he required less rest and sleep, and his
+mind became more active. Little by little his phantoms gained
+hold on him, and at length, but for the saving power of his
+dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
+
+How many times he had said to himself: "I am an intelligent
+man. I'm not crazy. I'm in full possession of my faculties. All
+this is fancy--imagination--conscience. I've no work, no duty,
+no ideal, no hope--and my mind is obsessed, thronged with
+images. And these images naturally are of the men with whom I
+have dealt. I can't forget them. They come back to me, hour
+after hour; and when my tortured mind grows weak, then maybe
+I'm not just right till the mood wears out and lets me sleep."
+
+So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The
+night was star-bright above the canon-walls, darkly shadowing
+down between them. The insects hummed and chirped and thrummed
+a continuous thick song, low and monotonous. Slow-running water
+splashed softly over stones in the stream-bed. From far down
+the canon came the mournful hoot of an owl. The moment he lay
+down, thereby giving up action for the day, all these things
+weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In
+truth, they did not constitute loneliness.
+
+And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have
+reached out to touch a cold, bright star.
+
+He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this
+star-studded, velvety sky across the fifteen hundred miles of
+wild country between El Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast
+wild territory--a refuge for outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or
+read that the Texas Rangers kept a book with names and records
+of outlaws--three thousand known outlaws. Yet these could
+scarcely be half of that unfortunate horde which had been
+recruited from all over the states. Duane had traveled from
+camp to camp, den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, and he
+knew these men. Most of them were hopeless criminals; some were
+avengers; a few were wronged wanderers; and among them
+occasionally was a man, human in his way, honest as he could
+be, not yet lost to good.
+
+But all of them were akin in one sense--their outlawry; and
+that starry night they lay with their dark faces up, some in
+packs like wolves, others alone like the gray wolf who knew no
+mate. It did not make much difference in Duane's thought of
+them that the majority were steeped in crime and brutality,
+more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of a fine
+feeling, just lost wild dogs.
+
+Duane doubted that there was a man among them who did not
+realize his moral wreck and ruin. He had met poor, half witted
+wretches who knew it. He believed he could enter into their
+minds and feel the truth of all their lives--the hardened
+outlaw, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who murdered as Bill Black
+had murdered, who stole for the sake of stealing, who craved
+money to gamble and drink, defiantly ready for death, and, like
+that terrible outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, "Let
+her rip!"
+
+The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reckless adventure;
+the cowboys with a notch on their guns, with boastful pride in
+the knowledge that they were marked by rangers; the crooked men
+from the North, defaulters, forgers, murderers, all pale-faced,
+flat-chested men not fit for that wilderness and not surviving;
+the dishonest cattlemen, hand and glove with outlaws, driven
+from their homes; the old grizzled, bow-legged genuine
+rustlers--all these Duane had come in contact with, had watched
+and known, and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as
+their lives were bad, sooner or later to end dismally or
+tragically, so they must pay some kind of earthly penalty--if
+not of conscience, then of fear; if not of fear, then of that
+most terrible of all things to restless, active men--pain, the
+pang of flesh and bone.
+
+Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he
+knew the internal life of the gun-fighter of that select but by
+no means small class of which he was representative. The world
+that judged him and his kind judged him as a machine, a
+killing-machine, with only mind enough to hunt, to meet, to
+slay another man. It had taken three endless years for Duane to
+understand his own father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that the
+gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, men who
+were evil and had no remorse, no spiritual accusing Nemesis,
+had something far more torturing to mind, more haunting, more
+murderous of rest and sleep and peace; and that something was
+abnormal fear of death. Duane knew this, for he had shot these
+men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow in eyes, the
+presentiment that the will could not control, and then the
+horrible certainty. These men must have been in agony at every
+meeting with a possible or certain foe--more agony than the hot
+rend of a bullet. They were haunted, too, haunted by this fear,
+by every victim calling from the grave that nothing was so
+inevitable as death, which lurked behind every corner, hid in
+every shadow, lay deep in the dark tube of every gun. These men
+could not have a friend; they could not love or trust a woman.
+They knew their one chance of holding on to life lay in their
+own distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, and that hope, by the
+very nature of their lives, could not be lasting. They had
+doomed themselves. What, then, could possibly have dwelt in the
+depths of their minds as they went to their beds on a starry
+night like this, with mystery in silence and shadow, with time
+passing surely, and the dark future and its secret approaching
+every hour--what, then, but hell?
+
+The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death.
+He would have been glad to lay down the burden of life,
+providing death came naturally. Many times he had prayed for
+it. But that overdeveloped, superhuman spirit of defense in him
+precluded suicide or the inviting of an enemy's bullet.
+Sometimes he had a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that this
+spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white
+man.
+
+Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to
+him for ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless, accusing
+domination of these haunted hours. They did not accuse him of
+dishonor or cowardice or brutality or murder; they only accused
+him of Death. It was as if they knew more than when they were
+alive, had learned that life was a divine mysterious gift not
+to be taken. They thronged about him with their voiceless
+clamoring, drifted around him with their fading eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and
+inaction of his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking
+anything rather than to hide longer alone, a prey to the
+scourge of his thoughts. The moment he rode into sight of men a
+remarkable transformation occurred in him. A strange warmth
+stirred in him--a longing to see the faces of people, to hear
+their voices--a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it was
+only a precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal
+vigilance. When he hid alone in the brakes he was safe from all
+except his deeper, better self; when he escaped from this into
+the haunts of men his force and will went to the preservation
+of his life.
+
+Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had many friends
+there. Mercer claimed to owe Duane a debt. On the outskirts of
+the village there was a grave overgrown by brush so that the
+rude-lettered post which marked it was scarcely visible to
+Duane as he rode by. He had never read the inscription. But he
+thought now of Hardin, no other than the erstwhile ally of
+Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed the stockmen and
+ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him he or his
+outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duane
+when sore in need. Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the
+village, called him every name known to border men, taunted him
+to draw, and killed him in the act.
+
+Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his
+father, and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest
+hand, the voice of a friend, the prattle of children who were
+not afraid of him or his gun, good wholesome food, and change
+of clothes--these things for the time being made a changed man
+of Duane. To be sure, he did not often speak. The price of his
+head and the weight of his burden made him silent. But eagerly
+he drank in all the news that was told him. In the years of his
+absence from home he had never heard a word about his mother or
+uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would have
+been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters
+that might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.
+
+Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as
+twilight fell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing
+invitation to remain overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane
+slept under a roof. Early in the evening, while Duane sat on
+the porch with two awed and hero-worshiping sons of the house,
+Jones returned from a quick visit down to the post-office.
+Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored under intense
+excitement.
+
+"Duane, there's rangers in town," he whispered. "It's all over
+town, too, that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots
+of people saw you. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd
+squeal on you. But the women might. They gossip, and these
+rangers are handsome fellows--devils with the women."
+
+"What company of rangers?" asked Duane, quickly.
+
+"Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a
+big name in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service
+he's done wonders. He's cleaned up some bad places south, and
+he's working north."
+
+"MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me."
+
+"Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black
+mustache and hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of
+authority. MacNelly's a fine man, Duane. Belongs to a good
+Southern family. I'd hate to have him look you up."
+
+Duane did not speak.
+
+"MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men.
+If they find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's
+no gun-fighter, but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even
+if he faced sure death. Which he would in this case. Duane, you
+mustn't meet Captain MacNelly. Your record is clean, if it is
+terrible. You never met a ranger or any officer except a rotten
+sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown."
+
+Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of
+the fact of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
+
+"I've already fixed up a pack of grub," went on Jones. "I'll
+slip out to saddle your horse. You watch here."
+
+He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift
+footsteps sounded on the hard path. A man turned in at the
+gate. The light was dim, yet clean enough to disclose an
+unusually tall figure. When it appeared nearer he was seen to
+be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He slowed his
+stride.
+
+"Does Burt Jones live here?" he asked, in a low, hurried voice.
+
+"I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?" replied Jones.
+
+The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with
+his hands up.
+
+"It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's
+camping on the river just out of town. He sends word to Duane
+to come out there after dark."
+
+The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as
+he had come.
+
+"Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?" exclaimed
+Jones.
+
+"A new one on me," replied Duane, thoughtfully.
+
+"First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make
+head nor tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly
+wouldn't double-cross anybody. He struck me as a square man,
+sand all through. But, hell! he must mean treachery. I can't
+see anything else in that deal."
+
+"Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender
+without bloodshed," observed Duane. "Pretty decent of him, if
+he meant that."
+
+"He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange
+about this, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does
+some queer things. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well,
+whatever his intentions, his presence around Mercer is enough
+for us. Duane, you hit the road and put some miles between you
+the amiable Captain before daylight. To-morrow I'll go out
+there and ask him what in the devil he meant."
+
+"That messenger he sent--he was a ranger," said Duane.
+
+"Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come
+bracing you that way. Duane, the fellow didn't pack a gun. I'll
+swear to that. Pretty odd, this trick. But you can't trust it.
+Hit the road, Duane."
+
+A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a
+tall, dark rider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted
+down a pasture lane back of Jones's house, turned into the
+road, and then, breaking into swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer
+behind.
+
+Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in a forest of
+mesquite, dismounted, and searched about for a glade with a
+little grass. Here he staked his horse on a long lariat; and,
+using his saddle for a pillow, his saddle-blanket for covering,
+he went to sleep.
+
+Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next
+few days he paid brief visits to several villages that lay in
+his path. And in each some one particular friend had a piece of
+news to impart that made Duane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger
+had made a quiet, unobtrusive call upon these friends and left
+this message, "Tell Buck Duane to ride into Captain MacNelly's
+camp some time after night."
+
+Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the
+new ranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture
+or kill Buck Duane, and that this message was simply an
+original and striking ruse, the daring of which might appeal to
+certain outlaws.
+
+But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity was aroused; it
+did not, however, tempt him to any foolhardy act. He turned
+southwest and rode a hundred miles until he again reached the
+sparsely settled country. Here he heard no more of rangers. It
+was a barren region he had never but once ridden through, and
+that ride had cost him dear. He had been compelled to shoot his
+way out. Outlaws were not in accord with the few ranchers and
+their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that both outlaws
+and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter enmity with these
+ranchers. Being unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had
+pushed on into the heart of this district, when all the time he
+really believed he was traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a
+ranch-house, a deliberate attempt to kill him because he was an
+unknown rider in those parts, discovered to Duane his mistake;
+and a hard ride to get away persuaded him to return to his old
+methods of hiding by day and traveling by night.
+
+He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering
+much ground, but believed that he was getting on safer
+territory. Twice he came to a wide bottom-land green with
+willow and cottonwood and thick as chaparral, somewhere through
+the middle of which ran a river he decided must be the lower
+Nueces.
+
+One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped,
+he saw the lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the
+left, but was unable to because the brakes of this bottom-land
+extended in almost to the outskirts of the village, and he had
+to retrace his steps and go round to the right. Wire fences and
+horses in pasture made this a task, so it was well after
+midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or more
+then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a
+road which appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed
+several thickets where he would have halted to hide during the
+day but for the fact that he had to find water.
+
+He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no
+thicket or clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would
+afford him covert. So he kept on.
+
+The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods
+here and there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the
+higher ground. As he mounted a ridge he noted that the road
+made a sharp turn, and he could not see what was beyond it. He
+slowed up and was making the turn, which was down-hill between
+high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse heard
+something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
+
+The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were
+enough to reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the
+open once more, a little valley below with a wide, shallow,
+rocky stream, a clump of cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of
+men facing him, and two dark, limp, strangely grotesque figures
+hanging from branches.
+
+The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had
+never before found himself so unpleasantly close.
+
+A hoarse voice pealed out: "By hell! there's another one!"
+
+"Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!" yelled another.
+
+"Hands up!"
+
+"Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!"
+
+These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be
+continuous. Duane was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked.
+The bullet struck his left forearm and he thought broke it, for
+he dropped the rein. The frightened horse leaped. Another
+bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the road saved him
+probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet steed wend
+down the long hill.
+
+Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His
+chief concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found
+that the bones were still intact; but the wound, having been
+made by a soft bullet, was an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured
+from it. Giving the horse his head, Duane wound his scarf
+tightly round the holes, and with teeth and hand tied it
+tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
+
+Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There
+were more coming round the cut where the road curved. The
+leader was perhaps a quarter of a mile back, and the others
+strung out behind him. Duane needed only one glance to tell him
+that they were fast and hard-riding cowboys in a land where all
+riders were good. They would not have owned any but strong,
+swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers had
+suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of
+outlaws. Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right
+into a lynching party at a time of all times when any stranger
+would be in danger and any outlaw put to his limit to escape
+with his life.
+
+Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy
+piece of ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained
+upon his pursuers. When he ascertained this he tried to save
+his horse, to check a little that killing gait. This horse was
+a magnificent animal, big, strong, fast; but his endurance had
+never been put to a grueling test. And that worried Duane. His
+life had made it impossible to keep one horse very long at a
+time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
+
+Duane had only one plan--the only plan possible in this
+case--and that was to make the river-bottoms, where he might
+elude his pursuers in the willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so
+would bring him to the river, and this was not a hopeless
+distance for any good horse if not too closely pressed. Duane
+concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
+little in the chase because they were not extending their
+horses. It was decidedly unusual for such riders to save their
+mounts. Duane pondered over this, looking backward several
+times to see if their horses were stretched out. They were not,
+and the fact was disturbing. Only one reason presented itself
+to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with him headed
+straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to force
+the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road
+turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough,
+mesquite-dotted and yucca-spired country extended away on
+either side. Duane believed that he would be compelled to take
+to this hard going. One thing was certain--he had to go round
+the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the
+village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
+
+Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with
+his eyes strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle.
+But no, he soon descried several horsemen. Shots and yells
+behind him attested to the fact that his pursuers likewise had
+seen these new-comers on the scene. More than a mile separated
+these two parties, yet that distance did not keep them from
+soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see this
+new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a
+muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the
+brush.
+
+He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way.
+There were patches of open sandy ground between clumps of
+cactus and mesquite, and he found that despite a zigzag course
+he made better time. It was impossible for him to locate his
+pursuers. They would come together, he decided, and take to his
+tracks.
+
+What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket
+right into a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get
+a horse over. He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy
+ground gave place to a harder soil, where his horse did not
+labor so. Here the growths of mesquite and cactus became
+scanter, affording better travel but poor cover. He kept sharp
+eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw moving
+dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a
+mile away, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact
+proved that they had entertained a fair idea of the country and
+the fugitive's difficulty.
+
+Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best
+efforts, straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this
+was seemingly made impossible by a deep wash from which he had
+to turn, Duane began to feel cold and sick. Was this the end?
+Always there had to be an end to an outlaw's career. He wanted
+then to ride straight at these pursuers. But reason outweighed
+instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless, the
+strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
+
+He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment
+afterward he lost sight of them as he got into the mesquite
+again. He meant now to try to reach the road, and pushed his
+mount severely, though still saving him for a final burst.
+Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus, washes--all operated
+against his following a straight line. Almost he lost his
+bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies had
+not good fortune favored him in the matter of an open
+burned-over stretch of ground.
+
+Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and
+almost within gun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel
+spurs, drove his horse into that pace which now meant life or
+death for him. And never had Duane bestrode a gamer, swifter,
+stancher beast. He seemed about to accomplish the impossible.
+In the dragging sand he was far superior to any horse in
+pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enough to
+spare a little in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughly
+terrorized, he kept the pace through thickets that almost tore
+Duane from his saddle. Something weighty and grim eased off
+Duane. He was going to get out in front! The horse had speed,
+fire, stamina.
+
+Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees,
+and here, right in his path, within pistol-range, stood
+horsemen waiting. They yelled, they spurred toward him, but did
+not fire at him. He turned his horse--faced to the right. Only
+one thing kept him from standing his ground to fight it out. He
+remembered those dangling limp figures hanging from the
+cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlaw than do
+anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him.
+His horror of hanging was so great as to be all out of
+proportion compared to his gun-fighter's instinct of
+self-preservation.
+
+A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray
+mesquite. Duane could scarcely see, he was so blinded by
+stinging branches across his eyes. The hollow wind roared in
+his ears. He lost his sense of the nearness of his pursuers.
+But they must have been close. Did they shoot at him? He
+imagined he heard shots. But that might have been the cracking
+of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; he
+handled the rein with his right; and most of the time he hung
+low over the pommel. The gray walls flashing by him, the whip
+of twigs, the rush of wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs,
+the violent motion of his horse--these vied in sensation with
+the smart of sweat in his eyes, the rack of his wound, the
+cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these also was dull,
+raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It took all
+his mind to force back that bitter hate of himself, of his
+pursuers, of this race for his useless life.
+
+Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A
+long stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange
+joy, he wheeled his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along,
+sure now that he was out in front. His horse still had strength
+and speed, but showed signs of breaking. Presently Duane looked
+back. Pursuers--he could not count how many--were loping along
+in his rear. He paid no more attention to them, and with teeth
+set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil
+them.
+
+He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled
+from corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw
+one rancher running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow
+was going to join in the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not
+noticeably slower, but with a lack of former smoothness, with a
+strained, convulsive, jerking stride which showed he was almost
+done.
+
+Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it
+sooner than he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had
+entered the zone of wire fences. As he dared not turn back now,
+he kept on, intending to ride through the village. Looking
+backward, he saw that his pursuers were half a mile distant,
+too far to alarm any villagers in time to intercept him in his
+flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and
+began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last long enough
+to go through the village.
+
+Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by
+any means new, and one he had carried out successfully before.
+As he pulled in his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of
+ranchers came out of the place, and one of them stepped to a
+clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was about to get into his saddle
+when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a foot in the stirrup.
+
+Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
+
+"Mine's done--but not killed," he panted. "Trade with me." 
+
+"Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade," drawled the
+man. "But ain't you a little swift?"
+
+Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the
+village.
+
+"I'm Duane--Buck Duane," he cried, menacingly. "Will you trade?
+Hurry!"
+
+The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup
+and fell back.
+
+"I reckon I'll trade," he said.
+
+Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse
+snorted in fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift,
+half wild. Duane flashed by the remaining houses on the street
+out into the open. But the road ended at that village or else
+led out from some other quarter, for he had ridden straight
+into the fields and from them into rough desert. When he
+reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find
+six horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind
+them.
+
+His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached
+a high sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as
+he could see extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged
+willow. How welcome it was to his eye! He felt like a hunted
+wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his hole in the rocks.
+Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay to the dense
+wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
+
+There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the
+stubborn beast into the thicket. This was harder and slower
+work than Duane cared to risk. If he had not been rushed he
+might have had better success. So he had to abandon the horse--
+a circumstance that only such sore straits could have driven
+him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through the narrow
+aisles.
+
+He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his
+pursuers piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal.
+They crashed into the willows. 
+
+"Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!" called one, evidently to the man
+Duane had forced into a trade.
+
+"Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you
+somethin'," replied a voice from the bluff.
+
+"Come on, Sid! We got him corralled," said the first speaker.
+
+"Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET
+FELLER WAS BUCK DUANE!"
+
+Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was
+broken by a rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
+
+"He can't git across the river, I tell you," came to Duane's
+ears. "He's corralled in the brake. I know thet hole."
+
+Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows,
+heard no more from his pursuers. He headed straight for the
+river. Threading a passage through a willow brake was an old
+task for him. Many days and nights had gone to the acquiring of
+a skill that might have been envied by an Indian.
+
+The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length
+in Texas ran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense
+growth of willow. Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other
+growths mingled with the willow, and altogether they made a
+matted, tangled copse, a thicket that an inexperienced man
+would have considered impenetrable. From above, these wild
+brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were gray and
+yellow--a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There
+were a few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by
+peccaries--the jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. The ground was
+clay and unusually dry, sometimes baked so hard that it left no
+imprint of a track. Where a growth of cottonwood had held back
+the encroachment of the willows there usually was thick grass
+and underbrush. The willows were short, slender poles with
+stems so close together that they almost touched, and with the
+leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this
+brake Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place.
+In the middle of the day the light was weird and dim. When a
+breeze fluttered the foliage, then slender shafts and spears of
+sunshine pierced the green mantle and danced like gold on the
+ground.
+
+Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place,
+and likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something
+which always seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for
+a hunted creature. Any unwounded creature, strong and
+resourceful, was safe when he had glided under the low,
+rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard to
+conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men
+could hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of
+each other and never know it. The problem of sustaining life
+was difficult; but, then, hunted men and animals survived on
+very little.
+
+Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and,
+keeping in the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached
+country more hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in
+regard to the river, Duane had his doubts about crossing. But
+he would take any chance to put the river between him and his
+hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to be favored, as he
+could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the willows,
+he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There were
+narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed
+by animals, all of which he took advantage of, running,
+walking, crawling, stooping any way to get along. To keep in a
+straight line was not easy--he did it by marking some bright
+sunlit stem or tree ahead, and when he reached it looked
+straight on to mark another. His progress necessarily grew
+slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder, denser,
+darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept on
+without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him
+that the afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear he had
+wandered in a wrong direction. Finally a strip of light ahead
+relieved his anxiety, and after a toilsome penetration of still
+denser brush he broke through to the bank of the river.
+
+He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the
+opposite bank extending like a green and yellow wall. Duane
+perceived at a glance the futility of his trying to cross at
+this point. Everywhere the sluggish water raved quicksand bars.
+In fact, the bed of the river was all quicksand, and very
+likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. He could not
+swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any
+solid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped
+and sucked down. To prove this he seized a long pole and,
+reaching down from the high bank, thrust it into the stream.
+Right there near shore there apparently was no bottom to the
+treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any hope of crossing the
+river. Probably for miles up and down it would be just the same
+as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the pole
+and lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked
+his way back to where thinner growth made advancement easier,
+and kept on up-stream till the shadows were so deep he could
+not see. Feeling around for a place big enough to stretch out
+on, he lay down. For the time being he was as safe there as he
+would have been beyond in the Rim Rock. He was tired, though
+not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain in his arm he
+dropped at once into sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+Some time during the night Duane awoke. A stillness seemingly
+so thick and heavy as to have substance blanketed the black
+willow brake. He could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk
+or even his hand before his eyes. He lay there waiting,
+listening, sure that he had been awakened by an unusual sound.
+Ordinary noises of the night in the wilderness never disturbed
+his rest. His faculties, like those of old fugitives and hunted
+creatures, had become trained to a marvelous keenness. A long
+low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows, passed
+away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted by him in the
+darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a fox barked
+lonesomely in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken
+his slumber.
+
+Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a bloodhound.
+Quickly Duane sat up, chilled to his marrow. The action made
+him aware of his crippled arm. Then came other bays, lower,
+more distant. Silence enfolded him again, all the more
+oppressive and menacing in his suspense. Bloodhounds had been
+put on his trail, and the leader was not far away. All his life
+Duane had been familiar with bloodhounds; and he knew that if
+the pack surrounded him in this impenetrable darkness he would
+be held at bay or dragged down as wolves dragged a stag. Rising
+to his feet, prepared to flee as best he could, he waited to be
+sure of the direction he should take.
+
+The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep,
+full-toned, ringing bay, strange, ominous, terribly significant
+in its power. It caused a cold sweat to ooze out all over
+Duane's body. He turned from it, and with his uninjured arm
+outstretched to feel for the willows he groped his way along.
+As it was impossible to pick out the narrow passages, he had to
+slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding stems. He made
+such a crashing that he no longer heard the baying of the
+hounds. He had no hope to elude them. He meant to climb the
+first cottonwood that he stumbled upon in his blind flight. But
+it appeared he never was going to be lucky enough to run
+against one. Often he fell, sometimes flat, at others upheld by
+the willows. What made the work so hard was the fact that he
+had only one arm to open a clump of close-growing stems and his
+feet would catch or tangle in the narrow crotches, holding him
+fast. He had to struggle desperately. It was as if the willows
+were clutching hands, his enemies, fiendishly impeding his
+progress. He tore his clothes on sharp branches and his flesh
+suffered many a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept on
+until he brought up hard against a cottonwood tree.
+
+There he leaned and rested. He found himself as nearly
+exhausted as he had ever been, wet with sweat, his hands torn
+and burning, his breast laboring, his legs stinging from
+innumerable bruises. While he leaned there to catch his breath
+he listened for the pursuing hounds. For a long time there was
+no sound from them. This, however, did not deceive him into any
+hopefulness. There were bloodhounds that bayed often on a
+trail, and others that ran mostly silent. The former were more
+valuable to their owner and the latter more dangerous to the
+fugitive. Presently Duane's ears were filled by a chorus of
+short ringing yelps. The pack had found where he had slept, and
+now the trail was hot. Satisfied that they would soon overtake
+him, Duane set about climbing the cottonwood, which in his
+condition was difficult of ascent.
+
+It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen
+feet up, and branches thereafter in succession. Duane climbed
+until he got above the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale
+gray mist hung above the brake, and through it shone a line of
+dim lights. Duane decided these were bonfires made along the
+bluff to render his escape more difficult on that side. Away
+round in the direction he thought was north he imagined he saw
+more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be sure.
+While he sat there pondering the matter, listening for the
+hounds, the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this
+side he concluded was east and meant that dawn was near.
+Satisfying himself on this score, he descended to the first
+branch of the tree.
+
+His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be
+so hopeless as it had been. The hounds would soon close in on
+him, and he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond
+the bounds of possibility that any men could have followed
+running hounds through that brake in the night. The thing that
+worried Duane was the fact of the bonfires. He had gathered
+from the words of one of his pursuers that the brake was a kind
+of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way out of
+it, and that was along the bank where he had entered, and where
+obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning.
+Further conjecture on this point, however, was interrupted by a
+crashing in the willows and the rapid patter of feet.
+
+Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see
+the ground, nor any object but the black trunk of the tree.
+Sight would not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived.
+With a pattering rush through the willows the hounds reached
+the tree; and then high above crash of brush and thud of heavy
+paws rose a hideous clamor. Duane's pursuers far off to the
+south would hear that and know what it meant. And at daybreak,
+perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the brake,
+guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their quarry.
+
+It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane could
+distinguish the vague forms of the hounds in the gray shadow
+below. Still he waited. He had no shots to spare. And he knew
+how to treat bloodhounds. Gradually the obscurity lightened,
+and at length Duane had good enough sight of the hounds for his
+purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute leader of the
+pack. Then, with unerring shots, he crippled several others.
+That stopped the baying. Piercing howls arose. The pack took
+fright and fled, its course easily marked by the howls of the
+crippled members. Duane reloaded his gun, and, making certain
+all the hounds had gone, he descended to the ground and set off
+at a rapid pace to the northward.
+
+The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when Duane made his
+first halt some miles north of the scene where he had waited
+for the hounds. A barrier to further progress, in shape of a
+precipitous rocky bluff, rose sheer from the willow brake. He
+skirted the base of the cliff, where walking was comparatively
+easy, around in the direction of the river. He reached the end
+finally to see there was absolutely no chance to escape from
+the brake at that corner. It took extreme labor, attended by
+some hazard and considerable pain to his arm, to get down where
+he could fill his sombrero with water. After quenching his
+thirst he had a look at his wound. It was caked over with blood
+and dirt. When washed off the arm was seen to be inflamed and
+swollen around the bullet-hole. He bathed it, experiencing a
+soothing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged it as best
+he could and arranged a sling round his neck. This mitigated
+the pain of the injured member and held it in a quiet and
+restful position, where it had a chance to begin mending.
+
+As Duane turned away from the river he felt refreshed. His
+great strength and endurance had always made fatigue something
+almost unknown to him. However, tramping on foot day and night
+was as unusual to him as to any other riders of the Southwest,
+and it had begun to tell on him. Retracing his steps, he
+reached the point where he had abruptly come upon the bluff,
+and here he determined to follow along its base in the other
+direction until he found a way out or discovered the futility
+of such effort.
+
+Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to time he paused to
+listen. But he was always listening, and his eyes were ever
+roving. This alertness had become second nature with him, so
+that except in extreme cases of caution he performed it while
+he pondered his gloomy and fateful situation. Such habit of
+alertness and thought made time fly swiftly.
+
+By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the brake and was
+facing south. The bluff had petered out from a high,
+mountainous wall to a low abutment of rock, but it still held
+to its steep, rough nature and afforded no crack or slope where
+quick ascent could have been possible. He pushed on, growing
+warier as he approached the danger-zone, finding that as he
+neared the river on this side it was imperative to go deeper
+into the willows. In the afternoon he reached a point where he
+could see men pacing to and fro on the bluff. This assured him
+that whatever place was guarded was one by which he might
+escape. He headed toward these men and approached to within a
+hundred paces of the bluff where they were. There were several
+men and several boys, all armed and, after the manner of
+Texans, taking their task leisurely. Farther down Duane made
+out black dots on the horizon of the bluff-line, and these he
+concluded were more guards stationed at another outlet.
+Probably all the available men in the district were on duty.
+Texans took a grim pleasure in such work. Duane remembered that
+upon several occasions he had served such duty himself.
+
+Duane peered through the branches and studied the lay of the
+land. For several hundred yards the bluff could be climbed. He
+took stock of those careless guards. They had rifles, and that
+made vain any attempt to pass them in daylight. He believed an
+attempt by night might be successful; and he was swiftly coming
+to a determination to hide there till dark and then try it,
+when the sudden yelping of a dog betrayed him to the guards on
+the bluff.
+
+The dog had likely been placed there to give an alarm, and he
+was lustily true to his trust. Duane saw the men run together
+and begin to talk excitedly and peer into the brake, which was
+a signal for him to slip away under the willows. He made no
+noise, and he assured himself he must be invisible.
+Nevertheless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of rifles, and
+bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy covert. The
+day was hot and windless, and Duane concluded that whenever he
+touched a willow stem, even ever so slightly, it vibrated to
+the top and sent a quiver among the leaves. Through this the
+guards had located his position. Once a bullet hissed by him;
+another thudded into the ground before him. This shooting
+loosed a rage in Duane. He had to fly from these men, and he
+hated them and himself because of it. Always in the fury of
+such moments he wanted to give back shot for shot. But he
+slipped on through the willows, and at length the rifles ceased
+to crack.
+
+He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier,
+and kept on, wondering what the next mile would bring.
+
+It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed scouts, and a
+hot fusillade drove him to run for his life, luckily to escape
+with no more than a bullet-creased shoulder.
+
+Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the
+trap-wall, and found that the nearer he approached to the place
+where he had come down into the brake the greater his danger.
+To attempt to run the blockade of that trail by day would be
+fatal. He waited for night, and after the brightness of the
+fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to creep out of the
+brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff, here
+only a bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover
+of a shadow when a hound again betrayed his position.
+Retreating to the willows was as perilous a task as had ever
+confronted Duane, and when he had accomplished it, right under
+what seemed a hundred blazing rifles, he felt that he had
+indeed been favored by Providence. This time men followed him a
+goodly ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead through the
+willows sounded on all sides of him.
+
+When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the
+darkness, his mind clamped between two things--whether to try
+again to escape or wait for possible opportunity. He seemed
+incapable of decision. His intelligence told him that every
+hour lessened his chances for escape. He had little enough
+chance in any case, and that was what made another attempt so
+desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound him.
+There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench
+decision out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that
+time was not yet.
+he had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from
+his run he found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest.
+But the swarms of vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This
+corner of the brake was low and near the river, a
+breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang and hummed and
+whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered his
+head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was
+a long and wretched night. Morning found him still strong
+physically, but in a dreadful state of mind.
+
+First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of
+hunger, but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made
+him feverish, and therefore more than usually hot and thirsty.
+Again he was refreshed. That morning he was hard put to it to
+hold himself back from attempting to cross the river. If he
+could find a light log it was within the bounds of possibility
+
+that he might ford the shallow water and bars of quicksand. But
+not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the bluff.
+
+All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the
+next night, he stole like a hunted savage from river to bluff;
+and every hour forced upon him the bitter certainty that he was
+trapped.
+
+Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil
+pass. There arrived an hour when, closely pressed by pursuers
+at the extreme southern corner of the brake, he took to a dense
+thicket of willows, driven to what he believed was his last
+stand.
+
+If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly close in on him!
+Let him fight to the last bitter gasp and have it over! But
+these hunters, eager as they were to get him, had care of their
+own skins. They took few risks. They had him cornered.
+
+It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppressive,
+threatening storm. Like a snake Duane crawled into a little
+space in the darkest part of the thicket and lay still. Men had
+cut him off from the bluff, from the river, seemingly from all
+sides. But he heard voices only from in front and toward his
+left. Even if his passage to the river had not been blocked, it
+might just as well have been.
+
+"Come on fellers--down hyar," called one man from the bluff.
+
+"Got him corralled at last," shouted another.
+
+"Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,"
+taunted another.
+
+"I seen him, I tell you."
+
+"Aw, thet was a deer."
+
+"But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows. '
+
+"If he's winged we needn't hurry."
+
+"Hold on thar, you boys," came a shout in authoritative tones
+from farther up the bluff. "Go slow. You-all air gittin'
+foolish at the end of a long chase."
+
+"Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer
+than somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick. He'll be
+huntin' us soon!"
+
+"Let's surround this corner an' starve him out."
+
+"Fire the brake."
+
+How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed
+to hear his doom. This, then, was the end he had always
+expected, which had been close to him before, yet never like
+now.
+
+"By God!" whispered Duane, "the thing for me to do now--is go
+out--meet them!"
+
+That was prompted by the fighting, the killing instinct in him.
+In that moment it had almost superhuman power. If he must die,
+that was the way for him to die. What else could be expected of
+Buck Duane? He got to his knees and drew his gun. With his
+swollen and almost useless hand he held what spare ammunition
+he had left. He ought to creep out noiselessly to the edge of
+the willows, suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there was
+a beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all had
+rifles. The fight would be short. But the marksmen did not live
+on earth who could make such a fight go wholly against him.
+Confronting them suddenly he could kill a man for every shot in
+his gun.
+
+Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fate--to meet
+this end. But when he tried to step forward something checked
+him. He forced himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction
+that opposed his will was as insurmountable as it had been
+physically impossible for him to climb the bluff.
+
+Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay flat. The grim
+and ghastly dignity that had been his a moment before fell away
+from him. He lay there stripped of his last shred of
+self-respect. He wondered was he afraid; had he, the last of
+the Duanes--had he come to feel fear? No! Never in all his wild
+life had he so longed to go out and meet men face to face. It
+was not fear that held him back. He hated this hiding, this
+eternal vigilance, this hopeless life. The damnable paradox of
+the situation was that if he went out to meet these men there
+was absolutely no doubt of his doom. If he clung to his covert
+there was a chance, a merest chance, for his life. These
+pursuers, dogged and unflagging as they had been, were mortally
+afraid of him. It was his fame that made them cowards. Duane's
+keenness told him that at the very darkest and most perilous
+moment there was still a chance for him. And the blood in him,
+the temper of his father, the years of his outlawry, the pride
+of his unsought and hated career, the nameless, inexplicable
+something in him made him accept that slim chance.
+
+Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under
+the burning sun, parched by thirst, laboring to breathe,
+sweating and bleeding. His uncared-for wound was like a red-hot
+prong in his flesh. Blotched and swollen from the never-ending
+attack of flies and mosquitoes his face seemed twice its
+natural size, and it ached and stung.
+
+On one side, then, was this physical torture; on the other the
+old hell, terribly augmented at this crisis, in his mind. It
+seemed that thought and imagination had never been so swift. If
+death found him presently, how would it come? Would he get
+decent burial or be left for the peccaries and the coyotes?
+Would his people ever know where he had fallen? How wretched,
+how miserable his state! It was cowardly, it was monstrous for
+him to cling longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in his
+heart, the hellish hate of these men on his trail--that was
+like a scourge. He felt no longer human. He had degenerated
+into an animal that could think. His heart pounded, his pulse
+beat, his breast heaved; and this internal strife seemed to
+thunder into his ears. He was now enacting the tragedy of all
+crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in their dens. Only his
+tragedy was infinitely more terrible because he had mind enough
+to see his plight, his resemblance to a lonely wolf,
+bloody-fanged, dripping, snarling, fire-eyed in a last
+instinctive defiance.
+
+Mounted upon the horror of Duane's thought was a watching,
+listening intensity so supreme that it registered impressions
+which were creations of his imagination. He heard stealthy
+steps that were not there; he saw shadowy moving figures that
+were only leaves. A hundred times when he was about to pull
+trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices came from a
+distance, and steps and crackings in the willows, and other
+sounds real enough. But Duane could not distinguish the real
+from the false. There were times when the wind which had arisen
+sent a hot, pattering breath down the willow aisles, and Duane
+heard it as an approaching army.
+
+This straining of Duane's faculties brought on a reaction which
+in itself was a respite. He saw the sun darkened by thick slow
+spreading clouds. A storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it
+moved! The air was like steam. If there broke one of those
+dark, violent storms common though rare to the country, Duane
+believed he might slip away in the fury of wind and rain. Hope,
+that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged again. He hailed it
+with a bitterness that was sickening.
+
+Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained
+attention. He heard a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny shape
+crossed a little opening in the thicket. It was that of a dog.
+The moment while that beast came into full view was an age. The
+dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had a trail or a scent he
+seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited for the inevitable
+discovery. Any kind of a hunting-dog could have found him in
+that thicket. Voices from outside could be heard urging on the
+dog. Rover they called him. Duane sat up at the moment the dog
+entered the little shaded covert. Duane expected a yelping, a
+baying, or at least a bark that would tell of his hiding-place.
+A strange relief swiftly swayed over Duane. The end was near
+now. He had no further choice. Let them come--a quick fierce
+exchange of shots--and then this torture past! He waited for
+the dog to give the alarm.
+
+But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket
+without a yelp. Duane could not believe the evidence of his
+senses. He thought he had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog
+disappear, heard him running to and fro among the willows,
+getting farther and farther away, till all sound from him
+ceased.
+
+"Thar's Rover," called a voice from the bluff-side. "He's been
+through thet black patch."
+
+"Nary a rabbit in there," replied another.
+
+"Bah! Thet pup's no good," scornfully growled another man. "Put
+a hound at thet clump of willows."
+
+"Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes."
+
+The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the
+ridge.
+
+Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting,
+watching, listening spell. After all, it was not to end just
+now. His chance still persisted--looked a little brighter--led
+him on, perhaps, to forlorn hope.
+
+All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow
+brake, or else Duane noted it suddenly. He imagined it to be
+caused by the approaching storm. But there was little movement
+of air or cloud, and thunder still muttered and rumbled at a
+distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at this time of
+overcast sky night was at hand.
+
+Duane realized it with the awakening of all his old force. He
+would yet elude his pursuers. That was the moment when he
+seized the significance of all these fortunate circumstances
+which had aided him. Without haste and without sound he began
+to crawl in the direction of the river. It was not far, and he
+reached the bank before darkness set in. There were men up on
+the bluff carrying wood to build a bonfire. For a moment he
+half yielded to a temptation to try to slip along the
+river-shore, close in under the willows. But when he raised
+himself to peer out he saw that an attempt of this kind would
+be liable to failure. At the same moment he saw a rough-hewn
+plank lying beneath him, lodged against some willows. The end
+of the plank extended in almost to a point beneath him. Quick
+as a flash he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then he
+tied his gun in an oilskin bag and put it in his pocket.,
+
+The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth
+to splash into the water. There was a willow growing back some
+few feet from the edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it
+down, bent it over the water so that when he released it there
+would be no springing back. Then he trusted his weight to it,
+with his feet sliding carefully down the bank. He went into the
+water almost up to his knees, felt the quicksand grip his feet;
+then, leaning forward till he reached the plank, he pulled it
+toward him and lay upon it.
+
+Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther
+end appeared lightly braced against the overhanging willows.
+Very carefully then Duane began to extricate his right foot
+from the sucking sand. It seemed as if his foot was incased in
+solid rock. But there was a movement upward, and he pulled with
+all the power he dared use. It came slowly and at length was
+free. The left one he released with less difficulty. The next
+few moments he put all his attention on the plank to ascertain
+if his weight would sink it into the sand. The far end slipped
+off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled to
+rest upon the bottom. But it sank no farther, and Duane's
+greatest concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly
+impossible for him to keep his head up for long he carefully
+crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an arm and
+shoulder upon the willows.
+
+When he looked up it was to find the night strangely luminous
+with fires. There was a bonfire on the extreme end of the,
+bluff, another a hundred paces beyond. A great flare extended
+over the brake in that direction. Duane heard a roaring on the
+wind, and he knew his pursuers had fired the willows. He did
+not believe that would help them much. The brake was dry
+enough, but too green to burn readily. And as for the bonfires
+he discovered that the men, probably having run out of wood,
+were keeping up the light with oil and stuff from the village.
+A dozen men kept watch on the bluff scarcely fifty paces from
+where Duane lay concealed by the willows. They talked, cracked
+jokes, sang songs, and manifestly considered this
+outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long as the bright light lasted
+Duane dared not move. He had the patience and the endurance to
+wait for the breaking of the storm, and if that did not come,
+then the early hour before dawn when the gray fog and gloom
+were over the river.
+
+Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his
+mind he waited, strong as steel in his conviction, capable of
+withstanding any strain endurable by the human frame.
+
+The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roared through the
+willows, carrying bright sparks upward. Thunder rolled down
+over the river, and lightning began to flash. Then the rain
+fell in heavy sheets, but not steadily. The flashes of
+lightning and the broad flares played so incessantly that Duane
+could not trust himself out on the open river. Certainly the
+storm rather increased the watchfulness of the men on the
+bluff. He knew how to wait, and he waited, grimly standing pain
+and cramp and chill. The storm wore away as desultorily as it
+had come, and the long night set in. There were times when
+Duane thought he was paralyzed, others when he grew sick,
+giddy, weak from the strained posture. The first paling of the
+stars quickened him with a kind of wild joy. He watched them
+grow paler, dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow hovered
+down, rested upon the river, and gradually thickened. The
+bonfire on the bluff showed as through a foggy veil. The
+watchers were mere groping dark figures.
+
+Duane, aware of how cramped he had become from long inaction,
+began to move his legs and uninjured arm and body, and at
+length overcame a paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand
+in the sand and holding the plank with his knees, he edged it
+out into the river. Inch by inch he advanced until clear of the
+willows. Looking upward, he saw the shadowy figures of the men
+on the bluff. He realized they ought to see him, feared that
+they would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with a
+heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a
+little gurgle and splash in the water. Try as he might, he
+could not prevent this. It got to be like the hollow roar of a
+rapid filling his ears with mocking sound. There was a
+perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered straight
+advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the
+bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
+backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the
+moving shadows a little darker.
+
+Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were
+settling. Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the
+treacherous place. This way he made faster progress. The
+obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping him. When he
+looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with
+the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred patches
+of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
+
+To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable
+spirit and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and
+when at last he discerned the black border of bank it came in
+time, he thought, to save him. He crawled out, rested till the
+gray dawn broke, and then headed north through the willows.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew.
+But he reached familiar country and found a rancher who had
+before befriended him. Here his arm was attended to; he had
+food and sleep; and in a couple of weeks he was himself again.
+
+When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail
+his friend reluctantly imparted the information that some
+thirty miles south, near the village of Shirley, there was
+posted at a certain cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or
+alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had never seen
+one. His friend's reluctance and refusal to state for what
+particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's
+curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
+rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some
+gun-shooting scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been
+accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over
+there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.
+
+As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the
+first time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble.
+Introspection awarded him this knowledge; during that last
+terrible flight on the lower Nueces and while he lay abed
+recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless
+bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
+All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him
+back from his fate.
+
+That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term,
+to be what he was credited with being--that is to say, to
+embrace evil. He had never committed a crime. He wondered now
+was crime close to him? He reasoned finally that the
+desperation of crime had been forced upon him, if not its
+motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
+possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto
+inexplicable actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had
+returned to the scene of the crime that had outlawed them; why
+they took such strangely fatal chances; why life was no more to
+them than a breath of wind; why they rode straight into the
+jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting rangers,
+vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
+bitterness as this that drove these men.
+
+Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the
+green fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he
+considered must be Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he
+came upon an intersecting road. There was a placard nailed on
+the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and leaned
+close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD
+OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded print,
+Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
+Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named,
+but the date was illegible. The reward was offered by the
+woman's husband, whose name appeared with that of a sheriff's
+at the bottom of the placard.
+
+Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick
+with the horror of his fate, wild with passion at those
+misguided fools who could believe that he had harmed a woman.
+Then he remembered Kate Bland, and, as always when she returned
+to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had gone abroad
+that he had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to
+fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done
+often. Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless
+crimes.
+
+A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a
+storm shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with
+clouded brow and piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his
+horse, he rode straight toward the village.
+
+Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A
+branch of some railroad terminated there. The main street was
+wide, bordered by trees and commodious houses, and many of the
+stores were of brick. A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood
+trees occupied a central location.
+
+Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and
+snorting, before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in
+the shade of a spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane
+seen just that kind of lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not
+often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, good-natured
+men change their expression, their attitude so swiftly. His
+advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for an
+unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them
+recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
+
+He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
+
+"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placard--out there on a
+sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken.
+I want to see him."
+
+His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the
+only effect he noted, for he avoided looking at these
+villagers. The reason was simple enough; Duane felt himself
+overcome with emotion. There were tears in his eyes. He sat
+down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to
+his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate.
+This ignominy was the last straw.
+
+Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion
+among these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse
+voices, then the shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once
+a violent hand jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose
+a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf, confronted him
+with his own gun.
+
+"Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun.
+
+That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose.
+Duane opened his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top
+of his lungs he could not have made himself heard. In weary
+disgust he looked at the gaunt man, and then at the others, who
+were working themselves into a frenzy. He made no move,
+however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him,
+emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay
+hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance
+was useless even if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them
+fetched his halter from his saddle, and with this they bound
+him helpless.
+
+People were running now from the street, the stores, the
+houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the
+trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract
+women as well as men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back
+in fright and pity.
+
+The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the
+crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough,
+businesslike hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared at
+the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them
+back into a circle; but it was some little time before the
+hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
+
+"Shut up, will you-all?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to
+hear somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be
+hurt. Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come
+off."
+
+This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of
+strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved
+Duane's gun.
+
+"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give
+it to me. Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's
+he done?"
+
+The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a
+shaking hand and pointed.
+
+"Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!" he panted.
+
+An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
+
+"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!"
+cried an excited villager.
+
+"Buck Duane! Buck Duane!"
+
+"Hang him!"
+
+The cowboy silenced these cries.
+
+"Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked,
+sharply.
+
+"Why--he said so," replied the man called Abe.
+
+"What!" came the exclamation, incredulously.
+
+"It's a tarnal fact," panted Abe, waving his hands importantly.
+He was an old man and appeared to be carried away with the
+significance of his deed. "He like to rid' his hoss right over
+us-all. Then he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, an' he
+wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad."
+
+This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so
+enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of
+his mates, had restored order again some one had slipped the
+noose-end of Duane's rope over his head.
+
+"Up with him!" screeched a wild-eyed youth.
+
+The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
+
+"Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over," ordered
+Abe's interlocutor.
+
+With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated
+his former statement.
+
+"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?"
+bluntly queried the cowboy.
+
+"Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his
+hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him."
+
+What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His
+mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to
+Duane.
+
+"Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself," he
+said.
+
+That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
+
+"I'm Buck Duane, all right." said Duane, quietly. "It was this
+way--"
+
+The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy
+warmth left his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins
+in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard,
+stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened
+in the front of Duane's blouse.
+
+"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad.
+Any fool ought to know that. You mean it, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you
+gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted
+to see Jeff Aiken bad, huh?"
+
+"No," replied Duane. "Your citizen here misrepresented things.
+He seems a little off his head."
+
+"Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane,
+then, an' all his doings?"
+
+"I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I
+never did. That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there
+offering the reward. Until now I never was within half a day's
+ride of this town. I'm blamed for what I never did. I rode in
+here, told who I was, asked somebody to send for Jeff Aiken."
+
+"An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun
+on you?" queried the cowboy in amazement.
+
+"I guess that's it," replied Duane.
+
+"Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane."
+
+A man elbowed his way into the circle.
+
+"It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,"
+he said. "Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know
+if he's locoed or what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck
+Duane. Any one who'd ever seen him onct would never forget
+him."
+
+"What do you want to see Aiken for?" asked the cowboy Sibert.
+
+"I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'm innocent, that's all."
+
+"Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe
+you; what then?"
+
+"If he won't believe me--why, then my case's so bad--I'd be
+better off dead."
+
+A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.
+
+"If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for
+Jeff."
+
+"Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon," replied a man.
+
+Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He
+gazed out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he
+chanced to see a number of women on the outskirts of the crowd.
+Some were old, with hard faces, like the men. Some were young
+and comely, and most of these seemed agitated by excitement or
+distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances upon Duane as he
+stood there with that noose round his neck. Women were more
+human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed
+fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old
+women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.
+
+Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in
+white. Duane's wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were
+riveted upon him. A soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not
+want to see him hanged!
+
+"Thar comes Jeff Aiken now," called a man, loudly.
+
+The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.
+
+Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of
+stalwart build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was
+that of fierce energy.
+
+The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.
+
+"Hold on, Jeff," he called, and he blocked the man with the
+gun. He spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his
+form hid Aiken's face. At that juncture the crowd spread out,
+closed in, and Aiken and Sibert were caught in the circle.
+There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many bodies, hoarse
+cries and flinging hands--again the insane tumult was about to
+break out--the demand for an outlaw's blood, the call for a
+wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's bloody
+soil.
+
+Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with
+him beat and cuffed in vain.
+
+"Jeff, will you listen?" broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand
+on the other man's arm.
+
+Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect
+control of themselves under circumstances like these,
+recognized the spirit that dominated Aiken. He was white, cold,
+passionless. There were lines of bitter grief deep round his
+lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of death he felt it then.
+
+"Sure this 's your game, Aiken," said Sibert. "But hear me a
+minute. Reckon there's no doubt about this man bein' Buck
+Duane. He seen the placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in
+to Shirley. He says he's Buck Duane an' he's lookin' for Jeff
+Aiken. That's all clear enough. You know how these gunfighters
+go lookin' for trouble. But here's what stumps me. Duane sits
+down there on the bench and lets old Abe Strickland grab his
+gun ant get the drop on him. More'n that, he gives me some
+strange talk about how, if he couldn't make you believe he's
+innocent, he'd better be dead. You see for yourself Duane ain't
+drunk or crazy or locoed. He doesn't strike me as a man who
+rode in here huntin' blood. So I reckon you'd better hold on
+till you hear what he has to say."
+
+Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant
+turned his gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not
+yet subservient to passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man
+Duane would care to have judge him in a critical moment like
+this.
+
+"Listen," said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aiken's,
+"I'm Buck Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was
+forced into outlawry. I've never had a chance to leave the
+country. I've killed men to save my own life. I never
+intentionally harmed any woman. I rode thirty miles
+to-day--deliberately to see what this reward was, who made it,
+what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of
+my soul. So I rode in here to find you--to tell you this: I
+never saw Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to
+have--killed your wife. Last September I was two hundred miles
+north of here on the upper Nueces. I can prove that. Men who
+know me will tell you I couldn't murder a woman. I haven't any
+idea why such a deed should be laid at my hands. It's just that
+wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons you have for
+holding me responsible. I only know--you're wrong. You've been
+deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable
+man. I'm about broken, I guess. I don't care any more for life,
+for anything. If you can't look me in the eyes, man to man, and
+believe what I say--why, by God! you can kill me!"
+
+Aiken heaved a great breath.
+
+"Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say
+needn't matter. You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as
+will soon appear. The thing is we can prove you innocent or
+guilty. My girl Lucy saw my wife's assailant."
+
+He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.
+
+"Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this
+thing."
+
+Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him,
+the hum of voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the
+merest thread. Yet he did not think of that so much as of the
+brand of a woman-murderer which might be soon sealed upon him
+by a frightened, imaginative child.
+
+The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a
+blurred image of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He
+could not see distinctly. Aiken lifted the child, whispered
+soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then he fetched her closer
+to Duane.
+
+"Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?" asked Aiken,
+huskily and low. "Is he the one--who came in the house that
+day--struck you down--and dragged mama--?"
+
+Aiken's voice failed.
+
+A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw
+a pale, sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon
+his. No terrible moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one
+of silence--of suspense.
+
+"It's ain't him!" cried the child.
+
+Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and
+unwinding the bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke
+to hoarse exclamations.
+
+"See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong
+man," burst out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss.
+"You-all are a lot of wise rangers. Haw! haw!"
+
+He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's
+holster.
+
+"You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the
+like again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of
+bad work Buck Duane's named for--which all he never done. Clear
+away there. Where's his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of
+Shirley."
+
+Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward
+the horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane
+mounted, felt a lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face
+softened in a smile.
+
+"I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say--hit that road quick!"
+he said, frankly.
+
+He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and
+between them they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd
+appeared irresistibly drawn to follow.
+
+Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it,
+unconsciously probably, he still held the gun.
+
+"Duane, a word with you," he said. "I believe you're not so
+black as you've been painted. I wish there was time to say
+more. Tell me this, anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain
+MacNelly?"
+
+"I do not," replied Duane, in surprise.
+
+"I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield," went on Aiken,
+hurriedly. "He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't
+believe him--argued with him. We almost had hard words over it.
+Now--I'm sorry. The last thing he said was: 'If you ever see
+Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp after dark!' He
+meant something strange. What--I can't say. But he was right,
+and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you.
+Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's
+clever. Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas
+of ranger tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May
+God help you further as he did this day!"
+
+Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
+
+"So long, Buck!" called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking
+warm over his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield
+on the sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the
+oscillating balance of decision in favor of that direction.
+
+He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven
+to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown
+ranger captain. In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning,
+common sense, or keenness were out of the question. He went
+because he felt he was compelled.
+
+Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry
+discovered to be Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was
+stationed just out of the village limits on the other side.
+
+No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his
+arrival. Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and
+prosperous, compared to the innumerable hamlets dotting the
+vast extent of southwestern Texas. As Duane rode through, being
+careful to get off the main street, he heard the tolling of a
+church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home.
+
+There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the
+town. But as Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided
+what further move to make, he caught the glint of flickering
+lights through the darkness. Heading toward them, he rode
+perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a grove of mesquite.
+The brightness of several fires made the surrounding darkness
+all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard
+horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be
+halted.
+
+"Who goes there?" came the sharp call out of the gloom.
+
+Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
+
+"One man--alone," replied Duane.
+
+"A stranger?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"I'm trying to find the ranger camp."
+
+"You've struck it. What's your errand?"
+
+"I want to see Captain MacNelly."
+
+"Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark,
+but I can see."
+
+Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few
+paces. He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he
+discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a dark
+figure blocking the trail. Here Duane halted.
+
+"Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you," the guard
+ordered, curtly.
+
+Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the
+rays of light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
+
+"Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your
+business with the Captain?"
+
+Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
+
+"Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride
+into his camp--after dark," finally said Duane.
+
+The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His
+manner had been alert, and now it became tense.
+
+"Come here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning
+in the least toward the camp-fire.
+
+"Hello! What's up, Pickens?" came the swift reply. It was
+followed by a rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form
+crossed the gleams from the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up
+to reach the side of the guard. Duane heard whispering, the
+purport of which he could not catch. The second ranger swore
+under his breath. Then he turned away and started back.
+
+"Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is
+peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to
+come here--after dark."
+
+Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening
+rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said.
+
+"Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait," replied an
+authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached itself from
+the dark, moving group at the camp-fire and hurried out.
+
+"Better be foxy, Cap," shouted a ranger, in warning.
+
+"Shut up--all of you," was the reply.
+
+This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two
+rangers who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode
+straight up to Duane.
+
+"I'm MacNelly," he said. "If you're my man, don't mention your
+name--yet."
+
+All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that
+had happened lately.
+
+"I met Jeff Aiken to-day," said Duane. "He sent me--"
+
+"You've met Aiken!" exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. "By
+all that's bully!" Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow
+restrained.
+
+"Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment."
+
+The rangers slowly withdrew.
+
+"Buck Duane! It's you?" he whispered, eagerly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated
+fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you," went on MacNelly; and he
+extended his hand.
+
+Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane
+gave his hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
+
+"It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm
+glad to meet you," said Duane, soberly.
+
+"You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum
+for the present."
+
+He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
+
+"Pickers, go back on duty," he ordered, "and, Beeson, you look
+after this horse."
+
+When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a
+good view of the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen
+rangers sitting around the fires, near a long low shed where
+horses were feeding, and a small adobe house at one side.
+
+"We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll
+talk," said MacNelly. "I've taken up temporary quarters here.
+Have a rustler job on hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right
+into the house."
+
+Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that
+was set before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The
+only way he could account for his presence there in a ranger's
+camp was that MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of
+him. Still that would hardly have made this captain so eager.
+There was a mystery here, and Duane could scarcely wait for it
+to be solved. While eating he had bent keen eyes around him.
+After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no
+more attention to him. They were all veterans in service--Duane
+saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
+Despite the occasional joke and sally of the more youthful
+members, and a general conversation of camp-fire nature, Duane
+was not deceived about the fact that his advent had been an
+unusual and striking one, which had caused an undercurrent of
+conjecture and even consternation among them. These rangers
+were too well trained to appear openly curious about their
+captain's guest. If they had not deliberately attempted to be
+oblivious of his presence Duane would have concluded they
+thought him an ordinary visitor, somehow of use to MacNelly. As
+it was, Duane felt a suspense that must have been due to a hint
+of his identity.
+
+He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.
+
+"Come in and have a chair," said MacNelly, motioning for the
+one other occupant of the room to rise. "Leave us, Russell, and
+close the door. I'll be through these reports right off."
+
+MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various
+papers. Seen in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man
+of about forty years, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed
+face, shrewd, stern, strong, yet not wanting in kindliness. He
+scanned hastily over some papers, fussed with them, and finally
+put them in envelopes. Without looking up he pushed a cigar-
+case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to smoke he took a
+cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then, settling
+back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to
+hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished
+curiosity.
+
+"Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years," be began.
+
+Duane smiled a little--a smile that felt strange on his face.
+He had never been much of a talker. And speech here seemed more
+than ordinarily difficult.
+
+MacNelly must have felt that.
+
+He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous
+manner changed to grave thoughtfulness.
+
+"I've lots to say, but where to begin," he mused. "Duane,
+you've had a hard life since you went on the dodge. I never met
+you before, don't know what you looked like as a boy. But I can
+see what--well, even ranger life isn't all roses."
+
+He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of
+smoke.
+
+"Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?" he asked,
+abruptly.
+
+"No."
+
+"Never a word?"
+
+"Not one," replied Duane, sadly.
+
+"That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just
+lately your mother, sister, uncle--all your folks, I
+believe--were well. I've kept posted. But haven't heard
+lately."
+
+Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling
+left his throat, and then said, "It's worth what I went through
+to-day to hear that."
+
+"I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war--
+but let's get down to the business of this meeting."
+
+He pulled his chair close to Duane's.
+
+"You've had word more than once in the last two years that I
+wanted to see you?"
+
+"Three times, I remember," replied Duane.
+
+"Why didn't you hunt me up?"
+
+"I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who
+couldn't take a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp
+and be arrested."
+
+"That was natural, I suppose," went on MacNelly. "You didn't
+know me, otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time
+getting to you. But the nature of my job, as far as you're
+concerned, made me cautious. Duane, you're aware of the hard
+name you bear all over the Southwest?"
+
+"Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing," replied Duane.
+
+"It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas
+border. But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was
+known to deserve his infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also.
+But I've found hundreds of men in southwest Texas who're your
+friends, who swear you never committed a crime. The farther
+south I get the clearer this becomes. What I want to know is
+the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal? Tell me the
+truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan. And when
+I say crime I mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable
+Texan."
+
+"That way my hands are clean," replied Duane.
+
+"You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a
+horse when you needed him bad--never anything like that?"
+
+"Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the
+hardest."
+
+"Duane, I'm damn glad!" MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's
+hand. "Glad for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite
+of this, you are a Texas outlaw accountable to the state.
+You're perfectly aware that under existing circumstances, if
+you fell into the hands of the law, you'd probably hang, at
+least go to jail for a long term."
+
+"That's what kept me on the dodge all these years," replied
+Duane.
+
+"Certainly." MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and
+glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and
+tense. He leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers
+upon Duane's knee.
+
+"Listen to this," he whispered, hoarsely. "If I place a pardon
+in your hand--make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear
+your name of infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of
+you--will you swear yourself to a service, ANY service I demand
+of you?"
+
+Duane sat stock still, stunned.
+
+Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation,
+Captain MacNelly reiterated his startling query.
+
+"My God!" burst from Duane. "What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T
+be in earnest!"
+
+"Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it
+square. What do you say?"
+
+He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him.
+Ranger and outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's
+souls. In MacNelly's Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose,
+hope, even gladness, and a fugitive mounting assurance of
+victory.
+
+Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse,
+incoherent sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he
+found a voice.
+
+"Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word," said
+Duane.
+
+A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim
+darkness. He held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a
+clasp that men unconsciously give in moments of stress.
+
+When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair
+MacNelly fumbled for another cigar--he had bitten the other
+into shreds--and, lighting it as before, he turned to his
+visitor, now calm and cool. He had the look of a man who had
+justly won something at considerable cost. His next move was to
+take a long leather case from his pocket and extract from it
+several folded papers.
+
+"Here's your pardon from the Governor," he said, quietly.
+"You'll see, when you look it over, that it's conditional. When
+you sign this paper I have here the condition will be met."
+
+He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his
+forefinger along a dotted line.
+
+Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a
+pen. It was with difficulty that he achieved his signature.
+Buckley Duane--how strange the name looked!
+
+"Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and
+gunfighter," said MacNelly; and, seating himself, he took the
+pen from Duane's fingers and wrote several lines in several
+places upon the paper. Then with a smile he handed it to Duane.
+
+"That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers."
+
+"So that's it!" burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his
+bewilderment. "You want me for ranger service?"
+
+"Sure. That's it," replied the Captain, dryly. "Now to hear
+what that service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took
+this job, and, as you may have heard, I've done a few things. I
+don't mind telling you that political influence put me in here
+and that up Austin way there's a good deal of friction in the
+Department of State in regard to whether or not the ranger
+service is any good--whether it should be discontinued or not.
+I'm on the party side who's defending the ranger service. I
+contend that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to
+me to produce results. So far I have been successful. My great
+ambition is to break up the outlaw gangs along the river. I
+have never ventured in there yet because I've been waiting to
+get the lieutenant I needed. You, of course, are the man I had
+in mind. It's my idea to start way up the Rio Grande and begin
+with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw of the
+times. He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang who
+are operating on the banks. They're doing bank-robbing. That's
+my private opinion, but it's not been backed up by any
+evidence. Cheseldine doesn't leave evidences. He's intelligent,
+cunning. No one seems to have seen him--to know what he looks
+like. I assume, of course, that you are a stranger to the
+country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of your
+ground. There's a little town over there called Fairdale. It's
+the nest of a rustler gang. They rustle and murder at will.
+Nobody knows who the leader is. I want you to find out. Well,
+whatever way you decide is best you will proceed to act upon.
+You are your own boss. You know such men and how they can be
+approached. You will take all the time needed, if it's months.
+It will be necessary for you to communicate with me, and that
+will be a difficult matter. For Cheseldine dominates several
+whole counties. You must find some way to let me know when I
+and my rangers are needed. The plan is to break up Cheseldine's
+gang. It's the toughest job on the border. Arresting him alone
+isn't to be heard of. He couldn't be brought out. Killing him
+isn't much better, for his select men, the ones he operates
+with, are as dangerous to the community as he is. We want to
+kill or jail this choice selection of robbers and break up the
+rest of the gang. To find them, to get among them somehow, to
+learn their movements, to lay your trap for us rangers to
+spring--that, Duane, is your service to me, and God knows it's
+a great one!"
+
+"I have accepted it," replied Duane.
+
+"Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service.
+But no one except the few I choose to tell will know of it
+until we pull off the job. You will simply be Buck Duane till
+it suits our purpose to acquaint Texas with the fact that
+you're a ranger. You'll see there's no date on that paper. No
+one will ever know just when you entered the service. Perhaps
+we can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry has
+really been good service to the state. At that, I'll believe
+it'll turn out so."
+
+MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar,
+drew his brows together in a dark frown, and went on. "No man
+on the border knows so well as you the deadly nature of this
+service. It's a thousand to one that you'll be killed. I'd say
+there was no chance at all for any other man beside you. Your
+reputation will go far among the outlaws. Maybe that and your
+nerve and your gun-play will pull you through. I'm hoping so.
+But it's a long, long chance against your ever coming back."
+
+"That's not the point," said Duane. "But in case I get killed
+out there--what--"
+
+"Leave that to me," interrupted Captain MacNelly. "Your folks
+will know at once of your pardon and your ranger duty. If you
+lose your life out there I'll see your name cleared--the
+service you render known. You can rest assured of that."
+
+"I am satisfied," replied Duane. "That's so much more than I've
+dared to hope."
+
+"Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses.
+You'll start as soon as you like--the sooner the better. I hope
+to think of other suggestions, especially about communicating
+with me."
+
+Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had
+ceased round the camp-fire Duane lay wide awake, eyes staring
+into the blackness, marveling over the strange events of the
+day. He was humble, grateful to the depths of his soul. A huge
+and crushing burden had been lifted from his heart. He welcomed
+this hazardous service to the man who had saved him. Thought of
+his mother and sister and Uncle Jim, of his home, of old
+friends came rushing over him the first time in years that he
+had happiness in the memory. The disgrace he had put upon them
+would now be removed; and in the light of that, his wasted life
+of the past, and its probable tragic end in future service as
+atonement changed their aspects. And as he lay there, with the
+approach of sleep finally dimming the vividness of his thought,
+so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated in the blackness
+around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted.
+
+It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling
+him to breakfast. Outside sounded voices of men, crackling of
+fires, snorting and stamping of horses, the barking of dogs.
+Duane rolled out of his blankets and made good use of the soap
+and towel and razor and brush near by on a bench--things of
+rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The face he saw in the
+mirror was as strange as the past he had tried so hard to
+recall. Then he stepped to the door and went out.
+
+The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread
+upon the ground.
+
+"Fellows," said MacNelly, "shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on
+secret ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make you
+all hump soon! Mind you, keep mum about it."
+
+The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greeting, the warmth
+of which he soon divined was divided between pride of his
+acquisition to their ranks and eagerness to meet that violent
+service of which their captain hinted. They were jolly, wild
+fellows, with just enough gravity in their welcome to show
+Duane their respect and appreciation, while not forgetting his
+lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that circle,
+now one of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him.
+
+After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside.
+
+"Here's the money. Make it go as far as you can. Better strike
+straight for El Paso, snook around there and hear things. Then
+go to Valentine. That's near the river and within fifty miles
+or so of the edge of the Rim Rock. Somewhere up there
+Cheseldine holds fort. Somewhere to the north is the town
+Fairdale. But he doesn't hide all the time in the rocks. Only
+after some daring raid or hold-up. Cheseldine's got border
+towns on his staff, or scared of him, and these places we want
+to know about, especially Fairdale. Write me care of the
+adjutant at Austin. I don't have to warn you to be careful
+where you mail letters. Ride a hundred, two hundred miles, if
+necessary, or go clear to El Paso."
+
+MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly
+rose.
+
+"I'll start at once," he said, extending his hand to the
+Captain. "I wish--I'd like to thank you."
+
+"Hell, man! Don't thank me!" replied MacNelly, crushing the
+proffered hand. "I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths,
+and maybe you're another. But, as I've said, you've one chance
+in a thousand. And, by Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any
+other man you were trailing. No, not good-by--Adios, Duane! May
+we meet again!"
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II   THE RANGER
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region,
+barren in the north where the Llano Estacado spread its
+shifting sands, fertile in the south along the Rio Grande. A
+railroad marked an undeviating course across five hundred miles
+of this country, and the only villages and towns lay on or near
+this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western Texas, and
+despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the
+pioneers pushed steadily into it. First had come the lone
+rancher; then his neighbors in near and far valleys; then the
+hamlets; at last the railroad and the towns. And still the
+pioneers came, spreading deeper into the valleys, farther and
+wider over the plains. It was mesquite-dotted, cactus-covered
+desert, but rich soil upon which water acted like magic. There
+was little grass to an acre, but there were millions of acres.
+The climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and ranchers
+prospered. 
+
+The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along the western
+boundary for a thousand miles, and then, weary of its course,
+turned abruptly north, to make what was called the Big Bend.
+The railroad, running west, cut across this bend, and all that
+country bounded on the north by the railroad and on the south
+by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains. It contained not
+one settlement. Across the face of this Big Bend, as if to
+isolate it, stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount
+Ord, Cathedral Mount, and Elephant Mount raised bleak peaks 
+above their fellows. In the valleys of the foothills and out
+across the plains were ranches, and farther north villages, and
+the towns of Alpine and Marfa.
+
+Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of
+Texas was a world in itself--a world where the riches of the
+rancher were ever enriching the outlaw. The village closest to
+the gateway of this outlaw-infested region was a little place
+called Ord, named after the dark peak that loomed some miles to
+the south. It had been settled originally by Mexicans--there
+were still the ruins of adobe missions--but with the advent of
+the rustler and outlaw many inhabitants were shot or driven
+away, so that at the height of Ord's prosperity and evil sway
+there were but few Mexicans living there, and these had their
+choice between holding hand-and-glove with the outlaws or
+furnishing target practice for that wild element.
+
+Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into
+Ord, and in a community where all men were remarkable for one
+reason or another he excited interest. His horse, perhaps,
+received the first and most engaging attention--horses in that
+region being apparently more important than men. This
+particular horse did not attract with beauty. At first glance
+he seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, rough
+despite the care manifestly bestowed upon him, long of body,
+ponderous of limb, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that
+he had a grand head. True, if only his head had been seen he
+would have been a beautiful horse. Like men, horses show what
+they are in the shape, the size, the line, the character of the
+head. This one denoted fire, speed, blood, loyalty, and his
+eyes were as soft and dark as a woman's. His face was solid
+black, except in the middle of his forehead, where there was a
+round spot of white.
+
+"Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?" asked a ragged urchin,
+with born love of a horse in his eyes.
+
+"Bullet," replied the rider.
+
+"Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?" whispered the
+youngster to another. "Say, ain't he a whopper? Biggest hoss I
+ever seen."
+
+Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented saddle of Mexican
+make, a lariat and canteen, and a small pack rolled into a
+tarpaulin.
+
+This rider apparently put all care of appearances upon his
+horse. His apparel was the ordinary jeans of the cowboy without
+vanity, and it was torn and travel-stained. His boots showed
+evidence of an intimate acquaintance with cactus. Like his
+horse, this man was a giant in stature, but rangier, not so
+heavily built. Otherwise the only striking thing about him was
+his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair white over the
+temples. He packed two guns, both low down--but that was too
+common a thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close
+observer, however, would have noted a singular fact--this
+rider's right hand was more bronzed, more weather-beaten than
+his left. He never wore a glove on that right hand!
+
+He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon
+its wide, high-boarded front the sign, "Hotel." There were
+horsemen coming and going down the wide street between its rows
+of old stores, saloons, and houses. Ord certainly did not look
+enterprising. Americans had manifestly assimilated much of the
+leisure of the Mexicans. The hotel had a wide platform in
+front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk. Upon it, and
+leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages, most
+of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were
+booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but all
+wore vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the
+men.
+
+It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. Good nature
+did not appear to be wanting, but it was not the frank and
+boisterous kind natural to the cowboy or rancher in town for a
+day. These men were idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to
+conjecture. Certainly to this arriving stranger, who flashed a
+keen eye over them, they wore an atmosphere never associated
+with work.
+
+Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache,
+leisurely detached himself from the crowd.
+
+"Howdy, stranger," he said.
+
+The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he
+straightened up and nodded. Then: "I'm thirsty!"
+
+That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic
+greeting. One and all trooped after the stranger into the
+hotel. It was a dark, ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar
+as high as a short man's head. A bartender with a scarred face
+was serving drinks.
+
+"Line up, gents," said the stranger.
+
+They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse
+jests and oaths and laughter. None of them noted that the
+stranger did not appear so thirsty as he had claimed to be. In
+fact, though he went through the motions, he did not drink at
+all.
+
+"My name's Jim Fletcher," said the tall man with the drooping,
+sandy mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a
+tone that showed he expected to be known. Something went with
+that name. The stranger did not appear to be impressed.
+
+"My name might be Blazes, but it ain't," he replied. "What do
+you call this burg?"
+
+"Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet
+new to you?"
+
+He leaned back against the bar, and now his little yellow eyes,
+clear as crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger.
+Other men crowded close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be
+friendly or otherwise, according to how the tall interrogator
+marked the new-comer.
+
+"Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some,
+ain't it? Funny trails hereabouts."
+
+"How fur was you goin'?"
+
+"I reckon I was goin' as far as I could," replied the stranger,
+with a hard laugh.
+
+His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of
+the men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping
+mustache, seemed thoughtful, but lost something of that
+piercing scrutiny.
+
+"Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place," he said, presently. "Sure
+you've heerd of the Big Bend country?"
+
+"I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it," replied the
+stranger.
+
+Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group.
+"Knell, come in heah."
+
+This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely
+more than a boy, almost pale beside those bronzed men, with a
+long, expressionless face, thin and sharp.
+
+"Knell, this heah's--" Fletcher wheeled to the stranger.
+"What'd you call yourself?"
+
+"I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately."
+
+This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool,
+careless, indifferent. Perhaps he knew, as the others present
+knew, that this show of Fletcher's, this pretense of
+introduction, was merely talk while he was looked over.
+
+Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher
+relinquished his part in the situation, that a man greater than
+he had appeared upon the scene.
+
+"Any business here?" he queried, curtly. When he spoke his
+expressionless face was in strange contrast with the ring, the
+quality, the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an
+absence of humor, of friendliness, of heart.
+
+"Nope," replied the stranger.
+
+"Know anybody hereabouts?"
+
+"Nary one."
+
+"Jest ridin' through?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Slopin' fer back country, eh?"
+
+There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little
+resentful and drew himself up disdainfully.
+
+"Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious
+down here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes--I
+am in on the dodge," he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.
+
+"From west of Ord--out El Paso way, mebbe?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+"A-huh! Thet so?" Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room.
+"You're from way down the river. Thet's what they say down
+there--'on the dodge.' . . . Stranger, you're a liar!"
+
+With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split,
+leaving Knell and the stranger in the center.
+
+Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's
+nerve. Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood
+ready. The stranger suddenly lost his every semblance to the
+rough and easy character before manifest in him. He became
+bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him. His eyes held a
+singular piercing light that danced like a compass-needle.
+
+"Sure I lied," he said; "so I ain't takin' offense at the way
+you called me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You
+don't strike me as one of them four-flushes, achin' to kill
+somebody. But if you are--go ahead an' open the ball.... You
+see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till they go fer
+theirs."
+
+Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing
+in the least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here
+was metal which rang differently from what he had expected.
+Invited to start a fight or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved
+himself big in the manner characteristic of only the genuine
+gunman.
+
+"Stranger, I pass," he said, and, turning to the bar, he
+ordered liquor.
+
+The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the
+gap; the incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself
+to the stranger, and now both respect and friendliness tempered
+his asperity.
+
+"Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge," he
+said.
+
+"Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again--an' if you
+can't be friendly, be careful!"
+
+Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord.
+
+Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El
+Paso he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and
+otherwise outfitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown
+trails. Leisurely he rode from town to town, village to
+village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk and his occupation to
+the impression he wanted to make upon different people whom he
+met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman, a stock-
+buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the
+wild and inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw,
+drifting into new territory. He passed on leisurely because he
+wanted to learn the lay of the country, the location of
+villages and ranches, the work, habit, gossip, pleasures, and
+fears of the people with whom he came in contact. The one
+subject most impelling to him--outlaws--he never mentioned; but
+by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and cattle
+story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In
+this game time was of no moment; if necessary he would take
+years to accomplish his task. The stupendous and perilous
+nature of it showed in the slow, wary preparation. When he
+heard Fletcher's name and faced Knell he knew he had reached
+the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on the fringe of the
+grazing country, of doubtful honesty, from which, surely,
+winding trails led down into that free and never-disturbed
+paradise of outlaws--the Big Bend.
+
+Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher
+and several other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and
+then, after having a care for his horse, he rode out of town a
+couple of miles to a grove he had marked, and there, well
+hidden, he prepared to spend the night. This proceeding served
+a double purpose--he was safer, and the habit would look well
+in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to see in
+him the lone-wolf fugitive.
+
+Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a
+hard-earned victory. His outer life, the action, was much the
+same as it had been; but the inner life had tremendously
+changed. He could never become a happy man, he could never
+shake utterly those haunting phantoms that had once been his
+despair and madness; but he had assumed a task impossible for
+any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow
+strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up
+consciousness of how passionately he now clung to this thing
+which would blot out his former infamy. The iron fetters no
+more threatened his hands; the iron door no more haunted his
+dreams. He never forgot that he was free. Strangely, too, along
+with this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force of
+imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms. He
+never called them outlaws--but rustlers, thieves, robbers,
+murderers, criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless
+driving passion, and sometimes he feared that, more than the
+newly acquired zeal and pride in this ranger service, it was
+the old, terrible inherited killing instinct lifting its
+hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be sure. He
+dreaded the thought. He could only wait.
+
+Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor
+driving, yet not improbably even more potent of new
+significance to life, was the imperceptible return of an old
+love of nature dead during his outlaw days.
+
+For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to
+carry him from place to place, to beat and spur and goad
+mercilessly in flight; now this giant black, with his splendid
+head, was a companion, a friend, a brother, a loved thing,
+guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden with an intense
+appreciation of his great speed and endurance. For years the
+daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the
+ruddy close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole
+or willow brake or deserted hut, had been hated because it
+augmented danger of pursuit, because it drove the fugitive to
+lonely, wretched hiding; now the dawn was a greeting, a promise
+of another day to ride, to plan, to remember, and sun, wind,
+cloud, rain, sky--all were joys to him, somehow speaking his
+freedom. For years the night had been a black space, during
+which he had to ride unseen along the endless trails, to peer
+with cat-eyes through gloom for the moving shape that ever
+pursued him; now the twilight and the dusk and the shadows of
+grove and canon darkened into night with its train of stars,
+and brought him calm reflection of the day's happenings, of the
+morrow's possibilities, perhaps a sad, brief procession of the
+old phantoms, then sleep. For years canons and valleys and
+mountains had been looked at as retreats that might be dark and
+wild enough to hide even an outlaw; now he saw these features
+of the great desert with something of the eyes of the boy who
+had once burned for adventure and life among them.
+
+This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and
+against the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of
+Mount Ord reared itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister
+yet calling. Small wonder that Duane gazed in fascination upon
+the peak! Somewhere deep in its corrugated sides or lost in a
+rugged canon was hidden the secret stronghold of the master
+outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane
+had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his
+cunning, his widely separated raids, of his flitting here and
+there like a Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den,
+never a word of his appearance.
+
+Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the
+north, riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared
+to have been used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had
+ridden in from the west, this northern direction led him into
+totally unfamiliar country. While he passed on, however, he
+exercised such keen observation that in the future he would
+know whatever might be of service to him if he chanced that way
+again.
+
+The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from the foothills
+gradually leveled out into plain, a magnificent grazing
+country, upon which till noon of that day Duane did not see a
+herd of cattle or a ranch. About that time he made out smoke
+from the railroad, and after a couple of hours' riding he
+entered a town which inquiry discovered to be Bradford. It was
+the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated
+must have a thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not
+including Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for
+him to hold up for a while, being the nearest town to Ord, only
+forty miles away. So he hitched his horse in front of a store
+and leisurely set about studying Bradford.
+
+It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions
+concerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there
+was one long row of saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in
+full blast. Duane visited them all, and was surprised to see
+wildness and license equal to that of the old river camp of
+Bland's in its palmiest days. Here it was forced upon him that
+the farther west one traveled along the river the sparser the
+respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard characters,
+and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness.
+Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that
+MacNelly's task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a
+stupendous one. Yet, he reflected, a company of intrepid and
+quick-shooting rangers could have soon cleaned up this
+Bradford.
+
+The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long
+black-coated and wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of
+his grandfather. This man had penetrating eyes, a courtly
+manner, and an unmistakable leaning toward companionship and
+mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel Webb,
+of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no
+comment about himself.
+
+"Sir, it's all one to me," he said, blandly, waving his hand.
+"I have traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where
+it's healthier and just as friendly for a man to have no
+curiosity about his companion. You might be Cheseldine, of the
+Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El Paso-it's all one
+to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway."
+
+Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he
+could not have felt or pretended three months before. And then,
+as always, he was a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among
+other things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to look over
+the affairs of a deceased brother who had been a rancher and a
+sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name.
+
+"Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave," said Colonel
+Webb. "And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this
+Fairdale I don't want to expiate my sins there."
+
+"Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out
+here," replied Duane, trying not to appear curious.
+
+The Colonel swore lustily.
+
+"My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It
+was wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could
+throw a gun, and he was on the square. Then he was wise enough
+to confine his work to offenders of his own town and
+neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws alone, else he wouldn't
+have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs, sir, is about
+six companies of Texas Rangers."
+
+Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny.
+
+"Do you know anything about the service?" he asked.
+
+"I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine
+body of men, sir, and the salvation of Texas."
+
+"Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion," said Duane.
+
+Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his
+choice for a chief executive of the great state. He talked
+politics for a while, and of the vast territory west of the
+Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit from Austin. He talked
+enough for Duane to realize that here was just the kind of
+intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen that he had been
+trying to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to be agreeable
+and interesting; and he saw presently that here was an
+opportunity to make a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend.
+
+"I'm a stranger in these parts," said Duane, finally. "What is
+this outlaw situation you speak of?"
+
+"It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more,
+but just wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen,
+supposed to be honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On
+this border, you know, the rustler has always been able to
+steal cattle in any numbers. But to get rid of big
+bunches--that's the hard job. The gang operating between here
+and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows
+where the stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion
+that most of it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San
+Antonio, Austin, New Orleans, also to El Paso. If you travel
+the stock-road between here and Marfa and Valentine you'll see
+dead cattle all along the line and stray cattle out in the
+scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and stragglers
+are not rounded up."
+
+"Wholesale business, eh?" remarked Duane. "Who are
+these--er--big stock-buyers?"
+
+Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He
+bent his penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked
+his pointed beard.
+
+"Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing,
+direct accusation another. This is not a healthy country for
+the informer."
+
+When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was
+disposed to talk freely. Duane could not judge whether the
+Colonel had a hobby of that subject or the outlaws were so
+striking in personality and deed that any man would know all
+about them. The great name along the river was Cheseldine, but
+it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No person
+of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine, and
+those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in
+descriptions of the chief that they confused the reality and
+lent to the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an
+outlaw leader, as there was no one w;ho could identify him, so
+there was no one who could prove he had actually killed a man.
+Blood flowed like water over the Big Bend country, and it was
+Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact remained there were no
+eye-witnesses to connect any individual called Cheseldine with
+these deeds of violence. But in striking contrast to this
+mystery was the person, character, and cold-blooded action
+of Poggin and Knell, the chief's lieutenants. They were
+familiar figures in all the towns within two hundred miles of
+Bradford. Knell had a record, but as gunman with an incredible
+list of victims Poggin was supreme. If Poggin had a friend no
+one ever heard of him. There were a hundred stories of his
+nerve, his wonderful speed with a gun, his passion for
+gambling, his love of a horse--his cold, implacable, inhuman
+wiping out of his path any man that crossed it.
+
+"Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name," said Colonel Webb.
+"Sometimes I wonder if he's not only a name. In that case where
+does the brains of this gang come from? No; there must be a
+master craftsman behind this border pillage; a master capable
+of handling those terrors Poggin and Knell. Of all the
+thousands of outlaws developed by western Texas in the last
+twenty years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas,
+down between the Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are
+still  many bad men. But I doubt if any outlaw there, possibly
+excepting Buck Duane, ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this
+Duane?"
+
+"Yes, a little," replied Duane, quietly. "I'm from southern
+Texas. Buck Duane then is known out here?"
+
+"Why, man, where isn't his name known?" returned Colonel Webb.
+"I've kept track of his record as I have all the others. Of
+course, Duane, being a lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery
+also, but not like Cheseldine. Out here there have drifted many
+stories of Duane, horrible some of them. But despite them a
+sort of romance clings to that Nueces outlaw. He's killed three
+great outlaw leaders, I believe--Bland, Hardin, and the other I
+forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had friends there.
+Bland had a hard name at Del Rio."
+
+"Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of
+the Pecos?" inquired Duane.
+
+"He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest
+men. I understand Duane had many friends, that whole counties
+swear by him--secretly, of course, for he's a hunted outlaw
+with rewards on his head. His fame in this country appears to
+hang on his matchless gun-play and his enmity toward outlaw
+chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I wish to God that Buck
+Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred pesos to see him
+and Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how jealous
+these great outlaws are of each other."
+
+"Yes, indeed, all about them is singular," replied Duane. "Has
+Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?"
+
+"No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though
+there's unexplained movements of stock. Probably all the stock
+that's being shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works
+over a wide section, too wide for news to travel inside of
+weeks. Then sometimes he's not heard of at all for a spell.
+These lulls are pretty surely indicative of a big storm sooner
+or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer and
+farther between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are
+some people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with the
+bank-robberies and train-holdups during the last few years in
+this country. But that's poor reasoning. The jobs have been too
+well done, too surely covered, to be the work of greasers or
+ordinary outlaws."
+
+"What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind
+up? Will the outlaw ever be driven out?" asked Duane.
+
+"Never. There will always be outlaws along the Rio Grande. All
+the armies in the world couldn't comb the wild brakes of that
+fifteen hundred miles of river. But the sway of the outlaw,
+such as is enjoyed by these great leaders, will sooner or later
+be past. The criminal element flock to the Southwest. But not
+so thick and fast as the pioneers. Besides, the outlaws kill
+themselves, and the ranchers are slowly rising in wrath, if not
+in action. That will come soon. If they only had a leader to
+start the fight! But that will come. There's talk of
+Vigilantes, the same hat were organized in California and are
+now in force in Idaho. So far it's only talk. But the time will
+come. And the days of Cheseldine and Poggin are numbered."
+
+Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thoughtful. The long
+trail was growing hot. This voluble colonel had given him new
+ideas. It came to Duane in surprise that he was famous along
+the upper Rio Grande. Assuredly he would not long be able to
+conceal his identity. He had no doubt that he would soon meet
+the chiefs of this clever and bold rustling gang. He could not
+decide whether he would be safer unknown or known. In the
+latter case his one chance lay in the fatality connected with
+his name, in his power to look it and act it. Duane had never
+dreamed of any sleuth-hound tendency in his nature, but now he
+felt something like one. Above all others his mind fixed on
+Poggin--Poggin the brute, the executor of Cheseldine's will,
+but mostly upon Poggin the gunman. This in itself was a warning
+to Duane. He felt terrible forces at work within him. There was
+the stern and indomitable resolve to make MacNelly's boast good
+to the governor of the state--to break up Cheseldine's gang.
+Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange grim and
+deadly instinct--which he had to drive away for fear he would
+find in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor for
+his word to MacNelly, but for himself. Had his father's blood
+and the hard years made Duane the kind of man who instinctively
+wanted to meet Poggin? He was sworn to MacNelly's service, and
+he fought himself to keep that, and that only, in his mind.
+
+Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride
+from Bradford toward the north. There was a stage which made
+the journey twice a week.
+
+Next morning Duane mounted his horse and headed for Fairdale.
+He rode leisurely, as he wanted to learn all he could about the
+country. There were few ranches. The farther he traveled the
+better grazing he encountered, and, strange to note, the fewer
+herds of cattle.
+
+It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses
+that marked the half-way point between Bradford and Fairdale.
+Here, Duane had learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for
+wayfarers.
+
+When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and
+a number of loungers greeted him laconically.
+
+"Beat the stage in, hey?" remarked one.
+
+"There she comes now," said another. "Joel shore is drivin'
+to-night."
+
+Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust and horses and a
+lumbering coach. When he had looked after the needs of his
+horse he returned to the group before the inn. They awaited the
+stage with that interest common to isolated people. Presently
+it rolled up, a large mud-bespattered and dusty vehicle,
+littered with baggage on top and tied on behind. A number of
+passengers alighted, three of whom excited Duane's interest.
+One was a tall, dark, striking-looking man, and the other two
+were ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane heard
+the proprietor of the inn address the man as Colonel
+Longstreth, and as the party entered the inn Duane's quick ears
+caught a few words which acquainted him with the fact that
+Longstreth was the Mayor of Fairdale.
+
+Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be
+ready. At table he found himself opposite the three who had
+attracted his attention.
+
+"Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys," Longstreth was saying.
+
+Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes.
+
+"I'm crazy to ride bronchos," she said.
+
+Duane gathered she was on a visit to western Texas. The other
+girl's deep voice, sweet like a bell, made Duane regard her
+closer. She had beauty as he had never seen it in another
+woman. She was slender, but the development of her figure gave
+Duane the impression she was twenty years old or more. She had
+the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen. She did not
+resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She looked
+tired, quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face;
+clear, olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as
+coal, beautiful to look into; a slender, straight nose that had
+something nervous and delicate about it which made Duane think
+of a thoroughbred; and a mouth by no means small, but perfectly
+curved; and hair like jet--all these features proclaimed her
+beauty to Duane. Duane believed her a descendant of one of the
+old French families of eastern Texas. He was sure of it when
+she looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent gaze. There
+were pride, fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt himself
+blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been rude, perhaps,
+but unconscious. How many years had passed since he had seen a
+girl like her! Thereafter he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet
+he seemed to be aware that he had aroused the interest of both
+girls.
+
+After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where
+an open fire place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth
+and cheery glow. Duane took a seat by a table in the corner,
+and, finding a paper, began to read. Presently when he glanced
+up he saw two dark-faced men, strangers who had not appeared
+before, and were peering in from a doorway. When they saw Duane
+had observed them they stepped back out of sight.
+
+It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In
+Texas in the seventies it was always bad policy to let
+strangers go unheeded. Duane pondered a moment. Then he went
+out to look over these two men. The doorway opened into a
+patio, and across that was a little dingy, dim-lighted
+bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks to
+the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of
+them whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In
+Texas, where outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and
+sometimes grim of aspect, it was no easy task to pick out the
+crooked ones. But Duane's years on the border had augmented a
+natural instinct or gift to read character, or at least to
+sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these strangers
+were dishonest.
+
+"Hey somethin'?" one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane
+up and down.
+
+"No thanks, I don't drink," Duane replied, and returned their
+scrutiny with interest. "How's tricks in the Big Bend?"
+
+Both men stared. It had taken only a close glance for Duane to
+recognize a type of ruffian most frequently met along the
+river. These strangers had that stamp, and their surprise
+proved he was right. Here the innkeeper showed signs of
+uneasiness, and seconded the surprise of his customers. No more
+was said at the instant, and the two rather hurriedly went out.
+
+"Say, boss, do you know those fellows?" Duane asked the
+innkeeper.
+
+"Nope."
+
+"Which way did they come?"
+
+"Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners
+today," he replied, and he put both hands on the bar and looked
+at Duane. "They nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said,
+an' trailed in after the stage."
+
+When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel Longstreth was
+absent, also several of the other passengers. Miss Ruth sat in
+the chair he had vacated, and across the table from her sat
+Miss Longstreth. Duane went directly to them.
+
+"Excuse me," said Duane, addressing them. "I want to tell you
+there are a couple of rough-looking men here. I've just seen
+them. They mean evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your
+doors--bar your windows to-night."
+
+"Oh!" cried Ruth, very low. "Ray, do you hear?"
+
+"Thank you; we'll be careful," said Miss Longstreth,
+gracefully. The rich color had faded in her cheek. "I saw those
+men watching you from that door. They had such bright black
+eyes. Is there really danger--here?"
+
+"I think so," was Duane's reply.
+
+Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: "Hands up!"
+
+No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those
+words! His hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened
+cry and sank into her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her
+eyes dilated. Both girls were staring at some one behind Duane.
+
+"Turn around!" ordered the harsh voice.
+
+The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to
+his comrade in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him
+covered with a cocked gun. He strode forward, his eyes
+gleaming, pressed the gun against him, and with his other hand
+dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out his roll of
+bills. Then he reached low at Duane's hip, felt his gun, and
+took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of
+another weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an
+expression of fiendish satisfaction that made Duane think he
+was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of game.
+
+His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other
+men, who stood there frightened, speechless.
+
+"Git a move on, Bill," called this fellow; and he took a hasty
+glance backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course
+the robbers had horses waiting. The one called Bill strode
+across the room, and with brutal, careless haste began to prod
+the two men with his weapon and to search them. The robber in
+the doorway called "Rustle!" and disappeared.
+
+Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth
+and the other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got
+through with his searching, and from his growls Duane gathered
+he had not been well remunerated. Then he wheeled once more.
+Duane had not moved a muscle, stood perfectly calm with his
+arms high. The robber strode back with his bloodshot eyes
+fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched, but
+the little girl appeared about to faint.
+
+"Don't yap, there!" he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun
+close to Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight
+of the road, but a plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made
+Duane exult in a kind of cold glow. But now something hot
+worked within him. He had a little gun in his pocket. The
+robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.
+
+"Any money, jewelry, diamonds!" ordered the ruffian, fiercely.
+
+Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood
+with her hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this
+position to mean that she had valuables concealed there. But
+Duane fancied she had instinctively pressed her hands against a
+throbbing heart.
+
+"Come out with it!" he said, harshly, reaching for her.
+
+"Don't dare touch me!" she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not
+move. She had nerve.
+
+It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance.
+Waiting had been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss
+Ruth had fainted, and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight
+in her, which fact helped Duane, yet made injury possible to
+her. She eluded two lunges the man made at her. Then his rough
+hand caught her waist, and with one pull ripped it asunder,
+exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.
+
+She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had
+not shaken Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this brutal tearing
+off of half her waist.
+
+The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For
+himself he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun
+was still held dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched
+only that. Then a bellow made him jerk his head. Colonel
+Longstreth stood in the doorway in a magnificent rage. He had
+no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He bellowed something
+again.
+
+Duane's shifting glance caught the robber's sudden movement. It
+was a kind of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to
+shoot Longstreth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss
+Longstreth's torn waist loosened its hold. The other hand with
+its cocked weapon slowly dropped till it pointed to the floor.
+That was Duane's chance.
+
+Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his
+bullet, and he could not tell on the instant whether it hit the
+robber or went into the ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed
+harmlessly. He fell with blood spurting over his face. Duane
+realized he had hit him, but the small bullet had glanced.
+
+Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not
+supported her. It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he
+half led, half carried her. Then he rushed out of the room,
+across the patio, through the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, he
+was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled horse, probably the
+one belonging to the fellow he had shot. His comrade had
+escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a condition
+approaching pandemonium.
+
+The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had
+been out at the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had
+happened. Joel, the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men
+who had been robbed. The woman, wife of one of the men, had
+come in, and she had hysterics. The girls were still and white.
+The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and Duane guessed he
+had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing that
+struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw
+such passion. Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared.
+There came a quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly
+protested:
+
+"Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's
+lucky. I swear to God I hadn't nothin' to do with them
+fellers!"
+
+"I ought to kill you anyhow!" replied Longstreth. And his voice
+now astounded Duane, it was so full of power.
+
+Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the
+robber's temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as
+Duane had guessed, had glanced. He was not seriously injured,
+and already showed signs of returning consciousness.
+
+"Drag him out of here!" ordered Longstreth; and he turned to
+his daughter.
+
+Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the
+money and gun taken from him; and presently recovered the
+property of the other men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the
+injured man somewhere outside.
+
+Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch,
+where lay Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by
+the Colonel. Duane did not think she had wholly lost
+consciousness, and now she lay very still, with eyes dark and
+shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, now that he
+finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and
+kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the
+adventure, said she must learn to have nerve out here where
+things happened.
+
+"Can I be of any service?" asked Duane, solicitously.
+
+"Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these
+frightened girls while I go see what's to be done with that
+thick-skulled robber," he replied, and, telling the girls that
+there was no more danger, he went out.
+
+Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in
+place; the other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly,
+and he felt a strange thrill.
+
+"You saved my life," she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
+
+"No, no!" Duane exclaimed. "He might have struck you, hurt you,
+but no more."
+
+"I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my
+dress. I couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought.
+Surely my life was in peril."
+
+"Did you kill him?" asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
+
+"Oh no. He's not badly hurt."
+
+"I'm very glad he's alive," said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
+
+"My intention was bad enough," Duane went on. "It was a
+ticklish place for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was
+afraid his gun might go off. Fool careless he was!"
+
+"Yet you say you didn't save me," Miss Longstreth returned,
+quickly.
+
+"Well, let it go at that," Duane responded. "I saved you
+something."
+
+"Tell me all about it?" asked Miss Ruth, who was fast
+recovering.
+
+Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his
+point of view.
+
+"Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking
+of nothing--watching for nothing except a little moment when
+you might draw your gun?" asked Miss Ruth.
+
+"I guess that's about it," he replied.
+
+"Cousin," said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, "it was fortunate
+for us that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa
+scouts--laughs at danger. He seemed to think there was no
+danger. Yet he raved after it came."
+
+"Go with us all the way to Fairdale--please?" asked Miss Ruth,
+sweetly offering her hand. "I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my
+cousin, Ray Longstreth."
+
+"I'm traveling that way," replied Duane, in great confusion. He
+did not know how to meet the situation.
+
+Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a
+good night, which seemed rather curt by contrast to the
+graciousness of the girls, he led them away.
+
+Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the
+injured robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To
+Duane's surprise, he was gone, and so was his horse. The
+innkeeper was dumfounded. He said that he left the fellow on
+the floor in the bar-room.
+
+"Had he come to?" inquired Duane.
+
+"Sure. He asked for whisky."
+
+"Did he say anything else?"
+
+"Not to me. I heard him talkin'  to the father of them girls."
+
+"You mean Colonel Longstreth?"
+
+"I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was
+to blame fer that two-bit of a hold-up!"
+
+"What did you make of the old gent's rage?" asked Duane,
+watching the innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was
+sincere, and Duane believed in his honesty.
+
+"Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon
+he's either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans."
+
+"More nerve, maybe," Duane replied. "Show me a bed now,
+innkeeper."
+
+Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over
+the several events of the evening. He called up the details of
+the holdup and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's
+wrath, under circumstances where almost any Texan would have
+been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put it down to a choleric
+temperament. He pondered long on the action of the robber when
+Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian, as
+bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encountered, had, from
+some cause or other, been startled. From whatever point Duane
+viewed the man's strange indecision he could come to only one
+conclusion--his start, his check, his fear had been that of
+recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly
+acquired sense he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth's powerful
+personality. Why had that desperate robber lowered his gun and
+stood paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fairdale?
+This was not answerable. There might have been a number of
+reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane could
+not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for
+his daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had
+advanced in front of a cocked gun. Duane probed deep into this
+singular fact, and he brought to bear on the thing all his
+knowledge and experience of violent Texas life. And he found
+that the instant Colonel Longstreth had appeared on the scene
+there was no further danger threatening his daughter. Why? That
+likewise Duane could not answer. Then his rage, Duane
+concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS daughter being
+assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a
+thought-disturber, but Duane put it aside to crystallize and
+for more careful consideration.
+
+Next morning Duane found that the little town was called
+Sanderson. It was larger than he had at first supposed. He
+walked up the main street and back again. Just as he arrived
+some horsemen rode up to the inn and dismounted. And at this
+juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane heard Colonel
+Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake hands
+with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he
+spoke with force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said.
+The fellow laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen,
+until suddenly he espied Miss Longstreth. Then his face
+changed, and he removed his sombrero. Duane went closer.
+
+"Floyd, did you come with the teams?" asked Longstreth,
+sharply.
+
+"Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard," was the reply.
+
+"Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later." Then Longstreth
+turned to his daughter. "Ray, here's the cousin I've told you
+about. You used to play with him ten years ago--Floyd Lawson.
+Floyd, my daughter--and my niece, Ruth Herbert."
+
+Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a
+dangerous game to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's
+unusual and significant personality, he bent a keen and
+searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
+
+He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples--dark,
+smooth-shaven, with lines left by wildness, dissipation,
+shadows under dark eyes, a mouth strong and bitter, and a
+square chin--a reckless, careless, handsome, sinister face
+strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace of a
+gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow
+voice. Duane doubted not that he, like many a young man, had
+drifted out to the frontier, where rough and wild life had
+wrought sternly but had not quite effaced the mark of good
+family.
+
+Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his
+daughter and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something
+hinged on this meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as
+the stage appeared ready for the journey, he had no further
+opportunity to gratify it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open,
+on to a wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It
+headed northwest. To the left rose a range of low, bleak
+mountains he had noted yesterday, and to the right sloped the
+mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. The driver pushed his
+team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered ground rapidly.
+
+The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place
+where the horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon
+belonging to cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third
+at a small cluster of adobe and stone houses constituting a
+hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named after the Colonel.
+From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few ranches,
+each one controlling great acreage.
+
+Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale,
+a green patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it
+was indeed a fair sight. But he was more concerned with its
+remoteness from civilization than its beauty. At that time, in
+the early seventies, when the vast western third of Texas was a
+wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to settle there and
+establish places like Fairdale.
+
+It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel
+Longstreth's ranch. The house was situated on the only
+elevation around Fairdale, and it was not high, nor more than a
+few minutes' walk from the edge of the town. It was a low,
+flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and covered
+what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. All was green
+about it, except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or
+sheds showed gray and red.
+
+Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered
+the town with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and
+expectation. The street he rode down was a main one, and on
+both sides of the street was a solid row of saloons, resorts,
+hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched all along the sidewalk in
+two long lines, with a buckboard and team here and there
+breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
+
+From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from
+other frontier towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely
+realized. As the afternoon was waning he halted at a little
+inn. A boy took charge of his horse. Duane questioned the lad
+about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject most in mind.
+
+"Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?"
+
+"Reckon he has," replied the lad. "Doan know how many cowboys.
+They're always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half
+of them."
+
+"Much movement of stock these days?"
+
+"Stock's always movin'," he replied, with a queer look.
+
+"Rustlers?"
+
+But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane
+expected.
+
+"Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?"
+
+"Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger."
+
+"Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two
+cowboys who were arrested."
+
+"Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--
+they belong heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys."
+
+Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the
+talk into other channels.
+
+After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main
+street. When darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought
+cigars, sat around, and watched. Then he passed out and went
+into the next place. This was of rough crude exterior, but the
+inside was comparatively pretentious and ablaze with lights. It
+was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted crowd that
+smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with
+wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most
+of the guests had been or were going. He found a great square
+room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the
+floor-space taken up by tables and chairs. This was the only
+gambling place of any size in southern Texas in which he had
+noted the absence of Mexicans. There was some card-playing
+going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for a while, and
+knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
+conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a
+room.
+
+Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two
+men were conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
+
+"Laramie, what's the stranger's name?" asked one.
+
+"He didn't say," replied the other.
+
+"Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did.
+No cattleman, him. How'd you size him?"
+
+"Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been
+lookin' for a man for years--to kill him when he found him."
+
+"Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's
+lookin' for Long--"
+
+"'S--sh!" interrupted Laramie. "You must be half drunk, to go
+talkie' that way."
+
+Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear,
+and presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and,
+making himself agreeable, began to ask casual questions about
+Fairdale. Laramie was not communicative.
+
+Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had
+Laramie's visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill
+Longstreth? Duane inferred just that from the interrupted
+remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale.
+Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and
+dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie
+would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that
+night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of
+her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It
+made him remember that long-past time when girls had been a
+part of his life. What a sad and dark and endless void lay
+between that past and the present! He had no right even to
+dream of a beautiful woman like Ray Longstreth. That
+conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed
+perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew
+conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that
+was like a pang in his breast.
+
+Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any
+overtures to the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of
+hurry now. He contented himself with watching and listening.
+And at the close of that day he decided Fairdale was what
+MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the track of
+an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much the
+same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking
+for a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and
+reticent after that. He would answer casual queries, and it did
+not take Duane long to learn that Laramie had seen better
+days--that he was now broken, bitter, and hard. Some one had
+wronged him.
+
+Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any
+closer to Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and
+in front of the stores unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did
+not take him long to find out that Fairdale stood parallel with
+Huntsville for gambling, drinking, and fighting. The street was
+always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town full of
+strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in any place Duane
+had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon that spoke
+forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided that
+Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to
+this Fairdale, which was a secret center of rustlers and
+outlaws. And what struck Duane strangest of all was the fact
+that Longstreth was mayor here and held court daily. Duane knew
+intuitively, before a chance remark gave him proof, that this
+court was a sham, a farce. And he wondered if it were not a
+blind. This wonder of his was equivalent to suspicion of
+Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached himself. Then he
+realized that the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry
+had brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to
+live with her father. Longstreth had originally been a planter
+in Louisiana, where his family had remained after his advent in
+the West. He was a rich rancher; he owned half of Fairdale; he
+was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd Lawson was his
+lieutenant and associate in deals.
+
+On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale
+he returned to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering
+was amazed to have a rough-looking young fellow rush by him out
+of the door. Inside Laramie was lying on the floor, with a
+bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to be dangerously
+hurt.
+
+"Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer," said
+Laramie, laboring to his feet.
+
+"Are you hurt much?" queried Duane.
+
+"I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been
+robbed before without that."
+
+"Well, I'll take a look after Bo," replied Duane.
+
+He went out and glanced down the street toward the center of
+the town. He did not see any one he could take for the
+innkeeper's assailant. Then he looked up the street, and he saw
+the young fellow about a block away, hurrying along and gazing
+back.
+
+Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go after him.
+Snecker broke into a run. Then Duane set out to overhaul him.
+There were two motives in Duane's action--one of anger, and the
+other a desire to make a friend of this man Laramie, whom Duane
+believed could tell him much.
+
+Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He
+gained rapidly upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that,
+could not get out of sight. Then he took to the open country
+and ran straight for the green hill where Longstreth's house
+stood. Duane had almost caught Snecker when he reached the
+shrubbery and trees and there eluded him. But Duane kept him in
+sight, in the shade, on the paths, and up the road into the
+courtyard, and he saw Snecker go straight for Longstreth's
+house.
+
+Duane was not to be turned back by that, singular as it was. He
+did not stop to consider. It seemed enough to know that fate
+had directed him to the path of this rancher Longstreth. Duane
+entered the first open door on that side of the court. It
+opened into a corridor which led into a plaza. It had wide,
+smooth stone porches, and flowers and shrubbery in the center.
+Duane hurried through to burst into the presence of Miss
+Longstreth and a number of young people. Evidently she was
+giving a little party.
+
+Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported
+the porch roof; at sight of Duane his face changed remarkably,
+expressing amazement, consternation, then fear.
+
+In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longstreth rose white as her
+dress. The young women present stared in astonishment, if they
+were not equally perturbed. There were cowboys present who
+suddenly grew intent and still. By these things Duane gathered
+that his appearance must be disconcerting. He was panting. He
+wore no hat or coat. His big gun-sheath showed plainly at his
+hip.
+
+Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon
+Duane. He was plunged into confusion. For the moment he saw no
+one but her.
+
+"Miss Longstreth--I came--to search--your house," panted Duane.
+
+He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the instant he spoke he
+realized that that should have been the last thing for him to
+say. He had blundered. But he was not used to women, and this
+dark-eyed girl made him thrill and his heart beat thickly and
+his wits go scattering.
+
+"Search my house!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded
+the white in her cheeks. She appeared astonished and angry.
+"What for? Why, how dare you! This is unwarrantable!"
+
+"A man--Bo Snecker--assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie," replied
+Duane, hurriedly. "I chased Snecker here--saw him run into the
+house."
+
+"Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In
+the absence of my father I'm mistress here. I'll not permit you
+to search."
+
+Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped
+forward.
+
+"Ray, don't be bothered now," he said, to his cousin. "This
+fellow's making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here, Mister, you
+clear out!"
+
+"I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him," replied
+Duane, quietly.
+
+"Bah! That's all a bluff," sneered Lawson. "I'm on to your
+game. You just wanted an excuse to break in here--to see my
+cousin again. When you saw the company you invented that
+excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be the worse for you."
+
+Duane felt his face burn with a tide of hot blood. Almost he
+felt that he was guilty of such motive. Had he not been unable
+to put this Ray Longstreth out of his mind? There seemed to be
+scorn in her eyes now. And somehow that checked his
+embarrassment.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then--I regret to say--I'll do so without your permission."
+
+"You'll not dare!" she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom
+swelling.
+
+"Pardon me, yes, I will."
+
+"Who are you?" she demanded, suddenly.
+
+"I'm a Texas Ranger," replied Duane.
+
+"A TEXAS RANGER!" she echoed.
+
+Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, I don't need warrants to search houses," said
+Duane. "I'm sorry to annoy you. I'd prefer to have your
+permission. A ruffian has taken refuge here--in your father's
+house. He's hidden somewhere. May I look for him?"
+
+"If you are indeed a ranger."
+
+Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to
+look at them.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, I've come to make Fairdale a safer, cleaner,
+better place for women and children. I don't wonder at your
+resentment. But to doubt me--insult me. Some day you may be
+sorry."
+
+Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands.
+
+"All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple
+of cowboys and go with this--this Texas Ranger."
+
+"Thanks," said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. "Perhaps
+you'll be able to find Snecker quicker than I could."
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid.
+Evidently he was a man of fierce quick passions.
+
+"Don't quarrel," said Miss Longstreth. "Floyd, you go with him.
+Please hurry. I'll be nervous till--the man's found or you're
+sure there's not one."
+
+They started with several cowboys to search the house. They
+went through the rooms searching, calling out, peering into
+dark places. It struck Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did
+all the calling. He was hurried, too, tried to keep in the
+lead. Duane wondered if he knew his voice would be recognized
+by the hiding man. Be that as it might, it was Duane who peered
+into a dark corner and then, with a gun leveled, said "Come
+out!"
+
+He came forth into the flare--a tall, slim, dark-faced youth,
+wearing sombrero, blouse and trousers. Duane collared him
+before any of the others could move and held the gun close
+enough to make him shrink. But he did not impress Duane as
+being frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a clammy face,
+the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a shock. He
+peered into Duane's face, then into that of the cowboy next to
+him, then into Lawson's, and if ever in Duane's life he beheld
+relief it was then. That was all Duane needed to know, but he
+meant to find out more if he could.
+
+"Who're you?" asked Duane, quietly.
+
+"Bo Snecker," he said.
+
+"What'd you hide here for?"
+
+He appeared to grow sullen.
+
+"Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres."
+
+"Ranger, what'll you do with him?" Lawson queried, as if
+uncertain, now the capture was made.
+
+"I'll see to that," replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in
+front of him out into the court.
+
+Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before
+Mayor Longstreth in the court.
+
+When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were
+other men there, a dozen or more, and all seemed excited;
+evidently, news of Duane had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a
+table up on a platform. Near him sat a thick-set grizzled man,
+with deep eyes, and this was Hanford Owens, county judge. To
+the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with a
+drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a huge
+silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs.
+There were four other men whom Duane knew by sight, several
+whose faces were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all
+dusty horsemen.
+
+Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not,
+he was unable at once to quell the excitement. Gradually,
+however, it subsided, and from the last few utterances before
+quiet was restored Duane gathered that he had intruded upon
+some kind of a meeting in the hall.
+
+"What'd you break in here for," demanded Longstreth.
+
+"Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?"
+interrogated Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost
+piercing.
+
+"Yes," replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt
+his intense interest.
+
+"I've arrested a criminal," said Duane.
+
+"Arrested a criminal!" ejaculated Longstreth. "You? Who're
+you?"
+
+"I'm a ranger," replied Duane.
+
+A significant silence ensued.
+
+"I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted
+robbery--if not murder. He's had a shady past here, as this
+court will know if it keeps a record."
+
+"What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for
+yourself," said Longstreth, gruffly.
+
+Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he
+had shuffled forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an
+evil front, but not the boldness even of a rustler.
+
+"It ain't so, Longstreth," he began, loudly. "I went in
+Laramie's place fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come
+in from the hall an' hit Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor.
+I went out. Then this big ranger chased me an'  fetched me
+here. 1 didn't do nothin'. This ranger's hankerin' to arrest
+somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth."
+
+Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and
+that worthy nodded his great bushy head.
+
+"Bo, you're discharged," said Longstreth, bluntly. "Now the
+rest of you clear out of here."
+
+He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to
+Duane--his slap in the face to an interfering ranger service.
+If Longstreth was crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve.
+Duane almost decided he was above suspicion. But his
+nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative
+assurance--these to Duane's keen and practiced eyes were in
+significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his
+mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin. In that momentary
+lull Duane's scrutiny of Longstreth gathered an impression of
+the man's intense curiosity.
+
+Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell
+of silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.
+
+"Hold on!" called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had
+been a bullet.
+
+"Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie," said Duane, his
+voice still ringing. "What has the court to say to that?"
+
+"The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any
+ranger service. We don't want you out here. Fairdale doesn't
+need you."
+
+"That's a lie, Longstreth," retorted Duane. "I've letters from
+Fairdale citizens all begging for ranger service."
+
+Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He
+appeared about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for quick
+reply.
+
+Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The blood showed
+black and thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his
+uncontrollable outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion
+to any cause he should reasonably have had for anger.
+Longstreth shoved him back with a curse and a warning glare.
+
+"Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?" shouted Longstreth.
+
+"I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're
+ignorant of the power of Texas Rangers."
+
+"You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll
+block you."
+
+That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had
+been waiting for. He had helped on the crisis. He wanted to
+force Longstreth's hand and show the town his stand.
+
+Duane backed clear of everybody.
+
+"Men! I call on you all!" cried Duane, piercingly. "I call on
+you to witness the arrest of a criminal prevented by
+Longstreth, Mayor of Fairdale. It will be recorded in the
+report to the Adjutant-General at Austin. Longstreth, you'll
+never prevent another arrest."
+
+Longstreth sat white with working jaw.
+
+"Longstreth, you've shown your hand," said Duane, in a voice
+that carried far and held those who heard. "Any honest citizen
+of Fairdale can now see what's plain--yours is a damn poor
+hand! You're going to hear me call a spade a spade. In the two
+years you've been Mayor you've never arrested one rustler.
+Strange, when Fairdale's a nest for rustlers! You've never sent
+a prisoner to Del Rio, let alone to Austin. You have no jail.
+There have been nine murders during your office--innumerable
+street-fights and holdups. Not one arrest! But you have ordered
+arrests for trivial offenses, and have punished these out of
+all proportion. There have been lawsuits in your court-suits
+over water-rights, cattle deals, property lines. Strange how in
+these lawsuits you or Lawson or other men close to you were
+always involved! Strange how it seems the law was stretched to
+favor your interest!"
+
+Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the silence, both
+outside and inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing
+of agitated men. Longstreth was indeed a study. Yet did he
+betray anything but rage at this interloper?
+
+"Longstreth, here's plain talk for you and Fairdale," went on
+Duane. "I don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. I say
+STRANGE! Law here has been a farce. The motive behind all this
+laxity isn't plain to me--yet. But I call your hand!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and
+went down the street. He was certain that on the faces of some
+men he had seen ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had
+struck some kind of a hot trait, and he meant to see where it
+led. It was by no means unlikely that Cheseldine might be at
+the other end. Duane controlled a mounting eagerness. But ever
+and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of Ray
+Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he
+pretended. He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and
+shame to this young woman. The thought made him smart with
+pain. She began to haunt him, and then he was thinking more of
+her beauty and sweetness than of the disgrace he might bring
+upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked inside Duane's
+heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was troubled.
+
+Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently
+none the worse for his injury.
+
+"How are you, Laramie?" he asked.
+
+"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied
+Laramie. His head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal
+the lump where he had been struck. He looked pale, but was
+bright enough.
+
+"That was a good crack Snecker gave you," remarked Duane.
+
+"I ain't accusin' Bo," remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that
+made Duane thoughtful.
+
+"Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's
+court. But they let him go."
+
+Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of
+friendship.
+
+"See here, Laramie," went on Duane, "in some parts of Texas
+it's policy to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving!
+Between ourselves, I want you to know I lean on your side of
+the fence."
+
+Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly
+met his gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set
+taciturnity; but even as he looked the light that might have
+been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same
+old mask. Still Duane had seen enough. Like a bloodhound he had
+a scent.
+
+"Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked
+for?"
+
+"I didn't say."
+
+"Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish
+to-day. It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work
+for?"
+
+"When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for
+Longstreth."
+
+"Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round
+Fairdale. I was some sore the other day to find I was losing
+good money at Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I
+wouldn't have been sore--ha, ha! But I was surprised to hear
+some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So joint."
+
+"He owns considerable property hereabouts," replied Laramie,
+constrainedly.
+
+"Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this
+town, you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth.Get me
+straight, Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor
+Longstreth. And for cause I'd throw a gun on him just as quick
+as on any rustler in Pecos."
+
+"Talk's cheap," replied Laramie, making light of his bluster,
+but the red was deeper in his face.
+
+"Sure. I know that," Duane said. "And usually I don't talk.
+Then it's not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?"
+
+"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name
+isn't connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place."
+
+"That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch.
+Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow
+can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks
+you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good
+fellow like you, Laramie."
+
+"Thanks," replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little
+husky. "Didn't you hear I used to run it?"
+
+"No. Did you?" Duane said, quickly.
+
+"I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it
+for eleven years."
+
+"Well, I'll be doggoned." It was indeed Duane's turn to be
+surprised, and with the surprise came a glimmering. "I'm sorry
+you're not there now. Did you sell out?"
+
+"No. Just lost the place."
+
+Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy
+had made him soft.
+
+"It was two years ago-two years last March," he went on. "I was
+in a big cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my
+share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. I owed
+Longstreth. He pressed me. It come to a lawsuit--an' I--was
+ruined.
+
+It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears
+rolled down his cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat,
+the agony of the man. He had failed to meet his obligations;
+nevertheless, he had been swindled. All that he suppressed, all
+that would have been passion had the man's spirit not been
+broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now the secret of his
+bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse Longstreth,
+the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thought best
+to try to learn at some later time.
+
+"Hard luck! It certainly was tough," Duane said. "But you're a
+good loser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I
+need your advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it
+I want to invest some. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in
+some rancher's herd. What I want you to steer me on is a good
+square rancher. Or maybe a couple of ranchers, if there happen
+to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with ranchers who ride
+in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is full of
+them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must
+know a couple of men above suspicion."
+
+"Thank God I do," he replied, feelingly. "Frank Morton an' Si
+Zimmer, my friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an'
+friends still. You can gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want
+advice from me--don't invest money in stock now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled
+quicker 'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new
+cattlemen--these are easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows
+all the ranchers are easy enough pickin'. But the new fellers
+have to learn the ropes. They don't know anythin' or anybody.
+An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd fight if they--"
+
+"What?" Duane put in, as he paused. "If they knew who was
+rustling the stock?"
+
+"Nope."
+
+"If they had the nerve?"
+
+"Not thet so much."
+
+"What then? What'd make them fight?"
+
+"A leader!"
+
+"Howdy thar, Jim," boomed a big voice.
+
+A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the
+room.
+
+"Hello, Morton," replied Laramie. "I'd introduce you to my
+guest here, but I don't know his name."
+
+"Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right
+names."
+
+"Say, Morton," put in Duane, "Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be
+a good man to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I
+lose it I'd like to invest it in stock."
+
+Morton smiled broadly.
+
+"I'm on the square," Duane said, bluntly. "If you fellows never
+size up your neighbors any better than you have sized me--well,
+you won't get any richer."
+
+It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men
+pregnant with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his
+interest, but his faith held aloof.
+
+"I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal?
+Will you start me up as a stockman with a little herd all my
+own?"
+
+"Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to
+buy cattle now. I don't want to take your money an' see you
+lose out. Better go back across the Pecos where the rustlers
+ain't so strong. I haven't had more'n twenty-five hundred herd
+of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang on to a
+breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?"
+
+"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton," replied Duane,
+with impatience. "You see, I haven't ever lived long in a
+rustler-run county. Who heads the gang, anyway?"
+
+Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then
+snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
+
+"Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong
+these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved
+with supposedly honest men--they CAN"T last."
+
+"They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a
+single steer left," he declared.
+
+"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you
+as one of the rustlers""
+
+Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt
+of his whip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy
+of him, and, something striking him as funny, he boomed out a
+laugh.
+
+"It's not so funny," Duane went on. "If you're going to pretend
+a yellow streak, what else will I think?"
+
+"Pretend?" he repeated.
+
+"Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different
+from those in other places. I say if you show anything like a
+lack of sand it's all bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There
+are a lot of men around Fairdale who're afraid of their
+shadows--afraid to be out after dark--afraid to open their
+mouths. But you're not one. So I say if you claim these
+rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to help
+the popular idea along. For they CAN"T  last. What you need out
+here is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"
+
+"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had
+blown over him. "Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I
+come to town."
+
+Then he went out.
+
+Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
+
+He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his
+gaze fixed again on Duane.
+
+"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men.
+Now, who in the hell are you?"
+
+Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane
+turned the lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object
+flashed as he shoved it, pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
+
+"RANGER!" he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "You
+sure rung true to me."
+
+"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of
+rustlers hereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was
+characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. His
+voice--something deep, easy, cool about him--seemed to steady
+Laramie.
+
+"No," replied Laramie.
+
+"Does anybody know?" went on Duane.
+
+"Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS."
+
+"But you have your suspicions?"
+
+"We have."
+
+"Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the
+saloons--the regulars."
+
+"Jest a bad lot," replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
+knowledge. "Most of them have been here years. Others have
+drifted in. Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few
+steers, steal, rob, anythin' for a little money to drink an'
+gamble. Jest a bad lot!"
+
+"Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are
+associated with this gang here?"
+
+"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of
+us ever seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell,
+Poggin, Panhandle Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all
+ride here often. No, Poggin doesn't come often. But the others
+do. For thet matter, they're around all over west of the
+Pecos."
+
+"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do
+men--apparently honest men--seem to be so close-mouthed here?
+Is that. a fact, or only my impression?"
+
+"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost
+cattle an' property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or
+otherwise, as hasn't been proved. An' in some cases when they
+talked--hinted a little--they was found dead. Apparently held
+up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk! Thet's why we're
+close mouthed."
+
+Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
+intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in
+spite of the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but
+a cold, secret, murderous hold on a little struggling community
+was something too strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
+
+The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
+interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got
+down. Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
+
+If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence.
+But Lawson showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark
+glint flitted from the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie
+and back again. Duane leaned easily against the counter.
+
+"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come
+fooling round the ranch again there'll be hell."
+
+It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos
+for ten years could not see in Duane something which forbade
+that kind of talk. It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed;
+men of courage were seldom intolerant. With the matchless nerve
+that characterized the great gunmen of the day there was a
+cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost gentle,
+certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
+French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed
+in anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which
+qualities in the face of a situation like this made him simply
+a fool.
+
+"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near
+Ray Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up
+there again there'll be hell."
+
+"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his
+voice sharp and cold.
+
+"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker
+like you," said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a
+deliberate intention to rouse Duane; the man was simply
+rancorous, jealous. "I'll call you right. You cheap bluffer!
+You four-flush! You damned interfering, conceited ranger!"
+
+"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be
+championing your beautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow
+speech. "But let me return your compliment. You're a fine
+Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush--damned,
+bull-headed RUSTLER!"
+
+Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in
+Lawson's working passion-blackened face.
+
+Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged
+forward. His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward,
+knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting
+posture against the wall.
+
+"Don't draw!" warned Duane.
+
+"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.
+
+But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face
+corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked
+the gun out of his hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
+
+Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
+
+"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you.
+Kickin' men like him won't do out here."
+
+"That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his
+gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to
+meet. Besides, shooting him would have been murder."
+
+"Murder!" exclaimed Laramie.
+
+"Yes, for me," replied Duane.
+
+"That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you
+think he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why,
+Lawson won't sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always
+been after me."
+
+"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out.
+And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows
+hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and
+can absolutely trust. I may need your help."
+
+Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to
+bar, watching, listening, recording. The excitement had
+preceded him, and speculation was rife. He thought best to keep
+out of it. After dark he stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The
+evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the
+only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's big sitting-
+room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up
+and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in
+the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
+glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see,
+he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the
+surface, with an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to
+observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house without
+speaking and closed the door.
+
+At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an
+offset between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane
+hid. So Duane waited there in the darkness with patience born
+of many hours of hiding.
+
+Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
+
+"Something's happened surely, Ruth," he heard Miss Longstreth
+say, anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak.
+He seemed pale, worried."
+
+"Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud," said Ruth. "For
+once he didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray,
+this had been a bad day."
+
+"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd
+makes life miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--"
+
+"I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon," declared Ruth,
+emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."
+
+"A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth," laughed Ray.
+
+"I don't care," replied Ruth, stubbornly. "it's so. He's mushy.
+And when he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!"
+
+There were steps on the hall floor.
+
+"Hello, girls!" sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual
+gaiety.
+
+"Floyd, what's the matter?" asked Ray, presently. "I never saw
+papa as he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what
+has happened?"
+
+"Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day," replied Lawson, with a blunt,
+expressive laugh.
+
+"Jar?" echoed both the girls, curiously.
+
+"We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Lawson,
+passionately, as if the sound of his voice augmented his
+feeling. "Listen, girls; I'll tell you-all about it." He
+coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed he had been
+drinking.
+
+Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and,
+stiffening his muscles for a protected spell of rigidity,
+prepared to listen with all acuteness and intensity. Just one
+word from this Lawson, inadvertently uttered in a moment of
+passion, might be the word Duane needed for his clue.
+
+"It happened at the town hall," began Lawson, rapidly. "Your
+father and Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with
+three ranchers from out of town. Then that damned ranger
+stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the
+house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on a
+restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
+innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting
+his insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a
+farce. There was no law. Your father's office as mayor should
+be impeached. He made arrests only for petty offenses. He was
+afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid
+or--he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat
+ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled
+for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father, Ray,
+insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
+
+"The ranger service wants to rule western Texas," went on
+Lawson. "These rangers are all a low set, many of them worse
+than the outlaws they hunt. Some of them were outlaws and
+gun-fighters before they became rangers. This is one of the
+worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent, smooth, and that
+makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He wanted
+to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move
+he would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born
+gunman. My God, any instant I expected to see your father fall
+dead at my feet!"
+
+"Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!" cried Ray Longstreth,
+passionately.
+
+"You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety.
+He made that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant
+against your father. He tried to inflame all Fairdale against
+him. That about the lawsuits was the worst! Damn him! He'll
+make us enemies."
+
+"What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?" said Ray
+Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. "After a
+moment's thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not
+worry, Floyd. Tell papa not to worry. Surely after all these
+years he can't be injured in reputation by--by an adventurer."
+
+"Yes, he can be injured," replied Floyd, quickly. "The frontier
+is a queer place. There are many bitter men here--men who have
+failed at ranching. And your father has been wonderfully
+successful. The ranger has dropped poison, and it'll spread."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers,
+new to Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and
+waiting atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were
+never closed. Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in
+the early dawn by rowdies carousing in the streets.
+
+Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not
+entertain the opinion that the first time he walked down-street
+he would be a target for guns. Things seldom happened that way;
+and when they did happen so, it was more accident than design.
+But at night he was not idle. He met Laramie, Morton, Zimmer,
+and others of like character; a secret club had been formed;
+and all the members were ready for action. Duane spent hours at
+night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayed when he was
+not up at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at least
+the house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy,
+mysterious--all that kindly disposed friends or neighbors would
+not have been. Duane had not been able to recognize any of
+these night visitors; and he did not think the time was ripe
+for a bold holding-up of one of them. Nevertheless, he was sure
+such an event would discover Lawson, or some one in that house,
+to be in touch with crooked men.
+
+Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk
+with Duane, in which he advised quick action, he was found
+behind the little bar of his restaurant with a bullet-hole in
+his breast, dead. No one could be found who had heard a shot.
+It had been deliberate murder, for upon the bar  had been left
+a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: "All friends of
+rangers look for the same."
+
+This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury
+Laramie. None of Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in
+the dead man or the unfortunate family he had left. Duane saw
+that these neighbors were held in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie
+was ill; the shock of her husband's death was hard on her; and
+she had been left almost destitute with five children. Duane
+rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town and moved
+the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and
+nurse and friend.
+
+After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that
+he meant business. It was his opinion that there were men in
+Fairdale secretly glad of a ranger's presence. What he intended
+to do was food for great speculation. A company of militia
+could not have had the effect upon the wild element of Fairdale
+that Duane's presence had. It got out that he was a gunman
+lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He had
+killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all. lt was actually said
+of him he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
+
+At first there had not only been great conjecture among the
+vicious element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds
+of action calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger.
+At the tables, at the bars and lounging-places Duane heard the
+remarks: "Who's thet ranger after? What'll he do fust off? Is
+he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin' to draw on him fust--an'
+go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be found somewheres
+full of lead?"
+
+When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating
+the honest stay-at-home citizens to array them in time against
+the other element, then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several
+times Duane was shot at in the dark and once slightly injured.
+Rumor had it that Poggin, the gunman, was coming to meet him.
+But the lawless element did not rise up in a mass to slay Duane
+on sight. It was not so much that the enemies of the law
+awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to the
+frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if
+formidable. He would have been welcomed at card-tables, at the
+bars, to play and drink with the men who knew they were under
+suspicion. There was a rude kind of good humor even in their
+open hostility.
+
+Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held
+the undivided attention of these men from their games and
+drinks and quarrels except by some decided move. Excitement,
+greed, appetite were rife in them. Duane marked, however, a
+striking exception to the usual run of strangers he had been in
+the habit of seeing. Snecker had gone or was under cover. Again
+Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of Poggin, yet he
+never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the
+habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink
+and gamble were unusually mild in comparison with former
+conduct. This lull, however, did not deceive Duane. It could
+not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so long.
+
+Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One
+afternoon while he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth
+ride up to the door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had
+heard of Mrs. Laramie's trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but
+he went into an adjoining room rather than meet them.
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you," said Miss Longstreth,
+cheerfully.
+
+The little room was not very light, there being only one window
+and the doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie
+lay, hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had
+evidently been a woman of some comeliness. The ravages of
+trouble and grief were there to read in her worn face; it had
+not, however, any of the hard and bitter lines that had
+characterized her husband's.
+
+Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie,
+how Mrs. Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
+
+"So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?" queried the woman, with
+her bright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Longstreth, simply. "This is my cousin,
+Ruth Herbert. We've come to nurse you, take care of the
+children, help you in any way you'll let us."
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+"Well, you look a little like Longstreth," finally said Mrs.
+Laramie, "but you're not at ALL like him. You must take after
+your mother. Miss Longstreth, I don't know if I can--if I ought
+accept anything from you. Your father ruined my husband."
+
+"Yes, I know," replied the girl, sadly. "That's all the more
+reason you should let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--
+mean so much to me."
+
+If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily
+melted in the warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner.
+Duane's idea was that the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty
+was always swiftly succeeded by that of her generosity and
+nobility. At any rate, she had started well with Mrs. Laramie,
+and no sooner had she begun to talk to the children than both
+they and the mother were won. The opening of that big basket
+was an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelings
+seemed too easily roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with
+Jim Laramie's slayer if he could have laid eyes on him then.
+However, Miss Longstreth and Ruth, after the nature of tender
+and practical girls, did not appear to take the sad situation
+to heart. The havoc was wrought in that household.
+
+The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action--and
+these the girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?" presently asked Miss
+Longstreth. Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on
+her knee. That sight, if any other was needed, completed his
+full and splendid estimate of Ray Longstreth and wrought
+strangely upon his heart.
+
+"The ranger," replied Mrs. Laramie.
+
+"The ranger!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
+
+"Yes, he's taken care of us all since--since--" Mrs. Laramie
+choked.
+
+"Oh! So you've had no help but his," replied Miss Longstreth,
+hastily. "No women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie,
+and I'll come myself."
+
+"It'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "You see, Jim
+had few friends--that is, right in town. And they've been
+afraid to help us--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--"
+
+"That's awful!" burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. "A
+brave lot of friends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more.
+We'll take care of you. Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the
+matter with baby's dress?"
+
+Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her
+emotion.
+
+"Why, it's on hind side before," declared Ruth. "I guess Mr.
+Ranger hasn't dressed many babies."
+
+"He did the best he could," said Mrs. Laramie. "Lord only knows
+what would have become of us!"
+
+"Then he is--is something more than a ranger?" queried Miss
+Longstreth, with a little break in her voice.
+
+"He's more than I can tell," replied Mrs. Laramie. "He buried
+Jim. He paid our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for
+us. He cooked for us and fed us. He washed and dressed the
+baby. He sat with me the first two nights after Jim's death,
+when I thought I'd die myself. He's so kind, so gentle, so
+patient. He has kept me up just by being near. Sometimes I'd
+wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how false
+were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.
+Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man
+might. When he has the baby up I just can't believe he's a
+bloody gunman, as they say. He's good, but he isn't happy. He
+has such sad eyes. He looks far off sometimes when the children
+climb round him. They love him. His life is sad. Nobody need
+tell me--he sees the good in things. Once he said somebody had
+to be a ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger like him!'
+"
+
+Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
+
+"It was thoughtful of you," Duane said. "Womankind are needed
+here. I could do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better
+already. I'm glad. And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby,
+what a time I had trying to puzzle out the way your clothes
+went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I tell you--friends would
+come? So will the brighter side."
+
+"Yes, I've more faith than I had," replied Mrs. Laramie.
+"Granger Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a
+while after Jim's death I thought I'd sink. We have nothing.
+How could I ever take care of my little ones? But I'm gaining
+courage to--"
+
+"Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss
+Longstreth. "I shall see you are well cared for. I promise
+you."
+
+"Miss Longstreth, that's fine!" exclaimed Duane. "It's what I'd
+have--expected of you."
+
+It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her
+face burned out in a beautiful blush.
+
+"And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come," added
+Duane. "Let me thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as
+allies in part of my lonely task here. More than glad for the
+sake of this good woman and the little ones. But both of you be
+careful about coming here alone. There's risk. And now I'll be
+going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again to-night.
+Good-by."
+
+"Mr. Ranger, wait!" called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She
+was white and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to
+him.
+
+"I have wronged your" she said, impulsively.
+
+"Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?" he returned.
+
+"I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now
+I see--I wronged you."
+
+"You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't
+speak of wronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--
+and much said of me is true. My duty is hard on
+others--sometimes on those who are innocent, alas! But God
+knows that duty is hard, too, on me."
+
+"I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it
+an honor. I--"
+
+"Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth," interrupted Duane.
+
+"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no
+other sound like her voice. "Will you take my hand? Will you
+forgive me?"
+
+She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her
+breast. Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what
+else to do.
+
+Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this
+white, sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making
+amends for a fancied or real wrong. Duane thought the man did
+not live on earth who could have resisted her then.
+
+"I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman," she
+said, and now her speech came swiftly. "When she was all alone
+and helpless you were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But
+Mrs. Laramie isn't the only unfortunate woman in the world. I,
+too, am unfortunate. Ah, how I may soon need a friend! Will you
+be my friend? I'm so alone. I'm terribly worried. I fear--I
+fear--Oh, surely I'll need a friend soon--soon. Oh, I'm afraid
+of what you'll find out sooner or later. I want to help you.
+Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone--all alone?
+Will you--will you be--" Her voice failed.
+
+It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had
+begun to suspect--that her father and Lawson were not the
+honest ranchers they pretended to be. Perhaps she knew more!
+Her appeal to Duane shook him deeply. He wanted to help her
+more than he had ever wanted anything. And with the meaning of
+the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him there came
+realization of a dangerous situation.
+
+"I must be true to my duty," he said, hoarsely.
+
+"If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to
+it."
+
+"Well, then--I'll do anything for you."
+
+"Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He
+lied--he lied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My
+father wants me to go back home. Floyd is trying to keep me
+here. They've quarreled. Oh, I know something dreadful will
+happen. I know I'll need you if--if--Will you help me?"
+
+"Yes," replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her
+face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+After supper Duane stole out for his usual evening's spying.
+The night was dark, without starlight, and a stiff wind rustled
+the leaves. Duane bent his steps toward the Longstreth's
+ranchhouse. He had so much to think about that he never knew
+where the time went. This night when he reached the edge of the
+shrubbery he heard Lawson's well-known footsteps and saw
+Longstreth's door open, flashing a broad bar of light in the
+darkness. Lawson crossed the threshold, the door closed, and
+all was dark again outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the
+window.
+
+Little doubt there was that his talk with Longstreth would be
+interesting to Duane. He tiptoed to the door and listened, but
+could hear only a murmur of voices. Besides, that position was
+too risky. He went round the corner of the house.
+
+This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction
+than the back and larger part. There was a narrow passage
+between the houses, leading from the outside through to the
+patio.
+
+This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided
+to avail himself of it in spite of the very great danger.
+Crawling on very stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the
+entrance of the passage. In the blackness a faint streak of
+light showed the location of a crack in the wall. He had to
+slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he entered
+without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew
+a very little wider in that direction, and that fact gave rise
+to the thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he
+would do best by working toward the patio. It seemed a good
+deal of time was consumed in reaching a vantage-point. When he
+did get there the crack he had marked was a foot over his head.
+There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in the crumbling
+walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the
+other, hold himself up Once with his eye there he did not care
+what risk he ran. Longstreth appeared disturbed; he sat
+stroking his mustache; his brow was clouded. Lawson's face
+seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted by some indomitable
+resolve.
+
+"We'll settle both deals to-night," Lawson was saying. "That's
+what I came for."
+
+"But suppose I don't choose to talk here?" protested
+Longstreth, impatiently. "I never before made my house a place
+to--"
+
+"We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've
+lost your nerve since that ranger hit the town. First now, will
+you give Ray to me?"
+
+"Floyd; you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray to you! Why,
+she's a woman, and I'm finding out that she's got a mind of her
+own. I told you I was willing for her to marry you. I tried to
+persuade her. But Ray hasn't any use for you now. She liked you
+at first. But now she doesn't. So what can I do?"
+
+"You can make her marry me," replied Lawson.
+
+"Make that girl do what she doesn't want to? It couldn't be
+done even if I tried. And I don't believe I'll try. I haven't
+the highest opinion of you as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd.
+But if Ray loved you I would consent. We'd all go away together
+before this damned miserable business is out. Then she'd never
+know. And maybe you might be more like you used to be before
+the West ruined you. But as matters stand, you fight your own
+game with her. And I'll tell you now you'll lose."
+
+"What'd you want to let her come out here for?" demanded
+Lawson, hotly. "It was a dead mistake. I've lost my head over 
+her. I'll have her or die. Don't you think if she was my wife
+I'd soon pull myself together? Since she came we've none of us
+been right. And the gang has put up a holler. No, Longstreth,
+we've got to settle things to-night."
+
+"Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,"
+replied Longstreth, rising. "Come on; we'll ask her. See where
+you stand."
+
+They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to
+rest himself and to wait. He would have liked to hear Miss
+Longstreth's answer. But he could guess what it would be.
+Lawson appeared to be all Duane had thought him, and he
+believed he was going to find out presently that he was worse.
+
+The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling
+might have been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and
+anxiety. Finally he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He
+was leaden-faced, humiliated. Then something abject in him gave
+place to rage. He strode the room; he cursed. Then Longstreth
+returned, now appreciably calmer. Duane could not but decide
+that he felt relief at the evident rejection of Lawson's
+proposal.
+
+"Don't fuss about it, Floyd," he said. "You see I can't help
+it. We're pretty wild out here, but I can't rope my daughter
+and give her to you as I would an unruly steer."
+
+"Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me," declared Lawson,
+thickly.
+
+"How?"
+
+"You know the hold I got on you--the deal that made you boss of
+this rustler gang?"
+
+"It isn't likely I'd forget," replied Longstreth, grimly.
+
+"I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it
+broadcast--tell this ranger--unless she'd marry me."
+
+Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes.
+He had no shame. He was simply in the grip of passion.
+Longstreth gazed with dark, controlled fury at this relative.
+In that look Duane saw a strong, unscrupulous man fallen into
+evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed Lawson to be the wild
+and passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also how during
+all the years of association this strong man had upheld the
+weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on
+Longstreth's part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great
+majority of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had
+reached a point where influence was futile. Reason had
+degenerated. He saw only himself.
+
+"But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know
+I'm a rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on
+the border," replied Longstreth, impressively.
+
+Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just
+occurred to him. But he was not long at a loss.
+
+"She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she
+knows now there's something wrong out here. She's got eyes.
+Mark what I say."
+
+"Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn't any idea yet that her
+daddy's a boss rustler. Ray's concerned about what she calls my
+duty as mayor. Also I think she's not satisfied with my
+explanations in regard to certain property."
+
+Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone
+mantelpiece. He had his hands in his pockets. He squared
+himself as if this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but
+on the moment showed an absence of his usual nervous
+excitement.
+
+"Longstreth, that may well be true," he said. "No doubt all you
+say is true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I
+don't get her--I reckon we'll all go to hell!"
+
+He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He
+certainly had something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight
+start, barely perceptible, like the switch of an awakening
+tiger. He sat there, head down, stroking his mustache. Almost
+Duane saw his thought. He had long experience in reading men
+under stress of such emotion. He had no means to vindicate his
+judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right then and
+there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson. For
+Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a
+conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter
+had put Longstreth in conflict with himself.
+
+Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he
+began to talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane
+imagined he was talking to smooth Lawson's passion for the
+moment. Lawson no more caught the fateful significance of a
+line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided than if he had
+not been present. He was obsessed with himself. How, Duane
+wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so
+far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer
+was, perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him,
+protected him. The coming of Ray Longstreth had been the
+entering-wedge of dissension.
+
+"You're too impatient," concluded Longstreth. "You'll ruin any
+chance of happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you
+told her who I am she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you
+to save me, but she'd hate you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play
+for time. Be different with her. Cut out your drinking. She
+despises that. Let's plan to sell out here--stock, ranch,
+property--and leave the country. Then you'd have a show with
+her."
+
+"I told you we've got to stick," growled Lawson. "The gang
+won't stand for our going. It can't be done unless you want to
+sacrifice everything."
+
+"You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave
+them here to face whatever comes?"
+
+"I mean just that."
+
+"I'm bad enough, but not that bad," returned Longstreth. "If I
+can't get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music.
+All the same, Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the
+deals the last few years have been YOURS?"
+
+"Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any.
+You've had cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been
+here."
+
+"Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We
+reached our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--
+at a time when rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew
+so did our boldness. Then came the gang, the regular trips, the
+one thing and another till, before we knew it--before I knew
+it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS on our record.
+Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!"
+
+"I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit.
+They all think, and I think, we can't be touched. We may be
+blamed, but nothing can be proved. We're too strong."
+
+"There's where you're dead wrong," rejoined Longstreth,
+emphatically. "I imagined that once, not long ago. I was
+bullheaded. Who would ever connect Granger Longstreth with a
+rustler gang? I've changed my mind. I've begun to think. I've
+reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we can't last. It's the
+nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow better. The
+wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the
+country, all of us."
+
+"But you and I have all the stock--all the gain," protested
+Lawson.
+
+"I'll split mine."
+
+"I won't--that settles that," added Lawson, instantly.
+
+Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to
+convince this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and
+he now showed more than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep
+in his eyes.
+
+"Your stock and property will last a long time--do you lots of
+good when this ranger--"
+
+"Bah!" hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match
+applied to powder. "Haven't I told you he'd be dead soon--any
+time--same as Laramie is?"
+
+"Yes, you mentioned the--the supposition," replied Longstreth,
+sarcastically. "I inquired, too, just how that very desired
+event was to be brought about."
+
+"The gang will lay him out."
+
+"Bah!" retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously.
+
+"Floyd, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten
+years. You've packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with
+rustlers when they killed their men. You've been present at
+many fights. But you never in all that time saw a man like this
+ranger. You haven't got sense enough to see him right if you
+had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only way to get rid
+of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he's
+going to drop some of them."
+
+"Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if
+he did drop some of them," declared Lawson; and now he was
+sarcastic.
+
+"To tell you the truth, I wouldn't," returned the other,
+bluntly. "I'm pretty sick of this mess."
+
+Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of
+proportion to his intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted.
+Duane had never seen a vainer or more arrogant man.
+
+"Longstreth, I don't like your talk," he said.
+
+"If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do,"
+replied Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet,
+with flash of eyes and set of lips that told Duane he was
+dangerous.
+
+"Well, after all, that's neither here nor there," went on
+Lawson, unconsciously cowed by the other. "The thing is, do I
+get the girl?"
+
+"Not by any means except her consent."
+
+"You'll not make her marry me?"
+
+"No. No," replied Longstreth, his voice still cold,
+low-pitched.
+
+"All right. Then I'll make her."
+
+Evidently Longstreth understood the man before him so well that
+he wasted no more words. Duane knew what Lawson never dreamed
+of, and that was that Longstreth had a gun somewhere within
+reach and meant to use it. Then heavy footsteps sounded outside
+tramping upon the porch. Duane might have been mistaken, but he
+believed those footsteps saved Lawson's life.
+
+"There they are," said Lawson, and he opened the door.
+
+Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any
+weapons. A big man with burly shoulders shook hands with
+Longstreth, and the others stood back.
+
+The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been
+a nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man--a
+stranger to Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing
+himself from this band, of getting away to a safer country, he
+abandoned it at the very sight of these men. There was power
+here, and he was bound.
+
+The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the
+others gathered around him close to the table. There were
+evidently some signs of membership not plain to Duane. Then all
+the heads were bent over the table. Low voices spoke, queried,
+answered, argued. By straining his ears Duane caught a word
+here and there. They were planning, and they were brief. Duane
+gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near Ord.
+
+Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present
+convention, got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had
+come, and was followed by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for
+a quiet smoke. Lawson seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. He
+smoked fiercely and drank continually. All at once he
+straightened up as if listening.
+
+"What's that?" he called, suddenly.
+
+Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound.
+
+"Must be a rat," replied Longstreth.
+
+The rustle became a rattle.
+
+"Sounds like a rattlesnake to me," said Lawson.
+
+Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room.
+
+Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable
+movement of the adobe wall which supported him. He could
+scarcely credit his senses. But the rattle inside Longstreth's
+room was mingling with little dull thuds of falling dirt. The
+adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane distinctly
+felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
+his heart.
+
+"What in the hell!" exclaimed Longstreth.
+
+"I smell dust," said Lawson, sharply.
+
+That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet
+despite his care he made a noise.
+
+"Did you hear a step?" queried Longstreth.
+
+No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with
+a thud. Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.
+
+"There's somebody between the walls!" thundered Longstreth.
+
+Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane
+began to squeeze his body through the narrow passage toward the
+patio.
+
+"Hear him!" yelled Lawson. "This side!"
+
+"No, he's going that way," yelled Longstreth.
+
+The tramp of heavy boots lent Duane the strength of
+desperation. He was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered
+like a trapped coyote was another matter. He almost tore his
+clothes off in that passage. The dust nearly stifled him. When
+he burst into the patio it was not a single instant too soon.
+But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up, gun in
+hand, running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps
+turned him back. While there was a chance to get away he did
+not want to fight. He thought he heard someone running into the
+patio from the other end. He stole along, and coming to a door,
+without any idea of where it might lead, he softly pushed it
+open a little way and slipped in.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray
+Longstreth sitting on her bed in her dressing-gown. With a
+warning gesture to her to be silent he turned to close the
+door. It was a heavy door without bolt or bar, and when Duane
+had shut it he felt safe only for the moment. Then he gazed
+around the room. There was one window with blind closely drawn.
+He listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating, dying
+away.
+
+Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had slipped off the
+bed, half to her knees, and was holding out trembling hands.
+She was as white as the pillow on her bed. She was terribly
+frightened. Again with warning hand commanding silence, Duane
+stepped softly forward, meaning to reassure her.
+
+"Oh!" she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought she was going to
+faint. When he got close and looked into her eyes he understood
+the strange, dark expression in them. She was terrified because
+she believed he meant to kill her, or do worse, probably worse.
+Duane realized he must have looked pretty hard and fierce
+bursting into her room with that big gun in hand.
+
+The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes
+hurt him.
+
+"Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get
+away--to save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on--on your
+father and his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They
+don't know who was listening. They're after me now."
+
+Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing.
+quickening windows of thought.
+
+Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and
+intelligence of a woman in her eyes.
+
+"Tell me now. You were spying on my father?"
+
+Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her
+room, not omitting a terse word as to the character of the men
+he had watched.
+
+"My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong
+here--with him--with the place--the people. And right off I
+hated Floyd Lawson. Oh, it'll kill me if--if--It's so much
+worse than I dreamed. What shall I do?"
+
+The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted Duane's
+attention, reminded him of her peril, and now, what counted
+more with him, made clear the probability of being discovered
+in her room.
+
+"I'll have to get out of here," whispered Duane.
+
+"Wait," she replied. "Didn't you say they were hunting for
+you?"
+
+"They sure are," he returned, grimly.
+
+"Oh, then you mustn't go. They might shoot you before you got
+away. Stay. If we hear them you can hide. I'll turn out the
+light. I'll meet them at the door. You can trust me. Wait till
+all quiets down, if we have to wait till morning. Then you can
+slip out."
+
+"I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to--I won't," Duane replied,
+perplexed and stubborn.
+
+"But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here."
+
+"Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search
+every room and corner in this old house. If they found me here
+I couldn't start a fight. You might be hurt. Then--the fact of
+my being here--"
+
+Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step
+toward the door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold
+of him to detain him. She was as strong and supple as a
+panther. But she need not have been either resolute or strong,
+for the clasp of her hand was enough to make Duane weak.
+
+"Up yet, Ray?" came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too
+eager to be natural.
+
+"No. I'm in bed reading. Good night," instantly replied Miss
+Longstreth, so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the
+difference between man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane
+to hide in the closet. He slipped in, but the door would not
+close altogether.
+
+"Are you alone?" went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
+
+"Yes," she replied. "Ruth went to bed."
+
+The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth
+half entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw
+Lawson, and indistinctly another man.
+
+Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed
+control as well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room.
+When he had glanced around he went out and closed the door.
+
+Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent
+once more. Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard
+her quick breathing. How long did she mean to let him stay
+hidden there? Hard and perilous as his life had been, this was
+a new kind of adventure. He had divined the strange softness of
+his feeling as something due to the magnetism of this beautiful
+woman. It hardly seemed possible that he, who had been outside
+the pale for so many years, could have fallen in love. Yet that
+must be the secret of his agitation.
+
+Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth.
+Miss Longstreth had her head lowered upon her arms and appeared
+to be in distress. At his touch she raised a quivering face.
+
+"I think I can go now--safely," he whispered.
+
+"Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe," she
+replied.
+
+"I--I couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on me--this
+finding out--and you his daughter. I feel strange. I don't
+understand myself well. But I want you to know--if I were not
+an outlaw--a ranger--I'd lay my life at your feet."
+
+"Oh! You have seen so--so little of me," she faltered.
+
+"All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the
+trouble my coming caused you."
+
+"You will not fight my father?"
+
+"Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.'
+
+"But you spied upon him."
+
+"I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth."
+
+"And oh! I am a rustler's daughter," she cried. "That's so much
+more terrible than I'd suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I
+imagined he was engaged in. But only to-night I had strong
+suspicions aroused."
+
+"How? Tell me."
+
+"I overheard Floyd say that men were coming to-night to arrange
+a meeting for my father at a rendezvous near Ord. Father did
+not want to go. Floyd taunted him with a name."
+
+"What name?" queried Duane.
+
+"It was Cheseldine."
+
+"CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me
+that?"
+
+"What difference does that make?"
+
+"Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same," whispered
+Duane, hoarsely.
+
+"I gathered so much myself," she replied, miserably. "But
+Longstreth is father's real name."
+
+Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the
+girl's part in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she
+betrayed the secret Duane realized perfectly that he did love
+her. The emotion was like a great flood.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable," he
+whispered. "Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here
+to get. He's only a name. Your father is the real man. I've
+sworn to get him. I'm bound by more than law or oaths. I can't
+break what binds me. And I must disgrace you--wreck your lifer
+Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I--I love you. It's all come in
+a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How fatal--terrible--this
+is! How things work out!"
+
+She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
+
+"You won't kill him?" she implored. "If you care for me--you
+won't kill him?"
+
+"No. That I promise you."
+
+With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.
+
+Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the
+corridor to the court.
+
+When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in
+the wind, his relief equaled his other feelings.
+
+The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane
+hoped as soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of
+the pain he felt. But long after he had tramped out into the
+open there was a lump in his throat and an ache in his breast.
+All his thought centered around Ray Longstreth. What a woman
+she had turned out to be! He seemed to have a vague, hopeless
+hope that there might be, there must be, some way he could save
+her.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord
+and try to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his
+men. These men Duane wanted even more than their leader. If
+Longstreth, or Cheseldine, was the brains of that gang, Poggin
+was the executor. It was Poggin who needed to be found and
+stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane experienced a
+strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more than
+thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
+this emotion.
+
+Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from
+Fairdale for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise
+changed the new pain in his heart. The only way he could forget
+Miss Longstreth was to let his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even
+this was not always effective.
+
+He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he
+arrived at Bradford.
+
+The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the
+mail and express train going east, was held up by
+train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo messenger killed over his safe,
+the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried away. The engine of
+No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and engineer and
+fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men and
+citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was
+made up before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of
+the train. Duane had the sudden inspiration that he had been
+cudgeling his mind to find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his
+horse again and left Bradford unobserved. As he rode out into
+the night, over a dark trail in the direction of Ord, he
+uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope that he might
+be taken for a train-robber.
+
+He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black
+peak of Ord Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted,
+tied his horse, and slept until dawn. He had brought a small
+pack, and now he took his time cooking breakfast. When the sun
+was well up he saddled Bullet, and, leaving the trail where his
+tracks showed plain in the ground, he put his horse to the
+rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough, roundabout,
+and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill of a
+long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded
+and covered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival
+that the man Duane remembered as Fletcher and several others
+saw him come in the back way through the lots and jump a fence
+into the road.
+
+Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping
+his beard. He was hatless, vestless, and evidently had just
+enjoyed a morning drink.
+
+"Howdy, Dodge," said Fletcher, laconically.
+
+Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with
+interest.
+
+"Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance
+tourists as might happen to ride up curious-like."
+
+"Haw! haw! haw!"
+
+Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse
+laughter.
+
+"Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be
+safe in the 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed thar, too,
+but you'll hev to rustle water."
+
+Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his
+welfare, and left him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch
+Duane saw the group of men had been added to by others, some of
+whom he had seen before. Without comment Duane walked along the
+edge of the road, and wherever one of the tracks of his horse
+showed he carefully obliterated it. This procedure was
+attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
+
+"Wal, Dodge," remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, "thet's
+safer 'n prayin' fer rain."
+
+Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the
+effect that a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to
+thirst. They all joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell
+was not there, and most assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no
+common outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it probably lay in
+execution of orders. Apparently at that time these men had
+nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern. Evidently
+they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed
+they could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane
+set out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was
+card-playing for small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature,
+much bantering among the younger fellows, and occasionally a
+mild quarrel. All morning men came and went, until, all told,
+Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty. Toward the middle
+of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloon and
+yelled one word:
+
+"Posse!"
+
+From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and
+the ensuing action was rare in Ord.
+
+"What the hell!" muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road
+at a dark, compact bunch of horses and riders. "Fust time I
+ever seen thet in Ord! We're gettin' popular like them camps
+out of Valentine. Wish Phil was here or Poggy. Now all you
+gents keep quiet. I'll do the talkin'."
+
+The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty horses, and
+halted in a bunch before the tavern. The party consisted of
+about twenty men, all heavily armed, and evidently in charge of
+a clean-cut, lean-limbed cowboy. Duane experienced considerable
+satisfaction at the absence of the sheriff who he had
+understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was out in another
+direction with a different force.
+
+"Hello, Jim Fletcher," called the cowboy.
+
+"Howdy," replied Fletcher.
+
+At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out
+before the posse Duane found himself modifying his contempt for
+Fletcher. The outlaw was different now.
+
+"Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this
+place. Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his
+camp. Then he hit into the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't
+have no tracker with us. Think he went into the mountains. But
+we took a chance an' rid over the rest of the way, seein' Ord
+was so close. Anybody come in here late last night or early
+this mornin'?"
+
+"Nope," replied Fletcher.
+
+His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and
+evidently the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned
+to the others of the posse, entering into a low consultation.
+Evidently there was difference of opinion, if not real
+dissension, in that posse.
+
+"Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out
+here?" protested an old hawk-faced rancher. "Them hoss tracks
+we follored ain't like any of them we seen at the water-tank
+where the train was held up."
+
+"I'm not so sure of that," replied the leader.
+
+"Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--'
+
+"But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the
+brush."
+
+"Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go
+hell-bent fer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If
+you're right this road-agent, after he killed his pals, would
+hev rid back right through town. An' with them mail-bags!
+Supposin' they was greasers? Some greasers has sense, an' when
+it comes to thievin' they're shore cute."
+
+"But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered
+the greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick
+job done by no ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One
+greaser hopped the engine an' covered the engineer an' fireman.
+Another greaser kept flashin' his gun outside the train. The
+big man who shoved back the car-door an' did the killin'--he
+was the real gent, an' don't you forget it."
+
+Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with
+the old cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly
+gathered up his bridle.
+
+"Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed
+reasons Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell
+you what--I'd take a chance an' clean up this hole!"
+
+All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his
+pockets.
+
+"Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk," he said.
+The menace was in the tone, not the content of his speech.
+
+"You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!" called Guthrie, as
+the horses started.
+
+Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan,
+watched the posse out of sight.
+
+"Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here," he said, as they
+disappeared. Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the
+porch and led Duane away from the others into the bar-room.
+When he looked into Duane's face it was somehow an entirely
+changed scrutiny.
+
+"Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this
+deal, seein' I staved off Guthrie."
+
+Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he
+seized it. First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed
+any knowledge whatever of the train-robbery other than Fletcher
+had heard himself. Then at Fletcher's persistence and
+admiration and increasing show of friendliness he laughed
+occasionally and allowed himself to swell with pride, though
+still denying. Next he feigned a lack of consistent will-power
+and seemed to be wavering under Fletcher's persuasion and grew
+silent, then surly. Fletcher, evidently sure of ultimate
+victory, desisted for the time being; however, in his
+solicitous regard and close companionship for the rest of that
+day he betrayed the bent of his mind.
+
+Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get
+his horse and make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed
+grievously offended.
+
+"Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over
+here. Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up?
+Supposin' I hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be
+swingin' somewheres now. I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square."
+
+"I'll square it. I pay my debts," replied Duane. "But I can't
+put up here all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be
+different."
+
+"What gang?" asked Fletcher, bluntly.
+
+"Why, Cheseldine's."
+
+Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
+
+Duane laughed. "I run into him the other day. Knowed him on
+sight. Sure, he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an'
+asked me what reason I had for bein' on earth or some such
+like--why, I up an' told him."
+
+Fletcher appeared staggered.
+
+"Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?"
+
+"Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself
+Longstreth over there."
+
+All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty
+white. "Cheseldine--Longstreth!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Gord
+Almighty! You braced the--" Then a remarkable transformation
+came over the outlaw. He gulped; he straightened his face; he
+controlled his agitation. But he could not send the healthy
+brown back to his face. Duane, watching this rude man, marveled
+at the change in him, the sudden checking movement, the proof
+of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a
+master of men!
+
+"WHO AIR YOU?" queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
+
+"You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as
+any. Shore it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for
+years, an' I'm gettin' in need of pals. Think it over, will
+you? See you manana."
+
+The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as
+he returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the
+darkness--all without a word.
+
+Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus
+and mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for
+the night. His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck
+at last was playing his game. He sensed the first slow heave of
+a mighty crisis. The end, always haunting, had to be sternly
+blotted from thought. It was the approach that needed all his
+mind.
+
+He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after
+watching trail and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If
+Jim Fletcher tried to disguise his surprise the effort was a
+failure. Certainly he had not expected to see Duane again.
+Duane allowed himself a little freedom with Fletcher, an
+attitude hitherto lacking.
+
+That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw
+evidently well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane beard
+him say, before he could possibly have been told the
+train-robber was in Ord, that the loss of money in the holdup
+was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of this report. He
+pretended not to have heard.
+
+In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher
+to him, and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him
+off in a stroll to a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here
+after gazing around, he took out a roll of bills, spread it
+out, split it equally, and without a word handed one half to
+Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through the roll.
+
+"Five hundred!" he exclaimed. "Dodge, thet's damn handsome of
+you, considerin' the job wasn't--"
+
+"Considerin' nothin'," interrupted Duane. "I'm makin' no
+reference to a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I
+split my pile. If thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an'
+money ain't no use in this country."
+
+Fletcher was won.
+
+The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short
+fictitious history about himself that satisfied the outlaw,
+only it drew forth a laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For
+Fletcher did not hide his belief that this new partner was a
+man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and then Cheseldine
+himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher boasted.
+He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a
+stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had
+any influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of
+the time; all the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a
+horse. He never loved anything else. He could be won with that
+black horse Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by Duane's
+monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed Duane.
+
+Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he
+longed to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his
+memory! Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount
+Ord, in a deep, high-walled valley. He always went there just
+before a contemplated job, where he met and planned with his
+lieutenants. Then while they executed he basked in the sunshine
+before one or another of the public places he owned. He was
+there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the biggest job
+yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as yet
+been advised.
+
+Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all
+details pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts
+and places covering a period of ten years Fletcher had been
+with Cheseldine. And herewith was unfolded a history so dark in
+its bloody regime, so incredible in its brazen daring, so
+appalling in its proof of the outlaw's sweep and grasp of the
+country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was stunned.
+Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher,
+stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the
+outlaws Duane had ever known sank into insignificance. The
+power of the man stunned Duane; the strange fidelity given him
+stunned Duane; the intricate inside working of his great system
+was equally stunning. But when Duane recovered from that the
+old terrible passion to kill consumed him, and it raged
+fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handed
+Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at
+Ord! But they were not, and Duane with help of time got what he
+hoped was the upper hand of himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duane's spirit. Like a
+leashed hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to
+leap forth when he was bound. He almost fretted. Something
+called to him over the bold, wild brow of Mount Ord. But while
+Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for Knell and Poggin, or for
+orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting one.
+
+But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being
+broken. A messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret
+mission that had to do with Fletcher. When he went away
+Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful moods and lonely walks.
+He seldom drank, and this in itself was a striking contrast to
+former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever
+communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the
+outlaw. Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow
+arrived, saw the few words whispered, but did not hear them.
+Fletcher turned white with anger or fear, perhaps both, and he
+cursed like a madman. The messenger, a lean, dark-faced,
+hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy Guthrie, left
+the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the west.
+This west mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south
+beyond Mount Ord. Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they
+were not at present with the leader on the mountain. After the
+messenger left Fletcher grew silent and surly. He had presented
+a variety of moods to Duane's observation, and this latest one
+was provocative of thought. Fletcher was dangerous. It became
+clear now that the other outlaws of the camp feared him, kept
+out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet closely watched him.
+
+Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer,
+Fletcher manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for
+his horse. Then he went to his shack and returned. To Duane the
+outlaw looked in shape both to ride and to fight. He gave
+orders for the men in camp to keep close until he returned.
+Then he mounted.
+
+"Come here, Dodge," he called.
+
+Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle.
+Fletcher walked his horse, with Duane beside him, till they
+reached the log bridge, when he halted.
+
+"Dodge, I'm in bad with Knell," he said. "An' it 'pears I'm the
+cause of friction between Knell an' Poggy. Knell never had any
+use fer me, but Poggy's been square, if not friendly. The boss
+has a big deal on, an' here it's been held up because of this
+scrap. He's waitin' over there on the mountain to give orders
+to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one's showin' up. I've got to
+stand in the breach, an' I ain't enjoyin' the prospects."
+
+"What's the trouble about, Jim?" asked Duane.
+
+"Reckon it's a little about you, Dodge," said Fletcher, dryly.
+"Knell hadn't any use fer you thet day. He ain't got no use fer
+a man onless he can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed
+before I edged in with my say, an' there's hell to pay. Knell
+claims to know somethin' about you that'll make both the boss
+an' Poggy sick when he springs it. But he's keepin' quiet. Hard
+man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon you'd better go back to
+Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come
+back."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too."
+
+"The gang will ride over here any day. If they're friendly, 
+I'll light a fire on the hill there, say three nights from
+to-night. If you don't see it thet night you hit the trail.
+I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks to his pals. So long,
+Dodge."
+
+Then he rode away.
+
+He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had
+been working out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment
+Duane did not know which way to turn, but certainly he had no
+idea of going back to Bradford. Friction between the two great
+lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open hostility between one of them
+and another of the chief's right-hand men! Among outlaws that
+sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such matters were
+settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from
+disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldine's great band
+had already begun. But what did Knell know? Duane did not
+circle around the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew
+anything it was that this stranger in Ord, this new partner of
+Fletcher's, was no less than Buck Duane. Well, it was about
+time, thought Duane, that he made use of his name if it were to
+help him at all. That name had been MacNelly's hope. He had
+anchored all his scheme to Duane's fame. Duane was tempted to
+ride off after Fletcher and stay with him. This, however, would
+hardly be fair to an outlaw who had been fair to him. Duane
+concluded to await developments and when the gang rode in to
+Ord, probably from their various hiding-places, he would be
+there ready to be denounced by Knell. Duane could not see any
+other culmination of this series of events than a meeting
+between Knell and himself. If that terminated fatally for Knell
+there was all probability of Duane's being in no worse
+situation than he was now. If Poggin took up the quarrel! Here
+Duane accused himself again--tried in vain to revolt from a
+judgment that he was only reasoning out excuses to meet these
+outlaws.
+
+Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in
+his mountain retreat? The thought no sooner struck Duane than
+he was hurrying for his horse.
+
+He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once out of
+sight, he turned off the road, circled through the brush, and
+several miles south of town he struck a narrow grass-grown
+trail that Fletcher had told him led to Cheseldine's camp. The
+horse tracks along this trail were not less than a week old,
+and very likely much more. It wound between low, brush-covered
+foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with mesquite,
+cottonwood, and scrub-oak.
+
+In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he
+climbed he got a view of the rolling, black-spotted country,
+partly desert, partly fertile, with long, bright lines of dry
+stream-beds winding away to grow dim in the distance. He got
+among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the open,
+downward-rolling land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to
+find the trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow progress.
+Finally he climbed into a region of all rock benches, rough
+here, smooth there, with only an occasional scratch of iron
+horseshoe to guide him. Many times he had to go ahead and then
+work to right or left till he found his way again. It was slow
+work; it took all day; and night found him half-way up the
+mountain. He halted at a little side-canon with grass and
+water, and here he made camp. The night was clear and cool at
+that height, with a dark-blue sky and a streak of stars
+blinking across. With this day of action behind him he felt
+better satisfied than he had been for some time. Here, on this
+venture, he was answering to a call that had so often directed
+his movements, perhaps his life, and it was one that logic or
+intelligence could take little stock of. And on this night,
+lonely like the ones he used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and
+memorable of them because of a likeness to that old
+hiding-place, he felt the pressing return of old haunting
+things--the past so long ago, wild flights, dead faces--and the
+places of these were taken by one quiveringly alive, white,
+tragic, with its dark, intent, speaking eyes--Ray Longstreth's.
+
+
+That last memory he yielded to until he slept.
+
+In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks
+than he had followed up this trail, he led his horse up to the
+head of the canon, there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with
+branches of cedar fenced him in. Then he went back and took up
+the trail on foot.
+
+Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep
+clefts, wide canons, over ridges, up shelving slopes, along
+precipices--a long, hard climb--till he reached what he
+concluded was a divide. Going down was easier, though the
+farther he followed this dim and winding trail the wider the
+broken battlements of rock. Above him he saw the black fringe
+of pinon and pine, and above that the bold peak, bare, yellow,
+like a desert butte. Once, through a wide gateway between great
+escarpments, he saw the lower country beyond the range, and
+beyond this, vast and clear as it lay in his sight, was the
+great river that made the Big Bend. He went down and down,
+wondering how a horse could follow that broken trail, believing
+there must be another better one somewhere into Cheseldine's
+hiding-place.
+
+He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been shut off, and
+presently came out upon the rim of a high wall. Beneath, like a
+green gulf seen through blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled
+in on the two sides he could see. It lay perhaps a thousand
+feet below him; and, plain as all the other features of that
+wild environment, there shone out a big red stone or adobe
+cabin, white water shining away between great borders, and
+horses and cattle dotting the levels. It was a peaceful,
+beautiful scene. Duane could not help grinding his teeth at the
+thought of rustlers living there in quiet and ease. 
+
+Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, well hidden in a
+niche, he settled himself to watch both trail and valley. He
+made note of the position of the sun and saw that if anything
+developed or if he decided to descend any farther there was
+small likelihood of his getting back to his camp before dark.
+To try that after nightfall he imagined would be vain effort.
+
+Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a
+crude structure. Though large in size, it had, of course, been
+built by outlaws.
+
+There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. Excepting
+for the rude pile of stones and logs plastered together with
+mud, the valley was as wild, probably, as on the day of
+discovery. Duane seemed to have been watching for a long time
+before he saw any sign of man, and this one apparently went to
+the stream for water and returned to the cabin.
+
+The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows were born in the
+darker places of the valley. Duane began to want to get closer
+to that cabin. What had he taken this arduous climb for? He
+held back, however, trying to evolve further plans.
+
+While he was pondering the shadows quickly gathered and
+darkened. If he was to go back to camp he must set out at once.
+Still he lingered. And suddenly his wide-roving eye caught
+sight of two horsemen riding up the valley. The must have
+entered at a point below, round the huge abutment of rock,
+beyond Duane's range of sight. Their horses were tired and
+stopped at the stream for a long drink.
+
+Duane left his perch, took to the steep trail, and descended as
+fast as he could without making noise. It did not take him long
+to reach the valley floor. It was almost level, with deep
+grass, and here and there clumps of bushes. Twilight was
+already thick down there. Duane marked the location of the
+trail, and then began to slip like a shadow through the grass
+and from bush to bush. He saw a bright light before he made out
+the dark outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry
+whistle, a coarse song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils.
+He smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures
+cross the light. Evidently there was a wide door, or else the
+fire was out in the open.
+
+Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light,
+and thus was able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly
+but swiftly toward the back of the house. There were trees
+close to the wall. He would make no noise, and he could
+scarcely be seen--if only there was no watch-dog! But all his
+outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life at
+stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as
+an Indian. He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was
+hidden in their shadows, for at few paces' distance he had been
+able to see only their tops. From there he slipped up to the
+house and felt along the wall with his hands.
+
+He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped
+in. He saw a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a
+table, chairs. He saw an open door, with bright flare beyond,
+but could not see the fire. Voices came indistinctly. Without
+hesitation Duane stole farther along--all the way to the end of
+the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only the flare of light on
+bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he paused at the
+crack again, saw that no man was in the room, and then he went
+on round that end of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There were
+bushes, an old shed, a wood-pile, all the cover he needed at
+that corner. He did not even need to crawl.
+
+Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush
+growing close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was
+different from that he had always felt when pursued. It had no
+bitterness, no pain, no dread. There was as much danger here,
+perhaps more, yet it was not the same. Then he looked.
+
+He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it,
+whistling, while he handled a steaming pot. Over him was a
+roofed shed built against the wall, with two open sides and two
+supporting posts. Duane's second glance, not so blinded by the
+sudden bright light, made out other men, three in the shadow,
+two in the flare, but with backs to him.
+
+"It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this
+one right over the mountain," one outlaw was saying.
+
+"What's eatin' you, Panhandle?" ejaculated another. "Blossom
+an' me rode from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of
+the gang."
+
+"Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt
+never said nothin'."
+
+"It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just
+as well," spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a ring in it.
+
+Longstreth's voice--Cheseldine's voice!
+
+Here they were--Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle
+Smith, Boldt--how well Duane remembered the names!--all here,
+the big men of Cheseldine's gang, except the biggest--Poggin.
+Duane had holed them, and his sensations of the moment deadened
+sight and sound of what was before him. He sank down,
+controlled himself, silenced a mounting exultation, then from a
+less-strained position he peered forth again.
+
+The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their conversation might
+have been that of cowboys in camp, ranchers at a roundup. Duane
+listened with eager ears, waiting for the business talk that he
+felt would come. All the time he watched with the eyes of a
+wolf upon its quarry. Blossom Kane was the lean-limbed
+messenger who had so angered Fletcher. Boldt was a giant in
+stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the
+red-faced cook, merry, profane, a short, bow-legged man
+resembling many rustlers Duane had known, particularly Luke
+Stevens. And Knell, who sat there, tall, slim, like a boy in
+build, like a boy in years, with his pale, smooth,
+expressionless face and his cold, gray eyes. And Longstreth,
+who leaned against the wall, handsome, with his dark face and
+beard like an aristocrat, resembled many a rich Louisiana
+planter Duane had met. The sixth man sat so much in the shadow
+that he could not be plainly discerned, and, though addressed,
+his name was not mentioned.
+
+Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and
+cheerfully called out: "If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't
+look fer me to feed you with a spoon."
+
+The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as
+they sat to their meal. Like hungry men, they talked little.
+
+Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got up and crept
+round to the other side of the cabin. After he became used to
+the dark again he ventured to steal along the wall to the
+window and peeped in. The outlaws were in the first room and
+could not be seen.
+
+Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded.
+Longstreth entered, turned up the light, and, taking a box of
+cigars from the table, he carried it out.
+
+"Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke," he said. "Knell,
+come on in now. Let's get it over."
+
+He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put
+his booted feet on the table.
+
+Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously
+furnished. There must have been a good trail, he thought, else
+how could all that stuff have been packed in there. Most
+assuredly it could not have come over the trail he had
+traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside, and their
+voices became indistinct. Then Knell came in and seated himself
+without any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as
+always, cold.
+
+"What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?" queried
+Longstreth.
+
+"Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at
+Faraway, an you know him where a hoss 's concerned. That kept
+him, I reckon, more than anythin'."
+
+"What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the
+new job."
+
+"Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago--
+weeks--a stranger rode into Ord an' got down easy-like as if he
+owned the place. He seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure.
+We looked him over, an' I left, tryin' to place him in my
+mind."
+
+"What'd he look like?"
+
+"Rangy, powerful man, white hair over his temples, still, hard
+face, eyes like knives. The way he packed his guns, the way he
+walked an' stood an' swung his right hand showed me what he
+was. You can't fool me on the gun-sharp. An' he had a grand
+horse, a big black."
+
+"I've met your man," said Longstreth.
+
+"No!" exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to hear surprise
+expressed by this man that did not in the least show it in his
+strange physiognomy. Knell laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh.
+"Boss, this here big gent drifts into Ord again an' makes up to
+Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is easy led. He likes men. An'
+when a posse come along trailin' a blind lead, huntin' the
+wrong way for the man who held up No. 6, why, Jim--he up an'
+takes this stranger to be the fly road-agent an' cottons to
+him. Got money out of him sure. An' that's what stumps me more.
+What's this man's game? I happen to know, boss, that he
+couldn't have held up No. 6."
+
+"How do you know?" demanded Longstreth.
+
+"Because I did the job myself."
+
+A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face.
+
+"Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable.
+Another break like that queers you with me. Did you tell
+Poggin?"
+
+"Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was
+goin' to kill me."
+
+"Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?"
+
+"It offered, that's all. An' it was easy. But it was a mistake.
+I got the country an' the railroad hollerin' for nothin'. I
+just couldn't help it. You know what idleness means to one of
+us. You know also that this very life breeds fatality. It's
+wrong--that's why. I was born of good parents, an' I know
+what's right. We're wrong, an' we can't beat the end, that's
+all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes."
+
+"Fine wise talk from you, Knell," said Longstreth, scornfully.
+"Go on with your story."
+
+"As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy.
+They're together all the time. You can gamble Jim told all he
+knew an' then some. A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several
+of the boys rode over from Ord, an' one of them went to Poggin
+an' says Jim Fletcher has a new man for the gang. Poggin, you
+know, is always ready for any new man. He says if one doesn't
+turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather liked the way
+this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always hit
+it up together. So until I got on the deal Jim's pard was
+already in the gang, without Poggin or you ever seein' him.
+Then I got to figurin' hard. Just where had I ever seen that
+chap? As it turned out, I never had seen him, which accounts
+for my bein' doubtful. I'd never forget any man I'd seen. I dug
+up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over them. Letters,
+pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty good
+notion what I was lookin' for an' who I wanted to make sure of.
+At last I found it. An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it
+on Poggin. Oh no! I want to have some fun with him when the
+time comes. He'll be wilder than a trapped wolf. I sent Blossom
+over to Ord to get word from Jim, an' when he verified all this
+talk I sent Blossom again with a message calculated to make Jim
+hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for Jim, an' I could come
+over here to see you about the new job. He'd meet me in Ord."
+
+Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion.
+His pale eyes glinted like fire in ice, and now his voice fell
+to a whisper.
+
+"Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?"
+
+"Who?" demanded Longstreth.
+
+"BUCK DUANE!"
+
+Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew
+rigid.
+
+"That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower
+who killed Bland, Alloway--?"
+
+"An' Hardin." Knell whispered this last name with more feeling
+than the apparent circumstance demanded.
+
+"Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows--Buck
+Duane!"
+
+Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his black mustache
+seemed outlined against chalk. He eyed his grim lieutenant.
+They understood each other without more words. It was enough
+that Buck Duane was there in the Big Bend. Longstreth rose
+presently and reached for a flask, from which he drank, then
+offered it to Knell. He waved it aside.
+
+"Knell," began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, "I
+gathered you have some grudge against this Buck Duane."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of
+you men would--don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to
+believe he's a Texas Ranger now."
+
+"The hell you say!" exclaimed Knell.
+
+"Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get
+Poggin, and they'll fix even Buck Duane."
+
+"All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane--"
+
+"Don't run into him!" Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the
+force of its passion and command. He wiped his face, drank
+again from the flask, sat down, resumed his smoking, and,
+drawing a paper from his vest pocket he began to study it.
+
+"Well, I'm glad that's settled," he said, evidently referring
+to the Duane matter. "Now for the new job. This is October the
+eighteenth. On or before the twenty-fifth there will be a
+shipment of gold reach the Rancher's Bank of Val Verde. After
+you return to Ord give Poggin these orders. Keep the gang
+quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, Panhandle Smith, and Boldt
+to be in on the secret and the job. Nobody else. You'll leave
+Ord on the twenty-third, ride across country by the trail till
+you get within sight of Mercer. It's a hundred miles from
+Bradford to Val Verde--about the same from Ord. Time your
+travel to get you near Val Verde on the morning of the
+twenty-sixth. You won't have to more than trot your horses. At
+two o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town and up to
+the Rancher's Bank. Val Verde's a pretty big town. Never been
+any holdups there. Town feels safe. Make it a clean, fast,
+daylight job. That's all. Have you got the details?"
+
+Knell did not even ask for the dates again.
+
+"Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?" he asked.
+
+Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant.
+
+"You never can tell what'll come off," continued Knell. "I'll
+do my best."
+
+"The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies
+him. And I say again--look to it that nothing happens. Either
+you or Poggin carry the job through. But I want both of you in
+it. Break for the hills, and when you get up in the rocks where
+you can hide your tracks head for Mount Ord. When all's quiet
+again I'll join you here. That's all. Call in the boys."
+
+Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole across the
+level toward the dark wall of rock. Every nerve was a strung
+wire. For a little while his mind was cluttered and clogged
+with whirling thoughts, from which, like a flashing scroll,
+unrolled the long, baffling order of action. The game was now
+in his hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The feat was
+improbable, but it might be done. He must ride into Bradford,
+forty miles from the foothills before eight o'clock next
+morning. He must telegraph MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the
+twenty-fifth. He must ride back to Ord, to intercept Knell,
+face him be denounced, kill him, and while the iron was hot
+strike hard to win Poggin's half-won interest as he had wholly
+won Fletcher's. Failing that last, he must let the outlaws
+alone to bide their time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their
+new job in Val Verde. In the mean time he must plan to arrest
+Longstreth. It was a magnificent outline, incredible, alluring,
+unfathomable in its nameless certainty. He felt like fate. He
+seemed to be the iron consequences falling upon these doomed
+outlaws.
+
+Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees
+and crags showing, yet he went straight to the trail. It was
+merely a grayness between borders of black. He climbed and
+never stopped. It did not seem steep. His feet might have had
+eyes. He surmounted the wall, and, looking down into the ebony
+gulf pierced by one point of light, he lifted a menacing arm
+and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter till he
+reached the huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there
+was none; but he remembered the shapes, the points, the notches
+of rock above. Before he reached the ruins of splintered
+ramparts and jumbles of broken walls the moon topped the
+eastern slope of the mountain, and the mystifying blackness he
+had dreaded changed to magic silver light. It seemed as light
+as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a transparent
+sheen. He ran up the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes,
+and, like a goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he
+knew his way and lost no time looking for a trail. He crossed
+the divide and then had all downhill before him. Swiftly he
+descended, almost always sure of his memory of the landmarks.
+He did not remember having studied them in the ascent, yet here
+they were, even in changed light, familiar to his sight. What
+he had once seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as a deer
+striking for home, he reached the canon where he had left his
+horse.
+
+Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane threw on the saddle
+and pack, cinched them tight, and resumed his descent. The
+worst was now to come. Bare downward steps in rock, sliding,
+weathered slopes, narrow black gullies, a thousand openings in
+a maze of broken stone--these Duane had to descend in fast
+time, leading a giant of a horse. Bullet cracked the loose
+fragments, sent them rolling, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged
+down the steps, followed like a faithful dog at Duane's heels.
+
+Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to his great
+opportunity. But he could not quell that self in him which
+reached back over the lapse of lonely, searing years and found
+the boy in him. He who had been worse than dead was now
+grasping at the skirts of life--which meant victory, honor,
+happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his
+mind. Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He
+tramped on downward, his marvelous faculty for covering rough
+ground and holding to the true course never before even in
+flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time a spirit was keeping
+step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had left her
+made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with
+the trap to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane
+could not dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its
+sweet sad lips and the dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time
+and distance and risk and toil were nothing.
+
+The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now
+crossed to the other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was
+out of the rocks, with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting
+Bullet, he made short work of the long slope and the foothills
+and the rolling land leading down to Ord. The little outlaw
+camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of houses, lay silent
+and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on the lower
+trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He
+watched the dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had
+time to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving
+the rendezvous about the time Duane turned back toward Ord.
+Between noon and sunset they would meet.
+
+The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the
+west. The stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom
+enveloped the world, thickened, lay like smoke over the road.
+Then shade by shade it lightened, until through the transparent
+obscurity shone a dim light.
+
+Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance
+from the tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the
+station. He heard the clicking of the telegraph instrument, and
+it thrilled him. An operator sat inside reading. When Duane
+tapped on the window he looked up with startled glance, then
+went swiftly to unlock the door.
+
+"Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick," whispered Duane.
+
+With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the
+message he had carefully composed.
+
+"Send this--repeat it to make sure--then keep mum. I'll see you
+again. Good-by."
+
+The operator stared, but did not speak a word.
+
+Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked
+his horse a couple miles back on the road and then rested him
+till break of day. The east began to redden, Duane turned
+grimly in the direction of Ord.
+
+When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts
+of Ord he saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the
+tavern. He knew what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it
+would only hold! But he could ask no more. The rest was a
+matter of how greatly he could make his power felt. An open
+conflict against odds lay in the balance. That would be fatal
+to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a
+presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what
+qualities held them. He knew what to exaggerate.
+
+There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered
+distance that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry
+voices inside the tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them
+over the pommel. He packed two guns, one belted high on the
+left hip, the other swinging low on the right side. He neither
+looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and stepped
+inside.
+
+The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward
+him. Knell's pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then
+Boldt's, then Blossom Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then
+Fletcher's, then others that were familiar, and last that of
+Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or heard him
+described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of
+great and evil deeds.
+
+There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a
+long table upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a
+bundle of bills, and a huge gold-mounted gun.
+
+"Are you gents lookin' for me?" asked Duane. He gave his voice
+all the ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he
+stepped back, free of anything, with the outlaws all before
+him.
+
+Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The
+other outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up
+his hands.
+
+"My Gawd, Dodge, what'd you bust in here fer?" he said,
+plaintively, and slowly stepped forward. His action was that of
+a man true to himself. He meant he had been sponsor for Duane
+and now he would stand by him.
+
+"Back, Fletcher!" called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw
+jump.
+
+"Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody," said Fletcher. "Let
+me talk, seein' I'm in wrong here."
+
+His persuasions did not ease the strain.
+
+"Go ahead. Talk," said Poggin.
+
+Fletcher turned to Duane. "Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet
+you meet enemies here when I swore you'd meet friends. It's my
+fault. I'll stand by you if you let me."
+
+"No, Jim," replied Duane.
+
+"But what'd you come fer without the signal?" burst out
+Fletcher, in distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this
+meeting.
+
+"Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted
+bad--"
+
+Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to
+Poggin with a rude dignity.
+
+"Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word
+thet'd make him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no more use fer
+him than fer me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never
+failed you in my life. Here's my pard. I vouch fer him. Will
+you stand fer me? There's goin' to be hell if you don't. An' us
+with a big job on hand!"
+
+While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane
+had his gaze riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine
+about Poggin. He was tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as
+fire was beautiful. But looked at closer, with glance seeing
+the physical man, instead of that thing which shone from him,
+he was of perfect build, with muscles that swelled and rippled,
+bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and face of the
+cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.
+
+Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his
+abnormal and hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his
+life the inward quaking fear of a man. It was like a
+cold-tongued bell ringing within him and numbing his heart. The
+old instinctive firing of blood followed, but did not drive
+away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper than
+thought could go. And he hated Poggin.
+
+That individual had been considering Fletcher's appeal.
+
+"Jim, I ante up," he said, "an' if Phil doesn't raise us out
+with a big hand--why, he'll get called, an' your pard can set
+in the game."
+
+Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and
+any one hearing that laugh would have realized his intense
+anger equally with an assurance which made him master of the
+situation.
+
+"Poggin, you're a gambler, you are--the ace-high,
+straight-flush hand of the Big Bend," he said, with stinging
+scorn. "I'll bet you my roll to a greaser peso that I can deal
+you a hand you'll be afraid to play."
+
+"Phil, you're talkin' wild," growled Poggin, with both advice
+and menace in his tone.
+
+"If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be
+somebody else when he's not. Thet so?"
+
+Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
+
+"Well, Jim's new pard--this man Dodge--he's not who he seems.
+Oh-ho! He's a hell of a lot different. But _I__ know him. An'
+when I spring his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your
+gizzard. Do you get me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be
+stiff when it ought to be lightnin'--All because you'll realize
+you've been standin' there five minutes--five minutes ALIVE
+before him!"
+
+If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin
+manifested itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the
+shaking hand he thrust before Poggin's face. In the ensuing
+silent pause Knell's panting could be plainly heard. The other
+men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either way to the
+wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center of the
+room.
+
+"Spring his name, then, you--" said Poggin, violently, with a
+curse.
+
+Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to
+denounce. He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his
+long head all somewhat expressive of what his face disguised.
+
+"BUCK DUANE!" he yelled, suddenly.
+
+The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But
+Knell's passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that
+the name ought to bring Poggin to quick action. It was
+possible, too, that Knell's manner, the import of his
+denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held Poggin
+bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly was
+surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin, had
+been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw
+hated and feared by all outlaws.
+
+Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold
+immobility in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He
+had hounded the great Poggin into something that gave him
+vicious, monstrous joy.
+
+"BUCK DUANE! Yes," he broke out, hotly. "The Nueces gunman!
+That two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard
+a thousand times of him--talked about him often. An' here he IN
+FRONT of you! Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard,
+Buck Duane. An' he'd fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know
+him. An' I know why he drifted in here. To flash a gun on
+Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me he wanted to join
+the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself. Don't you
+always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to
+meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the
+gunman, an' I know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An'
+when I sprung his name, what ought you have done? What would
+the boss--anybody--have expected of Poggin? Did you throw your
+gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you froze. An' why?
+Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love to have.
+Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know
+he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I
+an' every damned man here had to take his front, each to
+himself. If we all drew we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to
+lead? Who was goin' to be first? Who was goin' to make him
+draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a lesser
+man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to
+every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God,
+I'm glad! Here's once I show you up!"
+
+The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the
+comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but
+magnificent.
+
+"Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?" he asked, in scarcely
+audible voice.
+
+"Yes," replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's
+attitude.
+
+"You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hardin was the best pard I ever had."
+
+His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin
+line.
+
+The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words
+had passed. In that long moment of suspense Knell's body
+gradually stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He
+crouched. His eyes had a soul-piercing fire.
+
+Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought--the
+breaking of Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
+
+Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame.
+Knell's bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream
+like a wild thing in agony.
+
+Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin,
+like a stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his
+prostrate comrade.
+
+Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
+
+"Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!" he yelled.
+
+With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the
+room.
+
+Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the
+twenty-third of the month. The few days seemed endless. All he
+could think of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray
+Longstreth was slowly but inexorably coming. In that waiting
+time he learned what love was and also duty. When the day at
+last dawned he rode like one possessed down the rough slope,
+hurdling the stones and crashing through the brush, with a
+sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the wind.
+Something dragged at him.
+
+Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while
+the other was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought,
+reception of sensations. He could not get calmness. By and by,
+almost involuntarily, he hurried faster on. Action seemed to
+make his state less oppressive; it eased the weight. But the
+farther he went on the harder it was to continue. Had he turned
+his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life itself?
+
+There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely
+sure of himself. Duane received a clear warning thought that
+such work as seemed haunting and driving him could never be
+carried out in the mood under which he labored. He hung on to
+that thought. Several times he slowed up, then stopped, only to
+go on again. At length, as he mounted a low ridge, Fairdale lay
+bright and green before him not far away, and the sight was a
+conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and Duane
+sought the shade beneath them. It was the noon-hour, with hot,
+glary sun and no wind. Here Duane had to have out his fight.
+Duane was utterly unlike himself; he could not bring the old
+self back; he was not the same man he once had been. But he
+could understand why. It was because of Ray Longstreth.
+Temptation assailed him. To have her his wife! It was
+impossible. The thought was insidiously alluring. Duane
+pictured a home. He saw himself riding through the cotton and
+rice and cane, home to a stately old mansion, where long-eared
+hounds bayed him welcome, and a woman looked for him and met
+him with happy and beautiful smile. There might--there would be
+children. And something new, strange, confounding with its
+emotion, came to life deep in Duane's heart. There would be
+children! Ray their mother! The kind of life a lonely outcast
+always yearned for and never had! He saw it all, felt it all.
+
+But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's.
+It was then there was something cold and death-like in Duane's
+soul. For he knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was
+sure--he would have to kill either Longstreth or Lawson.
+Longstreth might be trapped into arrest; but Lawson had no
+sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a panther and
+go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
+consummations, was the one to be calculated upon.
+
+Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sore--in the
+most fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly
+enterprise. He had fallen upon his old strange, futile dreams,
+now rendered poignant by reason of love. He drove away those
+dreams. In their places came the images of the olive-skinned
+Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the dark, evil-faced
+Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister
+the old strange passion to meet Poggin.
+
+It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The
+streets for the most part were deserted. He went directly to
+find Morton and Zimmer. He found them at length, restless,
+somber, anxious, but unaware of the part he had played at Ord.
+They said Longstreth was home, too. It was possible that
+Longstreth had arrived home in ignorance.
+
+Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he
+might need them, and then with teeth locked he set off for
+Longstreth's ranch.
+
+Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the
+porch he heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and
+Lawson were quarreling again. How Duane's lucky star guided
+him! He had no plan of action, but his brain was equal to a
+hundred lightning-swift evolutions. He meant to take any risk
+rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men were out on the
+porch. Duane wormed his way to the edge of the shrubbery and
+crouched low to watch for his opportunity.
+
+Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt-
+sleeves, and he had come out with a gun in his hand. This he
+laid on a table near the wall. He wore no belt.
+
+Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty
+from drink, though sober on the moment, and he had the
+expression of a desperate man in his last stand. It was his
+last stand, though he was ignorant of that.
+
+"What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings," said
+Lawson.
+
+"Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger," replied
+Longstreth.
+
+Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thick-necked anyway,
+and the rush of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his
+shirt. Duane awaited his chance, patient, cold, all his
+feelings shut in a vise.
+
+"But why should your daughter meet this ranger?" demanded
+Lawson, harshly.
+
+"She's in love with him, and he's in love with her."
+
+Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have
+had the force of a juggernaut. Was Longstreth sincere? What was
+his game?
+
+Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the ranger, then
+Longstreth.
+
+"You damned selfish fool!" cried Longstreth, in deep bitter
+scorn. "All you think of is yourself--your loss of the girl.
+Think once of ME--my home--my life!"
+
+Then the connection subtly put out by Longstreth apparently
+dawned upon the other. Somehow through this girl her father and
+cousin were to be betrayed. Duane got that impression, though
+he could not tell how true it was. Certainly Lawson's jealousy
+was his paramount emotion.
+
+"To hell with you!" burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was
+frenzied. "I'll have her, or nobody else will!"
+
+"You never will," returned Longstreth, stridently. "So help me
+God I'd rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!"
+
+While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him,
+all of hate and menace in his mien.
+
+"Lawson, you made me what I am," continued Longstreth. "I
+backed you--shielded you. YOU'RE Cheseldine--if the truth is
+told! Now it's ended. I quit you. I'm done!"
+
+Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
+
+"GENTLEMEN!" Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped
+out. "YOU'RE BOTH DONE!"
+
+They wheeled to confront Duane.
+
+"Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!" he warned.
+
+Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face
+turned from gray to ashen.
+
+"What d'ye mean?" yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not
+in him to obey a command, to see impending death.
+
+All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane
+raised his left hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The
+silver star flashed brightly.
+
+Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with
+sheer impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun.
+Duane's shot broke his action.
+
+Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun,
+Longstreth leaped behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick
+as lightning jerked the gun from both clutching fingers and
+sheath. Longstreth protected himself with the body of the dead
+man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke; he heard quick
+reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like wind,
+light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered
+him. The hot rend of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart
+seemed to explode, yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and
+rapid.
+
+Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He
+heard the hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had
+used up all the loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man
+cursed at defeat. Duane waited, cool and sure now. Longstreth
+tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table
+where his own gun lay. But, considering the peril of exposing
+himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent peering at Duane
+under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side.
+Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill.
+There was never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of
+eyes like those. More than once Duane had a chance to aim at
+them, at the top of Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.
+
+Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped,
+before Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the
+gun, Duane covered him, called piercingly to him:
+
+"Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll
+kill you!"
+
+Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun
+lay Duane saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the
+courage that forced Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him
+measure the distance to that gun. He was magnificent. He meant
+to do it. Duane would have to kill him.
+
+"Longstreth, listen," cried Duane, swiftly. "The game's up.
+You're done. But think of your daughter! I'll spare your
+life--I'll try to get you freedom on one condition. For her
+sake! I've got you nailed--all the proofs. There lies Lawson.
+You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid. Give up.
+Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can
+persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country.
+It's for Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be
+saved! Hurry, man! Your answer!"
+
+"Suppose I refuse?" he queried, with a dark and terrible
+earnestness.
+
+"Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your
+word or death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake!
+Quick! Another second now--I'll kill you!"
+
+"All right, Buck Duane, I give my word," he said, and
+deliberately walked to the chair and fell into it.
+
+Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's
+shoulder.
+
+"There come the girls!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Can you help me
+drag Lawson inside? They mustn't see him."
+
+Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals.
+Miss Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly
+approaching, evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in
+drawing Lawson into the house before the girls saw him.
+
+"Duane, you're not hard hit?" said Longstreth.
+
+"Reckon not," replied Duane.
+
+"I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn
+him! Always I've split over him!"
+
+"But the last time, Longstreth."
+
+"Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you
+talked me out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a
+minute. This'll be harder than facing a gun."
+
+"Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right."
+
+"Duane, will you do me a favor?" he asked, and he seemed
+shamefaced.
+
+"Sure."
+
+"Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't
+matter. Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's
+been coming. It'll be here just about when she enters this
+room. And, by God, I'd change places with Lawson if I could!"
+
+"Glad you--said that, Longstreth," replied Duane. "And
+sure--Lawson plugged me. It's our secret."
+
+Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low
+cries, so different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray
+came to his side, She lifted a shaking hand to point at the
+blood upon his breast. White and mute, she gazed from that to
+her father.
+
+"Papa!" cried Ray, wringing her hands.
+
+"Don't give way," he replied, huskily. "Both you girls will
+need your nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is--is dead.
+Listen. Let me tell it quick. There's been a fight. It--it was
+Lawson--it was Lawson's gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off.
+In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm to divide my property--return so
+far as possible what I've stolen--leave Texas at once with
+Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly, the
+ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!"
+
+She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and
+tragic glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
+
+"You must rise above this," said Duane to her. "I expected this
+to ruin you. But your father is alive. He will live it down.
+I'm sure I can promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in
+Louisiana the dishonor will never be known. This country is far
+from your old home. And even in San Antonio and.Austin a man's
+evil repute means little. Then the line between a rustler and a
+rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days. Rustling is
+stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher say that
+all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father
+drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded.
+It's perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by
+the law and morality of a civilized country. Some way or other
+he drifted in with bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest
+somehow tied his hands. This matter of land, water, a few stray
+head of stock had to be decided out of court. I'm sure in his
+case he never realized where he was drifting. Then one thing
+led to another, until he was face to face with dealing that
+took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him.
+And so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed
+that way out here. He could not control them. He became
+involved with them. And eventually their dealings became
+deliberately and boldly dishonest. That meant the inevitable
+spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the
+leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be
+judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in
+time to catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously
+incapacitate him. Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth
+and Ruth Herbert would not be left behind. They were all
+leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had turned over the whole
+of his property to Morton, who was to divide it as he and his
+comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party
+by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn,
+and reached Bradford as he had planned.
+
+That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly
+he was in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would
+Captain MacNelly be there with his rangers, as Duane had
+planned for them to be? Memory of that tawny Poggin returned
+with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and weeks and
+months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the outlaw,
+but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him
+leap.
+
+It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
+
+Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the
+car, changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had
+seldom spoken. Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought.
+The girls sat in a seat near by and were pale but composed.
+Occasionally the train halted briefly at a station. The latter
+half of that ride Duane had observed a wagon-road running
+parallel with the railroad, sometimes right alongside,
+at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty
+miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen
+trotting eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples.
+The gang! He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a
+strange inward contraction. He thought he recognized the
+clean-cut Blossom Kane, the black-bearded giant Boldt, the
+red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. There was another man
+strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not have been
+Knell.
+
+Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the
+shoulder.
+
+"Look!" he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already
+seen.
+
+The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of
+sight.
+
+"Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?" whispered Duane.
+
+Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped
+at Val Verde.
+
+They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as
+ordinary travelers. The station was a good deal larger than
+that at Bradford, and there was considerable action and bustle
+incident to the arrival of the train.
+
+Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who
+seemed familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who
+knew Duane, but was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane
+recognized him--MacNelly, clean-shaven. Without mustache he
+appeared different, younger.
+
+When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet
+him, he hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He
+was glad, eager, yet suppressing himself, and the glances he
+sent back and forth from Duane to Longstreth were questioning,
+doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not look the part of an
+outlaw.
+
+"Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you," was the Captain's greeting.
+Then at closer look into Duane's face his warmth
+fled--something he saw there checked his enthusiasm, or at
+least its utterance.
+
+"MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine," said Duane, low-voiced.
+
+The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw
+Longstreth's instant action, and awkwardly he reached for the
+outstretched hand.
+
+"Any of your men down here?" queried Duane, sharply.
+
+"No. They're up-town."
+
+"Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party.
+I'll come behind with them."
+
+They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with
+friends on the way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly
+walked like a man in a trance. There was not a word spoken in
+four blocks.
+
+Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the
+broad street. There was a big sign, "Rancher's Bank."
+
+"There's the hotel," said MacNelly. "Some of my men are there.
+We've scattered around."
+
+They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and
+then Duane asked MacNelly to take them to a private room.
+Without a word the Captain complied. When they were all inside
+Duane closed the door, and, drawing a deep breath as if of
+relief, he faced them calmly.
+
+"Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves
+comfortable now," he said. "And don't be distressed." Then he
+turned to his captain. "MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of
+the man I've brought to you, and this one is his niece."
+
+Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he
+did not spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
+
+"When I went after Longstreth," concluded Duane, "it was either
+to kill him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the
+latter for his daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all
+his property. I believe he'll live up to the conditions. He's
+to leave Texas never to return. The name Cheseldine has been a
+mystery, and now it'll fade."
+
+A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room,
+like a hall, and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew
+them--rangers!
+
+MacNelly beckoned to his men.
+
+"Boys, here he is."
+
+"How many men have you?" asked Duane.
+
+"Fifteen."
+
+MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but
+for the dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man.
+Instead he glowed, he sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his
+hands. He was beside himself. And his rangers crowded closer,
+eager, like hounds ready to run. They all talked at once, and
+the word most significant and frequent in their speech was
+"outlaws."
+
+MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
+
+"This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have
+it on the Governor! We'll show them about the ranger service.
+Duane! how'd you ever do it?"
+
+"Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done.
+The gang's coming down the road. I saw them from the train.
+They'll ride into town on the dot--two-thirty."
+
+"How many?" asked MacNelly.
+
+"Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher,
+and another man I don't know. These are the picked men of
+Cheseldine's gang. I'll bet they'll be the fastest, hardest
+bunch you rangers ever faced."
+
+"Poggin--that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records
+since I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a
+boy, but hell and blazes!"
+
+"Knell's dead."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike,
+cool, and of harder aspect. "Duane, it's your game to-day. I'm
+only a ranger under orders. We're all under your orders. We've
+absolute faith in you. Make your plan quick, so I can go around
+and post the boys who're not here."
+
+"You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin,
+Kane, and that lot?" queried Duane.
+
+"No, I don't understand that," replied MacNelly, bluntly.
+
+"It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you
+meet them they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin!
+That outlaw has no equal with a gun--unless--He's got to be
+killed quick. They'll all have to be killed. They're all bad,
+desperate, know no fear, are lightning in action."
+
+"Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier,
+perhaps. The boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan,
+now."
+
+"Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of
+town. Let him hide there with a rifle to block the escape of
+any outlaw that we might fail to get. I had a good look at the
+bank building. It's well situated for our purpose. Put four men
+up in that room over the bank--four men, two at each open
+window. Let them hide till the game begins. They want to be
+there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise before they're
+down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your men put
+inside behind the counters, where they'll hide. Now go over to
+the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, and don't let
+them shut up the bank. You want their aid. Let them make sure
+of their gold. But the clerks and cashier ought to be at their
+desks or window when Poggin rides up. He'll glance in before he
+gets down. They make no mistakes, these fellows. We must be
+slicker than they are, or lose. When you get the bank people
+wise, send your men over one by one. No hurry, no excitement,
+no unusual thing to attract notice in the bank."
+
+"All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to
+wait?"
+
+Duane heard MacNelly's question, and it struck him peculiarly.
+He had seemed to be planning and speaking mechanically. As he
+was confronted by the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he
+became thoughtful, with lowered head.
+
+"Where'll you wait, Duane?" insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes
+speculating.
+
+"I'll wait in front, just inside the door," replied Duane, with
+an effort.
+
+"Why?" demanded the Captain.
+
+"Well," began Duane, slowly, "Poggin will get down first and
+start in. But the others won't be far behind. They'll not get
+swift till inside. The thing is--they MUSTN'T get clear inside,
+because the instant they do they'll pull guns. That means death
+to somebody. If we can we want to stop them just at the door."
+
+"But will you hide?" asked MacNelly.
+
+"Hide!" The idea had not occurred to Duane.
+
+"There's a wide-open doorway, a sort of round hall, a
+vestibule, with steps leading up to the bank. There's a door in
+the vestibule, too. It leads somewhere. We can put men in
+there. You can be there."
+
+Duane was silent.
+
+"See here, Duane," began MacNelly, nervously. "You shan't take
+any undue risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?"
+
+"No!"The word was wrenched from Duane.
+
+MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed
+to flit over his face.
+
+"Duane, I can give you no orders to-day," he said, distinctly.
+"I'm only offering advice. Need you take any more risks? You've
+done a grand job for the service--already. You've paid me a
+thousand times for that pardon. You've redeemed yourself.--The
+Governor, the adjutant-general--the whole state will rise up
+and honor you. The game's almost up. We'll kill these outlaws,
+or enough of them to break for ever their power. I say, as a
+ranger, need you take more risk than your captain?"
+
+Still Duane remained silent. He was locked between two forces.
+And one, a tide that was bursting at its bounds, seemed about
+to overwhelm him. Finally that side of him, the retreating
+self, the weaker, found a voice.
+
+"Captain, you want this job to be sure?" he asked.
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"I've told you the way. I alone know the kind of men to be met.
+Just WHAT I'll do or WHERE I'll be I can't say yet. In meetings
+like this the moment decides. But I'll be there!"
+
+MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his
+curious and sympathetic rangers, and shook his head.
+
+"Now you've done your work--laid the trap--is this strange move
+of yours going to be fair to Miss Longstreth?" asked MacNelly,
+in significant low voice.
+
+Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that.
+He looked up as if he had seen a ghost.
+
+Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: "You can win her,
+Duane! Oh, you can't fool me. I was wise in a minute. Fight
+with us from cover--then go back to her. You will have served
+the Texas Rangers as no other man has. I'll accept your
+resignation. You'll be free, honored, happy. That girl loves
+you! I saw it in her eyes. She's--"
+
+But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to
+his feet, and the rangers fell back. Dark, silent, grim as he
+had been, still there was a transformation singularly more
+sinister, stranger.
+
+"Enough. I'm done," he said, somberly. "I've planned. Do we
+agree--or shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?"
+
+MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in
+baffled chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark eyes as they
+rested upon Duane.
+
+Duane was left alone.
+
+Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its
+understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive
+impulses of his strange nature. His determination was to meet
+Poggin; meet him before any one else had a chance--Poggin
+first--and then the others! He was as unalterable in that
+decision as if on the instant of its acceptance he had become
+stone.
+
+Why? Then came realization. He was not a ranger now. He cared
+nothing for the state. He had no thought of freeing the
+community of a dangerous outlaw, of ridding the country of an
+obstacle to its progress and prosperity. He wanted to kill
+Poggin. It was significant now that he forgot the other
+outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun-thrower, the gun-fighter,
+passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and
+fierce strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and
+unquenchable spirit of the surviving pioneer--these had been in
+him; and the killings, one after another, the wild and haunted
+years, had made him, absolutely in spite of his will, the
+gunman. He realized it now, bitterly, hopelessly. The thing he
+had intelligence enough to hate he had become. At last he
+shuddered under the driving, ruthless inhuman blood-lust of the
+gunman. Long ago he had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of
+his kind--the need, in order to forget the haunting, sleepless
+presence of his last victim, to go out and kill another. But it
+was still there in his mind, and now it stalked out, worse,
+more powerful, magnified by its rest, augmented by the violent
+passions peculiar and inevitable to that strange, wild product
+of the Texas frontier--the gun-fighter. And those passions were
+so violent, so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought to
+have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of his record!
+Actual vanity in his speed with a gun. Actual jealousy of any
+rival!
+
+Duane could not believe it. But there he was, without a choice.
+What he had feared for years had become a monstrous reality.
+Respect for himself, blindness, a certain honor that he had
+clung to while in outlawry--all, like scales, seemed to fall
+away from him. He stood stripped bare, his soul naked--the soul
+of Cain. Always since the first brand had been forced and
+burned upon him he had been ruined. But now with conscience
+flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this tiger
+instinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at the
+utter abasement the soul he despised suddenly leaped and
+quivered with the thought of Ray Longstreth.
+
+Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this
+fatal meeting--as all his swift and deadly genius must be
+occupied with Poggin, perhaps in vain--as hard-shooting men
+whom he could not watch would be close behind, this almost
+certainly must be the end of Buck Duane. That did not matter.
+But he loved the girl. He wanted her. All her sweetness, her
+fire, and pleading returned to torture him.
+
+At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered.
+
+"Duane," she said, softly. "Captain MacNelly sent me to you."
+
+"But you shouldn't have come," replied Duane.
+
+"As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it
+or not. You left me--all of us--stunned. I had no time to thank
+you. Oh, I do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is
+overcome. He didn't expect so much. And he'll be true. But,
+Duane, I was told to hurry, and here I'm selfishly using time."
+
+"Go, then--and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when
+there's a desperate game to finish."
+
+"Need it be desperate?" she whispered, coming close to him.
+
+"Yes; it can't be else."
+
+MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure.
+And he felt that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark,
+strained, beautiful, and they shed a light upon Duane he had
+never seen before.
+
+"You're going to take some mad risk," she said. "Let me
+persuade you not to. You said--you cared for me--and I--oh,
+Duane--don't you--know--?"
+
+The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke
+and failed.
+
+Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed
+confusion of thought.
+
+She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes
+dimmed in a flood of tears.
+
+"My God! You can't care for me?" he cried, hoarsely.
+
+Then she met him, hands outstretched.
+
+"But I do-I do!"
+
+Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He
+stood holding her tight, with the feel of her warm, throbbing
+breast and the clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities
+to fight a terrible fear. He felt her, and for the moment the
+might of it was stronger than all the demons that possessed
+him. And he held her as if she had been his soul, his strength
+on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.
+
+The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And
+there rushed over him a tide of emotion unutterably sweet and
+full, strong like an intoxicating wine, deep as his nature,
+something glorious and terrible as the blaze of the sun to one
+long in darkness. He had become an outcast, a wanderer, a
+gunman, a victim of circumstances; he had lost and suffered
+worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the endless
+bloody trail, a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly and
+inevitably closed to all except the instinct to survive and a
+black despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her
+swelling breast against his, in this moment almost of
+resurrection, he bent under the storm of passion and joy
+possible only to him who had endured so much.
+
+"Do you care--a little?" he whispered, unsteadily.
+
+He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet eyes.
+
+She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her arms slipped
+up to his neck.
+
+"A littler Oh, Duane--Duane--a great deal!"
+
+Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, the fire of
+her mouth seemed so new, so strange, so irresistible to Duane.
+His sore and hungry heart throbbed with thick and heavy beats.
+He felt the outcast's need of love. And he gave up to the
+enthralling moment. She met him half-way, returned kiss for
+kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes closed, till,
+her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his
+shoulder.
+
+Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then
+that she had understood him, would have denied him nothing, not
+even her life, in that moment. But she was overcome, and he
+suffered a pang of regret at his unrestraint.
+
+Presently she recovered, and she drew only the closer, and
+leaned upon him with her face upturned. He felt her hands on
+his, and they were soft, clinging, strong, like steel under
+velvet. He felt the rise and fall, the warmth of her breast. A
+tremor ran over him. He tried to draw back, and if he succeeded
+a little her form swayed with him, pressing closer. She held
+her face up, and he was compelled to look. It was wonderful
+now: white, yet glowing, with the red lips parted, and dark
+eyes alluring. But that was not all. There was passion,
+unquenchable spirit, woman's resolve deep and mighty.
+
+"I love you, Duane!" she said. "For my sake don't go out to
+meet this outlaw face to face. It's something wild in you.
+Conquer it if you love me."
+
+Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did take her into his
+arms again he scarcely had strength to lift her to a seat
+beside him. She seemed more than a dead weight. Her calmness
+had fled. She was throbbing, palpitating, quivering, with hot
+wet cheeks and arms that clung to him like vines. She lifted
+her mouth to his, whispering, "Kiss me!" She meant to change
+him, hold him.
+
+Duane bent down, and her arms went round his neck and drew him
+close. With his lips on hers he seemed to float away. That kiss
+closed his eyes, and he could not lift his head. He sat
+motionless holding her, blind and helpless, wrapped in a sweet
+dark glory. She kissed him--one long endless kiss--or else a
+thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks, her hair, the
+softness, the fragrance of her, the tender clasp of her arms,
+the swell of her breast--all these seemed to inclose him.
+
+Duane could not put her from him. He yielded to her lips and
+arms, watching her, involuntarily returning her caresses, sure
+now of her intent, fascinated by the sweetness of her,
+bewildered, almost lost. This was what it was to be loved by a
+woman. His years of outlawry had blotted out any boyish love he
+might have known. This was what he had to give up--all this
+wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he feared yet
+loved, this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never
+until that moment had he divined the meaning of a woman to a
+man. That meaning was physical inasmuch that he learned what
+beauty was, what marvel in the touch of quickening flesh; and
+it was spiritual in that he saw there might have been for him,
+under happier circumstances, a life of noble deeds lived for
+such a woman.
+
+"Don't go! Don't go!" she cried, as he started violently.
+
+"I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved your"
+
+He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
+
+"Ray, dearest--I believe--I'll come back!" he whispered.
+
+These last words were falsehood.
+
+He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix
+for ever in memory that white face with its dark, staring,
+tragic eyes.
+
+"DUANE!"
+
+He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
+
+To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the
+image of Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like
+a jaguar, with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense
+of the outlaw's wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear
+and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the cold sickness of fear to his
+marrow. Why, since he hated life so? Poggin was his supreme
+test. And this abnormal and stupendous instinct, now deep as
+the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild and fatal
+issue. There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance
+that Poggin likewise had been taunted in fear of him.
+
+So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room
+he was fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a
+panther, somber as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.
+
+There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank
+corner. A clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through
+the door into the vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps
+into the bank. The clerks were at their desks, apparently busy.
+But they showed nervousness. The cashier paled at sight of
+Duane. There were men--the rangers--crouching down behind the
+low partition. All the windows had been removed from the iron
+grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no
+money in sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and
+was told to come to-morrow.
+
+Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street,
+out into the country. There he waited, and minutes were
+eternities. He saw no person near him; he heard no sound. He
+was insulated in his unnatural strain.
+
+At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of
+horsemen appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at
+a sharp trot--a group that would have attracted attention
+anywhere at any time. They came a little faster as they entered
+town; then faster still; now they were four blocks away, now
+three, now two. Duane backed down the middle of the vestibule,
+up the steps, and halted in the center of the wide doorway.
+
+There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced
+sharp, ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the
+corner of the street. But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed
+dusty bay horses. There was a clattering of nervous hoofs
+pulled to a halt.
+
+Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He
+dismounted quickly. They followed suit. They had the manner of
+ranchers about to conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin
+started leisurely for the bank door, quickening step a little.
+The others, close together, came behind him. Blossom Kane had a
+bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the curb, and he
+had already gathered up the bridles.
+
+Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side,
+Boldt on the other, a little in his rear.
+
+As he strode in he saw Duane.
+
+"HELL'S FIRE!" he cried.
+
+Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold.
+Was it that fear?
+
+"BUCK DUANE!" echoed Kane.
+
+One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
+
+Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane
+threw his arm.
+
+The guns boomed almost together.
+
+Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts
+came fast, like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising
+gun had loosened in his hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A
+tearing agony encompassed his breast. He pulled--pulled--at
+random. Thunder of booming shots all about him! Red flashes,
+jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end; yes, the
+end! With fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But
+supreme torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane like a
+lion's, back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand, with his guns
+spouting red!
+
+All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed
+floating. There it drifted--Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white,
+with dark, tragic eyes, fading from his sight . . . fading . .
+. fading . . .
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Light shone before Duane's eyes--thick, strange light that came
+and went. For a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by,
+filling all. It was a dream in which there was nothing; a
+drifting under a burden; darkness, light, sound, movement; and
+vague, obscure sense of time--time that was very long. There
+was fire--creeping, consuming fire. A dark cloud of flame
+enveloped him, rolled him away.
+
+He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people
+moving about over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a
+dream. He saw again, clearly, and consciousness returned, still
+unreal, still strange, full of those vague and far-away things.
+Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like a stone, with a weight
+ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his bound body racked
+in slow, dull-beating agony.
+
+A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like
+one of his old haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then
+a man's face bent over him, looked deep into his eyes, and
+seemed to whisper from a distance: "Duane--Duane! Ah, he knew
+me!"
+
+After that there was another long interval of darkness. When
+the light came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced
+man bent over him. It was MacNelly. And with recognition the
+past flooded back.
+
+Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely
+move them.
+
+"Poggin!" he whispered. His first real conscious thought was
+for Poggin. Ruling passion--eternal instinct!
+
+"Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces," replied MacNelly,
+solemnly. "What a fight he made! He killed two of my men,
+wounded others. God! he was a tiger. He used up three guns
+before we downed him."
+
+"Who-got--away?"
+
+"Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others.
+Duane, the job's done--it's done! Why, man, you're--"
+
+"What of--of--HER?"
+
+"Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside.
+She helped the doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the
+other night, when you sank low--so low--I think it was her
+spirit that held yours back. Oh, she's a wonderful girl. Duane,
+she never gave up, never lost her nerve for a moment. Well,
+we're going to take you home, and she'll go with us. Colonel
+Longstreth left for Louisiana right after the fight. I advised
+it. There was great excitement. It was best for him to leave."
+
+"Have I--a--chance--to recover?"
+
+"Chance? Why, man," exclaimed the Captain, "you'll get well!
+You'll pack a sight of lead all your life. But you can stand
+that. Duane, the whole Southwest knows your story. You need
+never again be ashamed of the name Buck Duane. The brand outlaw
+is washed out. Texas believes you've been a secret ranger all
+the time. You're a hero. And now think of home, your mother, of
+this noble girl--of your future."
+
+The rangers took Duane home to Wellston.
+
+A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile.
+Wellston had grown. A noisy crowd surrounded the station, but
+it stilled as Duane was carried from the train.
+
+A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he
+remembered--schoolmates, friends, old neighbors. There was an
+upflinging of many hands. Duane was being welcomed home to the
+town from which he had fled. A deadness within him broke. This
+welcome hurt him somehow, quickened him; and through his cold
+being, his weary mind, passed a change. His sight dimmed.
+
+Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet
+how real! His heart beat fast. Had so many, many years passed?
+Familiar yet strange it was, and all seemed magnified.
+
+They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down,
+and lifted his head upon pillows. The house was still, though
+full of people. Duane's gaze sought the open door.
+
+Some one entered--a tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and
+a light upon her face. She was leading an old lady,
+gray-haired, austere-faced, somber and sad. His mother! She was
+feeble, but she walked erect. She was pale, shaking, yet
+maintained her dignity.
+
+The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's
+bed. His mother flung wide her arms with a strange gesture.
+
+"This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his
+father! Where is my son? My son--oh, my son!"
+
+When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to lie by the west
+window and watch Uncle Jim whittle his stick and listen to his
+talk. The old man was broken now. He told many interesting
+things about people Duane had known--people who had grown up
+and married, failed, succeeded, gone away, and died. But it was
+hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of guns, outlaws,
+fights. He could not seem to divine how mention of these things
+hurt Duane. Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great
+pride in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of Duane's exile.
+And if there was one thing more than another that pleased him
+it was to talk about the bullets which Duane carried in his
+body.
+
+"Five bullets, ain't it?" he asked, for the hundredth time.
+
+"Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?"
+
+"Yes, uncle," replied Duane.
+
+"Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to
+carry all that lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's
+that nigger Edwards, right here in Wellston. He's got a ton of
+bullets in him. Doesn't seem to mind them none. And there's
+Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad man in his day. They say
+he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger than you--got
+more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the doctor only
+bein' able to cut one bullet out of you--that one in your
+breastbone? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I
+saw it, and I wanted it, but Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with
+it. Buck, there was a bullet left in one of Poggin's guns, and
+that bullet was the same kind as the one cut out of you. By
+gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if it'd stayed there."
+
+"It would indeed, uncle," replied Duane, and the old, haunting,
+somber mood returned.
+
+But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old
+hero-worshiping Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person
+who seemed to divine Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with
+him she warded off all suggestion.
+
+One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a
+message came for him. They read it together.
+
+You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
+
+MACNELLEY.
+
+Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant
+to speak then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still
+white, but sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble;
+and her dark eyes were still intent, still haunted by shadows,
+but no longer tragic.
+
+"I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's," said
+Duane.
+
+She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply.
+Duane shrank a little.
+
+"The pain--Is it any worse to-day?" she asked, instantly.
+
+"No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of
+lead, you know. But I don't mind a little pain."
+
+"Then--it's the old mood--the fear?" she whispered. "Tell me."
+
+"Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon--able to go out. Then
+that--that hell will come back!"
+
+"No, no!" she said, with emotion.
+
+"Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in
+every town, wherever I go," he went on, miserably. "Buck Duane!
+To kill Buck Duane!"
+
+"Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val
+Verde, when I came to you--plead with you not to meet Poggin?
+Oh, that was a terrible hour for me. But it showed me the
+truth. I saw the struggle between your passion to kill and your
+love for me. I could have saved you then had I known what I
+know now. Now I understand that--that thing which haunts you.
+But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have to kill
+another man, thank God!"
+
+Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he
+could not voice his passionate query.
+
+She put tender arms round his neck. "Because you'll have me
+with you always," she replied. "Because always I shall be
+between you and that--that terrible thing."
+
+It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her
+power came to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the
+arms of a stronger woman that she who had plead with him that
+fatal day.
+
+"We'll--we'll be married and leave Texas," she said, softly,
+with the red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.
+
+"Ray!"
+
+"Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir."
+
+"But, dear--suppose," he replied, huskily, "suppose there might
+be--be children--a boy. A boy with his father's blood!"
+
+"I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But
+even so--he'll be half my blood."
+
+Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was
+that of joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this
+woman's eyes made him weak as a child. How could she love
+him--how could she so bravely face a future with him? Yet she
+held him in her arms, twining her hands round his neck, and
+pressing close to him. Her faith and love and beauty--these she
+meant to throw between him and all that terrible past. They
+were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not
+think of accepting her sacrifice.
+
+"But Ray--you dear, noble girl--I'm poor. I have nothing. And
+I'm a cripple."
+
+"Oh, you'll be well some day," she replied. "And listen. I have
+money. My mother left me well off. All she had was her
+father's--Do you understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your
+mother. We'll go to Louisiana--to my old home. It's far from
+here. There's a plantation to work. There are horses and
+cattle--a great cypress forest to cut. Oh, you'll have much to
+do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my home. It's a
+beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss blows
+all day and the nightingales sing all night."
+
+"My darling!" cried Duane, brokenly. "No, no, no!"
+
+Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he
+could not resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of
+love?
+
+"We'll be happy," she whispered. "Oh, I know.
+Come!--come!-come!"
+
+Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet,
+tremulous, waiting lips.
+
+With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close
+pressed to him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line
+of low hills in the west, down where the sun was setting gold
+and red, down over the Nueces and the wild brakes of the Rio
+Grande which he was never to see again.
+
+It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted
+happiness and faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender
+woman to be stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had
+shadowed his past.
+
+It would come back--that wind of flame, that madness to forget,
+that driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back
+with those pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing
+fading eyes, but all his life, always between them and him,
+rendering them powerless, would be the faith and love and
+beauty of this noble woman.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey
+
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