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diff --git a/old/1027-h/1027-h.htm b/old/1027-h/1027-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef12662 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1027-h/1027-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13725 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<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; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .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%;} + +</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—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—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!” + </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—when I had my memorable sojourn + with you—and yet, in that short time, Russell and Moore have crossed + the Divide, like Rangers. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—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> + “Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you,” + repeated the elder man, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “It's the second time,” muttered Duane, as if to himself. + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's he want me for?” demanded Duane. “To insult me again? I won't + stand that twice.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Kill me! What for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I quit when I found out she was his girl.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean for me to run?” asked Duane, in scorn. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to + realize their significance. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd never hang,” muttered Duane, darkly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what're you goin' to do?” inquired the elder man. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't decided—yet.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and here,” said + Duane. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a glove + on his right hand for twenty years?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “Howdy, Buck,” was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and averted + his dark gaze for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, Sol,” replied Duane, slowly. “Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in + town looking for me bad.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody with him?” queried Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he's that bad?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “Won't nothin' make you draw, you—!” he shouted, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “I'm waitin' on you, Cal,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—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. + </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. “The fool!” + </p> + <p> + When he looked up there were men around him. + </p> + <p> + “Plumb center,” 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> + “Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like father + like son!” + </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—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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Son, you killed him—then?” asked the uncle, huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I stood over him—watched him die. I did as I would have been + done by.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” exclaimed Duane. + </p> + <p> + “She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her—what she + always feared.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His broad shoulders shook. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a murderer,” said Duane, shuddering. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “An outlaw?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—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. + </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—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—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. + </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> + “Shore he crossed the river below,” said one man. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us,” 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> + “You're wrong, Bill,” said a man, in a low but distinct voice. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand,” 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—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> + “Let them hunt me!” 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> + “Mawnin', stranger,” called the man, dropping his hand from his hip. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy,” replied Duane, shortly. + </p> + <p> + They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted again. + </p> + <p> + “I seen you ain't no ranger,” called the rider, “an' shore I ain't none.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?” said this + stranger. + </p> + <p> + Duane was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you're Buck Duane,” went on Stevens. “I heerd you was a damn bad + man with a gun.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,” admitted Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up before + you hit thet stretch of country.” + </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> + “Stock up?” queried Duane, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you'd like me to go with you?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + Stevens grinned. “Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be + braced with a man of your reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “See here, my good fellow, that's all nonsense,” declared Duane, in some + haste. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you're right,” replied Duane, quietly. “And I'll go to Mercer + with you.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a + kind of wild humor. + </p> + <p> + “Stevens, have you got any money?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Money!” exclaimed Luke, blankly. “Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece + since—wal, fer some time.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll furnish money for grub,” returned Duane. “And for whisky, too, + providing you hurry back here—without making trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,” 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> + “You're shot!” cried Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift—on + this here pack?” + </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> + “Oh, why didn't you say so!” cried Duane. “I never thought. You seemed all + right.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty bad,” replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful + outlaw in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave you here alone?” asked Duane, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do in my case?” asked Duane, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide,” 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> + “Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark—till I drop,” + 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> + “Buck, will you take off my boots?” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You've a chance to-to get over this,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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, “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. + </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> + “Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots,” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “Be quiet,” said Duane. “Talking uses up your strength.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll remember, if I ever meet him,” 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> + “My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?” + </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> + “Pard, you—stuck—to me!” 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> + “Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!” + </p> + <p> + The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance + toward Duane. + </p> + <p> + “How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?” queried the first man. + </p> + <p> + “Plain as your nose,” replied the fellow called Euchre. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't no doubt about thet, then,” laughed another, “fer Bosomer's + nose is shore plain on the landscape.” + </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> + “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. + </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> + “Stranger, who are you?” asked another man, somewhat more civilly. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Duane,” replied Duane, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “An' how'd you come by the hoss?” + </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> + “Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,” + presently said Euchre. + </p> + <p> + “Mister Duane,” began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, “I happen to be + Luke Stevens's side-pardner.” + </p> + <p> + Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchy sombrero. + That look seemed to inflame Bosomer. + </p> + <p> + “An' I want the hoss an' them guns,” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to take my word, that's all,” replied Duane, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!” + </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> + “Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,” 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> + “I'm Bland,” said the tall man, authoritatively. “Who're you and what're + you doing here?” + </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> + “I believe you,” replied Bland, at once. “Think I know when a fellow is + lying.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + At this sally the chief and his men laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You said Duane—Buck Duane?” queried Bland. “Are you a son of that + Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Had a fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Fight? Do you mean gun-play?” questioned Bland. He seemed eager, curious, + speculative. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say,” answered Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?” asked Duane, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay,” 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—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. + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played out,” replied + Duane. + </p> + <p> + Euchre gave him a keen glance. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “Hey a drink or a smoke?” 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. “Reckon you feel a little + sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm twenty-three,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about himself. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows,” replied Duane, hopelessly. “I'll make my money last as long + as possible—then starve.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you ever pack supplies in here?” asked Duane, thinking of the + almost inaccessible nature of the valley. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Come along or stay here, as you want,” he said to Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay,” 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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn't cost a short bit.” + </p> + <p> + “But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too, + doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. An' + as for life, why, thet's cheap in Texas.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Bland?” asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. “What do you + know about him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How many in his gang now?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!” + exclaimed Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” replied Euchre, dryly, “he's been quicker on the draw than the + other fellers who hankered to kill him, thet's all.” + </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> + “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?'” + </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> + “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'.” + </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—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> + “Let's have a look in here,” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Girl?” queried Duane, now with real attention. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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> + “You stacked the cards, you—!” + </p> + <p> + “Say that twice,” another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous + tone from the other. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Who was the Kid callin'?” asked one outlaw. + </p> + <p> + “Bud Marsh,” replied another. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him,” + went on yet another. + </p> + <p> + “How many shots?” + </p> + <p> + “Three or four, I counted.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I certainly did not,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Popular? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any + women,” rejoined Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you about Jennie—the girl Bland's holdin' here—the + one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?” + </p> + <p> + “You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,” replied Duane, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?” answered Euchre. + </p> + <p> + “She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,” 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> + “Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin' + you about,” Euchre said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't! I look so—so—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “What did you come here for?” she asked, at last. + </p> + <p> + “To see you,” replied Duane, glad to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—Euchre thought—he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up + a bit,” replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Duane told her. + </p> + <p> + “You're not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to + hide?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not,” replied Duane, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't be honest here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “O God! Maybe you're the man to save me—to take me away before it's + too late.” + </p> + <p> + Duane's spirit leaped. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I am,” 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> + “It can't be. You're only—after me, too, like Bland—like all + of them.” + </p> + <p> + Duane's long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook + her. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me—straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a + father—a brother?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. But take me away.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “She would that. You've got to be careful—and quick.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of woman is she?” inquired Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “To make love to her?” interrupted Duane. + </p> + <p> + Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his. + </p> + <p> + “My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here,” he said, + bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “But—Duane,” she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand. + “Bland will kill you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't,” went on Jennie, with her + tragic eyes on Duane's. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he will,” replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a smile. + But he achieved one. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, better take me off at once,” she said. “Save me without risking so + much—without making love to Mrs. Bland!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “That's her. Oh, she mustn't see me with you.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + Jennie checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart,” 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> + “Mr. Duane—Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Buckley,” corrected Duane. “The nickname's not of my choosing.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Now that I think of it, he did say something or other.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he tell you about me?” bluntly asked Mrs. Bland. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, Kate,” replied Euchre, speaking for himself, “you needn't worry + none, for I told Buck nothin' but compliments.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested with + amusement upon him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct,” replied Euchre, dryly, + “I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with + curiosity and interest in her gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Bland told me about you.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” queried Duane, in pretended alarm. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” inquired Duane, as she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,” she replied, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” went on Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a + great blue-eyed sunburned boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” exclaimed Duane. “I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth + seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not disappointed,” she returned, archly. “Duane, are you going to + stay long here in camp?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Why?” + </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> + “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—” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?” inquired Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain,” 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 “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. + </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> + “Wal,” began the old man, at last, “how'd you make out with the kid?” + </p> + <p> + “Kid?” inquired Duane, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.” + </p> + <p> + Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you done + the job too well.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any idea,” replied Duane, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune time + sneak off without any gun-play?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—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—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> + “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.” + </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> + “Bland's been chased across the river,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “New, he's deliverin' cattle to thet Cuban ship,” replied another. + </p> + <p> + “Big deal on, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer fifteen thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, that order'll take a year to fill.” + </p> + <p> + “New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders + bigger 'n thet.” + </p> + <p> + “Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' in here fer.” + </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> + “Kid Fuller's goin' to cash,” said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw. + </p> + <p> + “So Jim was tellin' me. Blood-poison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad. But + he took the fever,” rejoined a comrade. + </p> + <p> + “Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't got + time.” + </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> + “Pete, 'pears to me you've said thet before.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore. Wal, it's happened before.” + </p> + <p> + This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane. He + did not choose to ignore them any longer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!” 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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Bill, you're too good at cards,” replied a lanky outlaw. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “No offense, Bill,” 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> + “Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?” he + asked, in disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.” 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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could + withstand. + </p> + <p> + “Take thet. Easy money,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “Who's goin' to chuck the stone?” asked another. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody,” replied Bill. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,” said the first outlaw. + </p> + <p> + “We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,” 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> + “I'll bet you-all he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,” 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> + “But it hadn't the same dove!” exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. “This + 'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple.” + </p> + <p> + Bill eyed the speaker loftily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + No one offered to take his wager. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with + one stone.” + </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> + “I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,” declared Bill. “I'll + bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.” + </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> + “Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet + peon's packin',” 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> + “Jim, I'll take you up,” 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> + “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. + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Buck, you love me?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here,” protested Duane. + “Euchre's with me. It'll be all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so,” she replied, with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly + she had a great fear of Bland. “If I could only think!” + </p> + <p> + Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed him in. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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> + “—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.” + </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> + “Dog-tired we are and starved,” said Bland, heavily. “Who's here with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen,” + replied Mrs. Bland. + </p> + <p> + “Duane!” he exclaimed. Then he whispered low—something Duane could + not catch. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?” queried Bland, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed out loud and harsh. + </p> + <p> + “Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what do you think of my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “She's lyin' or she's crazy,” 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> + “Ho, ho, ho!” 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> + “How are you, boss?” asked Euchre. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, old man. I'm well, but all in.” + </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. “Jennie,” whispered Duane, “that was + clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be ready!” + </p> + <p> + She pressed close to him, and a barely audible “Hurry!” came breathing + into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Jennie,” he said, aloud. “Hope you feel better to-morrow.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Duane explained the incident. “I'm sorry I happened to be there,” he went + on. “It wasn't my business.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm no gun-fighter,” protested Duane. “Circumstances made me—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Euchre squirmed in his seat. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your + band,” said Duane, easily. + </p> + <p> + “It's good enough,” replied Bland, shortly. “Will you consider the idea?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll think it over. Good night.” + </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> + “Bland kept you pretty long,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Fine night,” he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with Euchre's + quaint humor. “Fine night for love-affairs, by gum!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd noticed that,” rejoined Duane, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” ejaculated Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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> + “'I've a mind to blow out your brains.' + </p> + <p> + “'Go ahead,' says Kate, cool as could be. + </p> + <p> + “'You lied to me,' he roars. + </p> + <p> + “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!' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “'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> + “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> + “'Has Duane been comin' here to see my wife?' Bland asked, fierce-like. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' said Jennie. + </p> + <p> + “'He's been after you?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “'He has fallen in love with you? Kate said thet.' + </p> + <p> + “'I—I'm not—I don't know—he hasn't told me.' + </p> + <p> + “'But you're in love with him?' + </p> + <p> + “'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> + “Bland stamped up an' down the room. He sure was dyin' hard. + </p> + <p> + “'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> + “'No. I swear,' answered Jennie; an' Bland sat down like a man licked. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle Euchre + ducked his nut out of the door an' come home.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm ready when you are,” replied Duane, quietly, and he rose from the + table. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Euchre, you're going with me?” queried Duane, suddenly divining the + truth. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Luck ours—so-fur, Buck!” he panted. + </p> + <p> + “You don't look it,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I'm turrible sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one I ever killed!” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Duane, startled. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “'You're double-crossin' the boss an' Chess,' he said. + </p> + <p> + “'Jack, what 'd you give fer your own life?' I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane asked if the shot had attracted any attention outside. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems so. Well, I'm going,” said Duane, tersely. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the horses?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But once more let me persuade you to stay—not to mix any + more in this,” said Duane, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!” That was panted out in + Kate Bland's full voice. + </p> + <p> + “Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!” replied Bland, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the + laugh on her new lover.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” cried Kate Bland. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!” His voice grew hoarser + with passion. “Let me go now!” + </p> + <p> + “No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the—the truth out of her—you'll + kill her.” + </p> + <p> + “The TRUTH!” hissed Bland. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't—murder + her—for that.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “Duane, you've killed him!” cried Kate Bland, huskily. “I knew you'd have + to!” + </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> + “Jennie!” called Duane, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—Duane!” came a halting reply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Come out. Hurry!” + </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> + “Duane,” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “HELP! HELP! HELP!” she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated to + the remotest cabin in the valley. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!” 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> + “Kate! Let go!” + </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—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> + “Let go!” 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—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. + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “Jennie, we're going to get away!” 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> + “Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!” she faltered, pointing with + trembling fingers. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “I'm badly hurt, Jennie,” he said, “but I guess I'll stick it out.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman—did she shoot you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't quick + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't have to—to—” shivered the girl. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” 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> + “But—your—wound!” she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. “I + see—the blood—dripping from your back!” + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing,” 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> + “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.” + </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—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> + “Duane!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?” he said, finding it a little + difficult to talk. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Fever? How long have we been here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She took some pebbles from the crown of his sombrero and counted them. + </p> + <p> + “Nine. Nine days,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Bland's men didn't come along here?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the horses?” + </p> + <p> + “I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass and + water.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you slept any?” + </p> + <p> + “A little. Lately I couldn't keep awake.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing much to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know, anyway, just what you did—how you felt.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, you saved my life,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do,” she replied. “You saved + mine—more than my life.” + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands in a close clasp. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “We'll find some honest rancher.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she inquired, in a strange voice. + </p> + <p> + Duane kept silence. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do?” she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among + respectable people. I'm an outlaw.” + </p> + <p> + “You're no criminal!” she declared, with deep passion. + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a + criminal doesn't count for much.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip out of Texas—go + far away?” + </p> + <p> + “I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide, but + a man must live. Never mind about me, Jennie.” + </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> + “Howdy, stranger,” he called, as Duane halted. “Get down, you an' your + woman. Say, now, air you sick or shot or what? Let me—” + </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> + “Martha, come out here!” he called. “This man's sick. No; he's shot, or I + don't know blood-stains.” + </p> + <p> + Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared about + to faint. + </p> + <p> + “Air you his wife?” asked the rancher. + </p> + <p> + “No. I'm only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane, + Duane!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I shore will,” replied the Texan. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I'll remember you—I'll square it.” + </p> + <p> + “What 're you goin' to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll rest a bit—then go back to the brakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here—any rustlers + on your trail?” + </p> + <p> + “I think we gave Bland's gang the slip.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me,” said + Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My horses might betray you,” added Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to + it. Come now, let me help you indoors.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't hurry away,” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “She's welcome to a home here with us.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Which place is nearer, and how far is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what can I do for you?” asked Duane. “I may come along here again + some day.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?” queried Duane, + curiously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + Andrews made no further comment, and the two men returned to the women. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Shore. An' good luck to you both!” + </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—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. + </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. “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. + </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> + “This time to-morrow you'll be in Shelbyville,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Where will you be?” she asked, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for some lonesome place,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + The girl shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was amazed, + deeply touched. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, eloquent, beautiful. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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—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—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. + </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—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. + </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—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—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. + </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: “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!” + </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: “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—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!” + </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—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. + </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—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? + </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—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. + </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—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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What company of rangers?” asked Duane, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I've already fixed up a pack of grub,” went on Jones. “I'll slip out to + saddle your horse. You watch here.” + </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> + “Does Burt Jones live here?” he asked, in a low, hurried voice. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?” replied Jones. + </p> + <p> + The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands + up. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had come. + </p> + <p> + “Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?” exclaimed Jones. + </p> + <p> + “A new one on me,” replied Duane, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without + bloodshed,” observed Duane. “Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That messenger he sent—he was a ranger,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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, “Tell Buck Duane to ride into Captain + MacNelly's camp some time after night.” + </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: “By hell! there's another one!” + </p> + <p> + “Stranger, ride down an' account fer yourself!” yelled another. + </p> + <p> + “Hands up!” + </p> + <p> + “Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!” + </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—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. + </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—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—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—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—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. + </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—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> + “Mine's done—but not killed,” he panted. “Trade with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,” drawled the man. “But + ain't you a little swift?” + </p> + <p> + Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village. + </p> + <p> + “I'm Duane—Buck Duane,” he cried, menacingly. “Will you trade? + Hurry!” + </p> + <p> + The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell + back. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'll trade,” 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—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> + “Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!” called one, evidently to the man Duane had + forced into a trade. + </p> + <p> + “Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin',” + replied a voice from the bluff. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,” said the first speaker. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS + BUCK DUANE!” + </p> + <p> + Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a + rattling of loose gravel and then low voices. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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—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—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> + “Come on fellers—down hyar,” called one man from the bluff. + </p> + <p> + “Got him corralled at last,” shouted another. + </p> + <p> + “Reckon ye needn't be too shore. We thought thet more'n once,” taunted + another. + </p> + <p> + “I seen him, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, thet was a deer.” + </p> + <p> + “But Bill found fresh tracks an' blood on the willows.” + </p> + <p> + “If he's winged we needn't hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's surround this corner an' starve him out.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire the brake.” + </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> + “By God!” whispered Duane, “the thing for me to do now—is go out—meet + them!” + </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—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—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—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—a quick fierce + exchange of shots—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> + “Thar's Rover,” called a voice from the bluff-side. “He's been through + thet black patch.” + </p> + <p> + “Nary a rabbit in there,” replied another. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Thet pup's no good,” scornfully growled another man. “Put a hound at + thet clump of willows.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire's the game. Burn the brake before the rain comes.” + </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—looked a little brighter—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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking + hand and pointed. + </p> + <p> + “Thet thar feller—he's Buck Duane!” he panted. + </p> + <p> + An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd. + </p> + <p> + “The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!” cried an + excited villager. + </p> + <p> + “Buck Duane! Buck Duane!” + </p> + <p> + “Hang him!” + </p> + <p> + The cowboy silenced these cries. + </p> + <p> + “Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?” he asked, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Why—he said so,” replied the man called Abe. + </p> + <p> + “What!” came the exclamation, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth. + </p> + <p> + The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys. + </p> + <p> + “Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,” ordered Abe's + interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former + statement. + </p> + <p> + “If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?” bluntly + queried the cowboy. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,” he said. + </p> + <p> + That stilled the crowd as no command had done. + </p> + <p> + “I'm Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. “It was this way—” + </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> + “Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool + ought to know that. You mean it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Duane. “Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a + little off his head.” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an' + all his doings?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?” + queried the cowboy in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's it,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.” + </p> + <p> + A man elbowed his way into the circle. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to see Aiken for?” asked the cowboy Sibert. + </p> + <p> + “I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm innocent, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you; what + then?” + </p> + <p> + “If he won't believe me—why, then my case's so bad—I'd be + better off dead.” + </p> + <p> + A momentary silence was broken by Sibert. + </p> + <p> + “If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,” 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> + “Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat + and cuffed in vain. + </p> + <p> + “Jeff, will you listen?” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Aiken heaved a great breath. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He motioned for the crowd of men to open up. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody—you, Sibert—go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.” + </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> + “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—?” + </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—of suspense. + </p> + <p> + “It's ain't him!” 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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say—hit that road quick!” 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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs. + </p> + <p> + “So long, Buck!” 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> + “Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the gloom. + </p> + <p> + Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable. + </p> + <p> + “One man—alone,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “A stranger?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm trying to find the ranger camp.” + </p> + <p> + “You've struck it. What's your errand?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Captain MacNelly.” + </p> + <p> + “Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can + see.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,” 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> + “Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business + with the Captain?” + </p> + <p> + Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp—after + dark,” 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> + “Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, without turning in the + least toward the camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the + camp-fire heard what he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Better be foxy, Cap,” shouted a ranger, in warning. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up—all of you,” 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> + “I'm MacNelly,” he said. “If you're my man, don't mention your name—yet.” + </p> + <p> + All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had + happened lately. + </p> + <p> + “I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said Duane. “He sent me—” + </p> + <p> + “You've met Aiken!” exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. “By all that's + bully!” Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained. + </p> + <p> + “Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The rangers slowly withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “Buck Duane! It's you?” he whispered, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “If I give my word you'll not be arrested—you'll be treated fairly—will + you come into camp and consult with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,” 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> + “It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet + you,” said Duane, soberly. + </p> + <p> + “You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the + present.” + </p> + <p> + He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “Pickers, go back on duty,” he ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after this + horse.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years,” he began. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed clouds of smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?” he asked, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Never a word?” + </p> + <p> + “Not one,” replied Duane, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled his chair close to Duane's. + </p> + <p> + “You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to see + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Three times, I remember,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you hunt me up?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That way my hands are clean,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when you + needed him bad—never anything like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what kept me on the dodge all these years,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “My God!” burst from Duane. “What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in + earnest!” + </p> + <p> + “Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What + do you say?” + </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> + “Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word,” 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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—how + strange the name looked! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That makes you a member of Company A, Texas Rangers.” + </p> + <p> + “So that's it!” burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his + bewilderment. “You want me for ranger service?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I have accepted it,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not the point,” said Duane. “But in case I get killed out there—what—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am satisfied,” replied Duane. “That's so much more than I've dared to + hope.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + MacNelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose. + </p> + <p> + “I'll start at once,” he said, extending his hand to the Captain. “I wish—I'd + like to thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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—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. + </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—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> + “Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?” asked a ragged urchin, with born + love of a horse in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Bullet,” replied the rider. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “Howdy, stranger,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and + nodded. Then: “I'm thirsty!” + </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> + “Line up, gents,” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “My name might be Blazes, but it ain't,” he replied. “What do you call + this burg?” + </p> + <p> + “Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to + you?” + </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> + “Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it? + Funny trails hereabouts.” + </p> + <p> + “How fur was you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I was goin' as far as I could,” 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> + “Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place,” he said, presently. “Sure you've heerd + of the Big Bend country?” + </p> + <p> + “I sure have, an' was makin' tracks fer it,” replied the stranger. + </p> + <p> + Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. “Knell, come + in heah.” + </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> + “Knell, this heah's—” Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. “What'd you + call yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Nope,” replied the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Know anybody hereabouts?” + </p> + <p> + “Nary one.” + </p> + <p> + “Jest ridin' through?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep.” + </p> + <p> + “Slopin' fer back country, eh?” + </p> + <p> + There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and + drew himself up disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “From west of Ord—out El Paso way, mebbe?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “Stranger, I pass,” 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> + “Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again—an' if you can't be + friendly, be careful!” + </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—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. + </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—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—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—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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,” replied + Duane, trying not to appear curious. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel swore lustily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything about the service?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of men, + sir, and the salvation of Texas.” + </p> + <p> + “Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,” 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> + “I'm a stranger in these parts,” said Duane, finally. “What is this outlaw + situation you speak of?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wholesale business, eh?” remarked Duane. “Who are these—er—big + stock-buyers?” + </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> + “Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct + accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer.” + </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—his + cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out of his path any man that crossed it. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little,” replied Duane, quietly. “I'm from southern Texas. Buck + Duane then is known out here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?” + inquired Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, all about them is singular,” replied Duane. “Has + Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will + the outlaw ever be driven out?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “Beat the stage in, hey?” remarked one. + </p> + <p> + “There she comes now,” said another. “Joel shore is drivin' to-night.” + </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> + “Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,” Longstreth was saying. + </p> + <p> + Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'm crazy to ride bronchos,” 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—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> + “Hey somethin'?” one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and + down. + </p> + <p> + “No thanks, I don't drink,” Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny + with interest. “How's tricks in the Big Bend?” + </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> + “Say, boss, do you know those fellows?” Duane asked the innkeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Nope.” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did they come?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Ruth, very low. “Ray, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” was Duane's reply. + </p> + <p> + Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: “Hands up!” + </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> + “Turn around!” 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> + “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. + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Any money, jewelry, diamonds!” 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> + “Come out with it!” he said, harshly, reaching for her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't dare touch me!” 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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to kill you anyhow!” 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> + “Drag him out of here!” 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> + “Can I be of any service?” asked Duane, solicitously. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “You saved my life,” she said, in grave, sweet seriousness. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He might have struck you, hurt you, but no + more.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. He's not badly hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very glad he's alive,” said Miss Longstreth, shuddering. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you say you didn't save me,” Miss Longstreth returned, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let it go at that,” Duane responded. “I saved you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about it?” asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering. + </p> + <p> + Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of + view. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's about it,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm traveling that way,” 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> + “Had he come to?” inquired Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. He asked for whisky.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Colonel Longstreth?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “More nerve, maybe,” Duane replied. “Show me a bed now, innkeeper.” + </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—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> + “Floyd, did you come with the teams?” asked Longstreth, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Much movement of stock these days?” + </p> + <p> + “Stock's always movin',” he replied, with a queer look. + </p> + <p> + “Rustlers?” + </p> + <p> + But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected. + </p> + <p> + “Lively place, I hear—Fairdale is?” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who + were arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins—they + belong heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.” + </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—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> + “Laramie, what's the stranger's name?” asked one. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't say,” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + “Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No + cattleman, him. How'd you size him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin' for + Long—” + </p> + <p> + “'S—sh!” interrupted Laramie. “You must be half drunk, to go talkie' + that way.” + </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—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—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> + “Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,” said Laramie, + laboring to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt much?” queried Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before + without that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll take a look after Bo,” 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—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> + “Miss Longstreth—I came—to search—your house,” 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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “A man—Bo Snecker—assaulted and robbed Jim Laramie,” replied + Duane, hurriedly. “I chased Snecker here—saw him run into the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. He stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I want Snecker. He's here, and I'm going to get him,” replied Duane, + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the house?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—I regret to say—I'll do so without your permission.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not dare!” she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, yes, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” she demanded, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a Texas Ranger,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “A TEXAS RANGER!” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + Floyd Lawson's dark face turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “If you are indeed a ranger.” + </p> + <p> + Duane produced his papers. Miss Longstreth haughtily refused to look at + them. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys + and go with this—this Texas Ranger.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. “Perhaps you'll be able + to find Snecker quicker than I could.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he + was a man of fierce quick passions. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 “Come out!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who're you?” asked Duane, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Bo Snecker,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What'd you hide here for?” + </p> + <p> + He appeared to grow sullen. + </p> + <p> + “Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres.” + </p> + <p> + “Ranger, what'll you do with him?” Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now + the capture was made. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see to that,” 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> + “What'd you break in here for,” demanded Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?” interrogated + Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his + intense interest. + </p> + <p> + “I've arrested a criminal,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Arrested a criminal!” ejaculated Longstreth. “You? Who're you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a ranger,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + A significant silence ensued. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy + nodded his great bushy head. + </p> + <p> + “Bo, you're discharged,” said Longstreth, bluntly. “Now the rest of you + clear out of here.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “Hold on!” called Duane. The call halted Snecker, as if it had been a + bullet. + </p> + <p> + “Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,” said Duane, his voice still + ringing. “What has the court to say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a lie, Longstreth,” retorted Duane. “I've letters from Fairdale + citizens all begging for ranger service.” + </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> + “Where's your warrant to arrest Snecker?” shouted Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of the + power of Texas Rangers.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll come none of your damned ranger stunts out here. I'll block you.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Longstreth sat white with working jaw. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “How are you, Laramie?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That was a good crack Snecker gave you,” remarked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't accusin' Bo,” remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane + thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I accuse him. I caught him—took him to Longstreth's court. + But they let him go.” + </p> + <p> + Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He owns considerable property hereabouts,” replied Laramie, + constrainedly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Talk's cheap,” replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red + was deeper in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. I know that,” Duane said. “And usually I don't talk. Then it's not + well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't + connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. “Didn't + you hear I used to run it?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Did you?” Duane said, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven + years.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Just lost the place.” + </p> + <p> + Laramie was bursting for relief now—to talk, to tell. Sympathy had + made him soft. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—these Duane thought best to try to learn + at some later time. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Duane put in, as he paused. “If they knew who was rustling the + stock?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope.” + </p> + <p> + “If they had the nerve?” + </p> + <p> + “Not thet so much.” + </p> + <p> + “What then? What'd make them fight?” + </p> + <p> + “A leader!” + </p> + <p> + “Howdy thar, Jim,” boomed a big voice. + </p> + <p> + A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Morton,” replied Laramie. “I'd introduce you to my guest here, but + I don't know his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Haw! Haw! Thet's all right. Few men out hyar go by their right names.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Morton smiled broadly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single steer + left,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one of + the rustlers.” + </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> + “It's not so funny,” Duane went on. “If you're going to pretend a yellow + streak, what else will I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretend?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Wal,” he replied, speaking low. “You've picked the right men. Now, who in + the hell are you?” + </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> + “RANGER!” he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. “You sure rung + true to me.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Laramie. + </p> + <p> + “Does anybody know?” went on Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have your suspicions?” + </p> + <p> + “We have.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons—the + regulars.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with + this gang here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Say, that was a bad break of yours,” Lawson said. “If you come fooling + round the ranch again there'll be hell.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right. But not the kind you think,” Duane retorted, his voice + sharp and cold. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Don't draw!” warned Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Lawson, git away from your gun!” 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> + “What'd you wing him for?” he wailed. “He was drawin' on you. Kickin' men + like him won't do out here.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Murder!” exclaimed Laramie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for me,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life + miserable for me. And he teases you unmer—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,” declared Ruth, + emphatically. “He'd run after any woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,” laughed Ray. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + There were steps on the hall floor. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, girls!” sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual gaiety. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,” replied Lawson, with a blunt, expressive + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Jar?” echoed both the girls, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!” cried Ray Longstreth, passionately. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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: “All + friends of rangers look for the same.” + </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—wildest rumor of all—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: “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?” + </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> + “Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you,” 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> + “So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?” queried the woman, with her bright, + black eyes fixed on her visitor. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—and these + the girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “The ranger,” replied Mrs. Laramie. + </p> + <p> + “The ranger!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's taken care of us all since—since—” Mrs. Laramie + choked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's on hind side before,” declared Ruth. “I guess Mr. Ranger hasn't + dressed many babies.” + </p> + <p> + “He did the best he could,” said Mrs. Laramie. “Lord only knows what would + have become of us!” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is—is something more than a ranger?” queried Miss + Longstreth, with a little break in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “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!'” + </p> + <p> + Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,” said Miss Longstreth. + “I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Longstreth, that's fine!” exclaimed Duane. “It's what I'd have—expected + of you.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face + burned out in a beautiful blush. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ranger, wait!” called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was white + and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him. + </p> + <p> + “I have wronged you,” she said, impulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?” he returned. + </p> + <p> + “I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see—I + wronged you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an honor. + I—” + </p> + <p> + “Please—please don't, Miss Longstreth,” interrupted Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I must be true to my duty,” he said, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—I'll do anything for you.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” 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> + “We'll settle both deals to-night,” Lawson was saying. “That's what I came + for.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose I don't choose to talk here?” protested Longstreth, + impatiently. “I never before made my house a place to—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You can make her marry me,” replied Lawson. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now,” replied + Longstreth, rising. “Come on; we'll ask her. See where you stand.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Longstreth, I can MAKE her marry me,” declared Lawson, thickly. + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “You know the hold I got on you—the deal that made you boss of this + rustler gang?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't likely I'd forget,” replied Longstreth, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it broadcast—tell + this ranger—unless she'd marry me.” + </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> + “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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them here + to face whatever comes?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean just that.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you and I have all the stock—all the gain,” protested Lawson. + </p> + <p> + “I'll split mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't—that settles that,” 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> + “Your stock and property will last a long time—do you lots of good + when this ranger—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you mentioned the—the supposition,” replied Longstreth, + sarcastically. “I inquired, too, just how that very desired event was to + be brought about.” + </p> + <p> + “The gang will lay him out.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, I wouldn't,” returned the other, bluntly. “I'm + pretty sick of this mess.” + </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> + “Longstreth, I don't like your talk,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by any means except her consent.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not make her marry me?” + </p> + <p> + “No. No,” replied Longstreth, his voice still cold, low-pitched. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Then I'll make her.” + </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> + “There they are,” 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—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> + “What's that?” he called, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound. + </p> + <p> + “Must be a rat,” replied Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + The rustle became a rattle. + </p> + <p> + “Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,” 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> + “What in the hell!” exclaimed Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “I smell dust,” 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> + “Did you hear a step?” 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> + “There's somebody between the walls!” 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> + “Hear him!” yelled Lawson. “This side!” + </p> + <p> + “No, he's going that way,” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Tell me now. You were spying on my father?” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “I'll have to get out of here,” whispered Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she replied. “Didn't you say they were hunting for you?” + </p> + <p> + “They sure are,” he returned, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to—I won't,” Duane replied, + perplexed and stubborn. + </p> + <p> + “But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to + be natural. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you alone?” went on Longstreth's penetrating voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. “Ruth went to bed.” + </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> + “I think I can go now—safely,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Go then, if you must, but you may stay till you're safe,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You have seen so—so little of me,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my coming + caused you.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not fight my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his way.' + </p> + <p> + “But you spied upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How? Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What name?” queried Duane. + </p> + <p> + “It was Cheseldine.” + </p> + <p> + “CHESELDINE! My God! Miss Longstreth, why did you tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + “What difference does that make?” + </p> + <p> + “Your father and Cheseldine are one and the same,” whispered Duane, + hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “I gathered so much myself,” she replied, miserably. “But Longstreth is + father's real name.” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his. + </p> + <p> + “You won't kill him?” she implored. “If you care for me—you won't + kill him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. That I promise you.” + </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> + “Howdy, Dodge,” said Fletcher, laconically. + </p> + <p> + Duane replied, and the other man returned the greeting with interest. + </p> + <p> + “Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as + might happen to ride up curious-like.” + </p> + <p> + “Haw! haw! haw!” + </p> + <p> + Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus of coarse laughter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Wal, Dodge,” remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, “thet's safer 'n + prayin' fer rain.” + </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> + “Posse!” + </p> + <p> + From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing + action was rare in Ord. + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </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> + “Hello, Jim Fletcher,” called the cowboy. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy,” 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> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope,” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure of that,” replied the leader. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life—' + </p> + <p> + “But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,” he said. The menace + was in the tone, not the content of his speech. + </p> + <p> + “You can—an' be damned to you, Fletcher!” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal, seein' + I staved off Guthrie.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What gang?” asked Fletcher, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cheseldine's.” + </p> + <p> + Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Fletcher appeared staggered. + </p> + <p> + “Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over + there.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “WHO AIR YOU?” queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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> + “Five hundred!” he exclaimed. “Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you, + considerin' the job wasn't—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Come here, Dodge,” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble about, Jim?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, because there ain't any use fer you to git in bad, too.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—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. + </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—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. + </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—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—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> + “It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one right + over the mountain,” one outlaw was saying. + </p> + <p> + “What's eatin' you, Panhandle?” ejaculated another. “Blossom an' me rode + from Faraway Springs, where Poggin is with some of the gang.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said + nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Longstreth's voice—Cheseldine's voice! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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: “If you gents air hungry fer grub, don't look fer me to feed + you with a spoon.” + </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> + “Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke,” he said. “Knell, come on in + now. Let's get it over.” + </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> + “What's wrong, Knell? Why didn't you get here sooner?” queried Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “Poggin, damn him! We're on the outs again.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + “What else? Get it out of your system so we can go on to the new job.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What'd he look like?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I've met your man,” said Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” demanded Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “Because I did the job myself.” + </p> + <p> + A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief's face. + </p> + <p> + “Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break + like that queers you with me. Did you tell Poggin?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to + kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you tackle such a risky job without help or plan?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Fine wise talk from you, Knell,” said Longstreth, scornfully. “Go on with + your story.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Who do you think Fletcher's new man is?” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” demanded Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “BUCK DUANE!” + </p> + <p> + Down came Longstreth's boots with a crash, then his body grew rigid. + </p> + <p> + “That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of-spades gun-thrower who killed + Bland, Alloway—?” + </p> + <p> + “An' Hardin.” Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the + apparent circumstance demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim Rock fellows—Buck Duane!” + </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> + “Knell,” began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, “I gathered you + have some grudge against this Buck Duane.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The hell you say!” exclaimed Knell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and + they'll fix even Buck Duane.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll do my best. But if I run into Duane—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Knell did not even ask for the dates again. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell what'll come off,” continued Knell. “I'll do my best.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—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> + “Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,” whispered Duane. + </p> + <p> + With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message he + had carefully composed. + </p> + <p> + “Send this—repeat it to make sure—then keep mum. I'll see you + again. Good-by.” + </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> + “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. + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Back, Fletcher!” called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, Dodge, an' you-all, everybody,” said Fletcher. “Let me talk, + seein' I'm in wrong here.” + </p> + <p> + His persuasions did not ease the strain. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead. Talk,” said Poggin. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Jim,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “But what'd you come fer without the signal?” burst out Fletcher, in + distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Jim, I ain't pressin' my company none. But when I'm wanted bad—” + </p> + <p> + Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a + rude dignity. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Phil, you're talkin' wild,” growled Poggin, with both advice and menace + in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody else + when he's not. Thet so?” + </p> + <p> + Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath. + </p> + <p> + “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>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'—All + because you'll realize you've been standin' there five minutes—five + minutes ALIVE before him!” + </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> + “Spring his name, then, you—” 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> + “BUCK DUANE!” 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> + “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>I</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!” + </p> + <p> + The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he + hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent. + </p> + <p> + “Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?” he asked, in scarcely audible voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's attitude. + </p> + <p> + “You met him—forced him to draw—killed him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Hardin was the best pard I ever had.” + </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—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> + “Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!” 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—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—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—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> + “What's your news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings,” said Lawson. + </p> + <p> + “Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,” 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> + “But why should your daughter meet this ranger?” demanded Lawson, harshly. + </p> + <p> + “She's in love with him, and he's in love with her.” + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “To hell with you!” burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied. “I'll + have her, or nobody else will!” + </p> + <p> + “You never will,” returned Longstreth, stridently. “So help me God I'd + rather see her the ranger's wife than yours!” + </p> + <p> + While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of hate + and menace in his mien. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones. + </p> + <p> + “GENTLEMEN!” Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out. “YOU'RE + BOTH DONE!” + </p> + <p> + They wheeled to confront Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!” he warned. + </p> + <p> + Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned from + gray to ashen. + </p> + <p> + “What d'ye mean?” 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> + “Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill you!” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I refuse?” he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,” 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> + “There come the girls!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Can you help me drag + Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.” + </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> + “Duane, you're not hard hit?” said Longstreth. + </p> + <p> + “Reckon not,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him! + Always I've split over him!” + </p> + <p> + “But the last time, Longstreth.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Duane, will you do me a favor?” he asked, and he seemed shamefaced. + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Glad you—said that, Longstreth,” replied Duane. “And sure—Lawson + plugged me. It's our secret.” + </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> + “Papa!” cried Ray, wringing her hands. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “Look!” 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> + “Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?” 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—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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,” 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> + “Any of your men down here?” queried Duane, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No. They're up-town.” + </p> + <p> + “Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come + behind with them.” + </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, “Rancher's Bank.” + </p> + <p> + “There's the hotel,” said MacNelly. “Some of my men are there. We've + scattered around.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not + spare the rustler chief, he was generous. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—rangers! + </p> + <p> + MacNelly beckoned to his men. + </p> + <p> + “Boys, here he is.” + </p> + <p> + “How many men have you?” asked Duane. + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen.” + </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 “outlaws.” + </p> + <p> + MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” asked MacNelly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Knell's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and + that lot?” queried Duane. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't understand that,” replied MacNelly, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. That's great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?” + </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> + “Where'll you wait, Duane?” insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes speculating. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait in front, just inside the door,” replied Duane, with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” demanded the Captain. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But will you hide?” asked MacNelly. + </p> + <p> + “Hide!” The idea had not occurred to Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Duane was silent. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Duane,” began MacNelly, nervously. “You shan't take any undue + risk here. You'll hide with the rest of us?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” The word was wrenched from Duane. + </p> + <p> + MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit + over his face. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Captain, you want this job to be sure?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and + sympathetic rangers, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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: “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—” + </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> + “Enough. I'm done,” he said, somberly. “I've planned. Do we agree—or + shall I meet Poggin and his gang alone?” + </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—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. + </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—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! + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the door opened, and Ray Longstreth entered. + </p> + <p> + “Duane,” she said, softly. “Captain MacNelly sent me to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you shouldn't have come,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, then—and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a + desperate game to finish.” + </p> + <p> + “Need it be desperate?” she whispered, coming close to him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it can't be else.” + </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> + “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—?” + </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> + “My God! You can't care for me?” he cried, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + Then she met him, hands outstretched. + </p> + <p> + “But I do-I do!” + </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> + “Do you care—a little?” 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> + “A littler Oh, Duane—Duane—a great deal!” + </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> + “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.” + </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, “Kiss me!” 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—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. + </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—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> + “Don't go! Don't go!” she cried, as he started violently. + </p> + <p> + “I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Ray, dearest—I believe—I'll come back!” 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> + “DUANE!” + </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—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. + </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—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> + “HELL'S FIRE!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that + fear? + </p> + <p> + “BUCK DUANE!” 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—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! + </p> + <p> + 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... + </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—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. + </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: + “Duane—Duane! Ah, he knew me!” + </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> + “Poggin!” he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin. + Ruling passion—eternal instinct! + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who-got—away?” + </p> + <p> + “Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the + job's done—it's done! Why, man, you're—” + </p> + <p> + “What of—of—HER?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I—a—chance—to recover?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—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> + “This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where + is my son? My son—oh, my son!” + </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—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> + “Five bullets, ain't it?” he asked, for the hundredth time. + </p> + <p> + “Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, uncle,” replied Duane. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It would indeed, uncle,” 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> + “I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane. + </p> + <p> + She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a + little. + </p> + <p> + “The pain—Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—it's the old mood—the fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon—able to go out. Then that—that + hell will come back!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she said, with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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. “Because you'll have me with you + always,” she replied. “Because always I shall be between you and that—that + terrible thing.” + </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> + “We'll—we'll be married and leave Texas,” she said, softly, with the + red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Ray!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear—suppose,” he replied, huskily, “suppose there might be—be + children—a boy. A boy with his father's blood!” + </p> + <p> + “I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even so—he'll + be half my blood.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “But Ray—you dear, noble girl—I'm poor. I have nothing. And + I'm a cripple.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My darling!” cried Duane, brokenly. “No, no, no!” + </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> + “We'll be happy,” she whispered. “Oh, I know. Come!—come!-come!” + </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—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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE STAR RANGER *** + +***** 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. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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