The Lone Star Ranger........................................................................................................................................1

Zane Grey .................................................................................................................................................1

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

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 lawthe old border daystherefore it is

better first. Soon, perchance, I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of today, which in Joe Sitter's

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 thenwhen I had my memorable sojourn with youand yet, in that

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 menthe Texas Rangerswho made

the great Lone Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are passing, who surely will

So it was in him, thenan 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

softvoiced 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 hundredfold increased in

"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you," repeated the elder man, gravely.

"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

"But what's he want me for?" demanded Duane. "To insult me again? I won't stand that twice."

"He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy. He wants gunplay. If he meets you he'll try to

Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood, like a wind of flame shaking all his inner being,

"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?

"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 fourflush gunfighters. He'd like to be thought bad. There's a lot of wild

cowboys who're ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick they are on the draw. T hey ape Bland

an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs along the Rio

Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to

"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

Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in, trying to realize their significance.

"If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these outlaws, why, a young man will have a lookout,"

went on the uncle. "You're twentythree now, an' a powerful sight of a fine fellow, barrin' your temper.

You've a chance in life. But if you go gunfightin', 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 evenbreak business doesn't work with them. If you resist arrest they'll kill you. If you submit to

"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like your father. He was ever ready to drawtoo

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 inkeep your temperrun away

from trouble? Because it'll only result in you gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed in a

streetfight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the

terrible nature of a man to be able to do that. If you have any such blood in you, never give it a chance."

"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but the only way out for me is to run, and I won't do

it. Cal Bain and his outfit have already made me look like a coward. He says I'm afraid to come out and face

him. A man simply can't stand that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me in the back some day if I

"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is workin' in you. You're different today. 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

"I wonder what Dad would say to me today if he were alive and here," said Duane.

"What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never wore a glove on his right hand for twenty

"Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he would have done a lot. And I guess I'll go

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

"You've got a fast horsethe fastest I know of in this country. After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll

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

He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun was a Colt .45, sixshot, 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 deathgrip that

his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn upon any man since it had come into Duane's

possession. But the cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used. Duane could draw it with

inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty feet he could split a card pointing edgewise toward him.

Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he thought, she was away from home. He went

out and down the path toward the gate. The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the melody of birds.

Outside in the road a neighbor woman stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they spoke to him; and he

heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride down the road toward the town.

Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part of the great state because it was the

tradingcenter of several hundred miles of territory. On the main street there were perhaps fifty buildings,

some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and onethird 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 hitchingrails 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,

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, rawboned Texan with a long mustache waxed to sharp points.

"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly and averted his dark gaze for an instant.

"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's a gent in town looking for me bad."

"Reckon there is, Buck," replied White. "He came in heah aboot an hour ago. Shore he was some riled an'

aroarin' for gore. Told me confidential a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an' he was hellbent

"Burt an' Sam Outcalt an' a little cowpuncher I never seen before. Theyall was coaxin' trim to leave town.

"Oaks went away with the rangers. There's been another raid at Flesher's ranch. The King Fisher gang, likely.

Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the street. He walked the whole length of the long block, meeting

many peoplefarmers, 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 gunplay. Rumor

could not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes everybody who had been on the street or in the shops knew

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

"Buck, I'm atippin' you off," he said, quick and lowvoiced. "Cal Bain's over at Everall's. If he's ahuntin'

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

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

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 bowlegged cowboy wearing wooley chaps burst out upon the

sidewalk. At sight of Duane he seemed to bound into the air, and he uttered a savage roar.

Duane stopped in his tracks at the outer edge of the sidewalk, perhaps a dozen rods from Everall's door.

If Bain was drunk he did not show it in his movement. He swaggered forward, rapidly closing up the gap.

Red, sweaty, disheveled, and hatless, his face distorted and expressive of the most malignant intent, he was a

wild and sinister figure. He had already killed a man, and this showed in his demeanor. His hands were

extended before him, the right hand a little lower than the left. At every step he bellowed his rancor in speech

mostly curses. Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A good twentyfive paces separated the men.

Bain's right hand stiffenedmoved. Duane threw his gun as a boy throws a ball underhanda 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

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 faceand 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

Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool, glad the fray was over. One violent

Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gamingtable, 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

"Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like father like son!"

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

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 mindthe

consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle recalled the fact that he must now

"The dd fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all.

"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

"She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to herwhat she always feared."

"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 pioneersthe 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

"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

"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 dobe 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 badmany 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 gunplay, 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,

Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's hand and bade him a wordless farewell.

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 pricklypear 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 campingspot, 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 spacesto 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 campsites 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

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

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

This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. No home, no rest, no sleep, no content, no life worth the

livingl He must be a lone wolf or he must herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked for an honest

living he still must hide his identity and take risks of detection. If he did not work on some distant outlying

ranch, how was he to live? The idea of stealing was repugnant to him. The future seemed gray and somber

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 himnoon 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 silentsilent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low murmuring of wind in the

But what was the matter with the light of his campfire? 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 campfire 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 livedthat he saw his mistake too late. Then they

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

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

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

The decision he made to travel upstream 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 bottomlands 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 upstream. 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

In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during which he crossed a number of trails, and

one road where cattlestolen cattle, probablyhad recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply of

food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a quantity. There were deer in the. brakes; but,

as he could not get close enough to kill them with t a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a rabbit. He

knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that assuredly would be his lot.

Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It was distant about a hundred miles from

Wellston, and had a reputation throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was this

reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide berth. Duane had considerable money for him

in his possession, and he concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of provisions.

The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which he believed might lead to the village.

There were a good many fresh horsetracks 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 hoofbeats

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

The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of Duane's position, so near that he could

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?

"The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're hellbent on killin' that rustler. Now I

Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on the ground. There followed a short

Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse straight into the brush. At the

second crashing bound there came yells from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close

by his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound. These shots and the proximity of that

lead missile roused in Duane a quick, hot resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable. He

must escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or not. Something grim kept urging him to halt

and return the fire of these men. After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over the

pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried to guide his horse. In the dark shadows

under mesquites and cottonwoods he was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so well

and made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his pursuers. The sound of their horses crashing

through the thickets died away. Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they would go

into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at

the ground, so that he might take advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long while until he came

upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when, striking the willow brakes again and hence the

neighborhood of the river, he picketed his horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep. His mind bitterly

revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made efforts to think of other things, but in vain.

Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet was ominous of a strange visitation, the

peculiarly imagined lights and shades of the nightthese 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;

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

He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring whether or not he left a plain trail.

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 noonhours. 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

pointblank 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

"How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?" asked Duane, curiously. Somehow he had instantly divined that his

"Wal," said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, "a ranger'd never git ready to run the other way

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

Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over in his mind how shrewdly the fellow had

"My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're you?" said this stranger.

"I reckon you're Buck Duane," went on Stevens. "I heerd you was a damn bad man with a gun."

This time Duane laughed, not at the doubtful compliment, but at the idea that the first outlaw he met should

know him. Here was proof of how swiftly facts about gunplay traveled on the Texas border.

"Wal, Buck," said Stevens, in a friendly manner, "I ain't presumin' on your time or company. I see you're

headin' fer the river. But will you stop long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?"

"Been pushin' your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon you'd better stock up before you hit thet stretch of country."

He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating the southwest, and there was that in his action which

"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

Stevens's tone was inviting. Evidently he would welcome Duane's companionship, but he did not openly say

"Stranger, in this here country two's a crowd. It's safer. 1 never was much on this lonewolf 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."

Stevens grinned. "Wal, I should smile. I'd be particular proud to be braced with a man of your reputation."

"Shore I think modesty becomin' to a youngster," replied Stevens. "I hate a brag. An' I've no use fer these

fourflush cowboys thet 're always lookin' fer trouble an' talkin' gunplay. 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 bulletholes. 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

"I dare say you're right," replied Duane, quietly. "And I'll go to Mercer with you."

Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never been much of a talker, and now he

found speech difficult. But his companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow,

probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he thought with a pang

Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens, having rested their horses in the shade of

"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

His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a kind of wild humor.

"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a twobit piece sincewal, fer some time."

"I'll furnish money for grub," returned Duane. "And for whisky, too, providing you hurry back herewithout

"Shore you're a downright good pard," declared Stevens, in admiration, as he took the money. "I give my

word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I never broke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick."

With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the town. At that distance, about a

quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be a cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods.

Pastures of alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheepherder driving in a meager flock.

Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hoping the outlaw would make good his

word. Probably not a quarter of an hour had elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle,

the clatter of rapid hoofbeats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean danger for a man like Stevens. Duane

He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast. Stevens apparently had not been wounded

by any of the shots, for he had a steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck Duane as

admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking back. The shots had ceased, but the

yells increased. Duane saw several men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and got

into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was

grinning, but there was now no fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced n them. His face seemed a

"Was jest comin' out of the store," yelled Stevens. "Run plumb into a rancherwho knowed me. He opened

They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and when horsemen did move into sight

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

Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood.

"Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lifton this here pack?"

Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount. The outlaw had a bloody foam on

"Oh, why didn't you say so!" cried Duane. "I never thought. You seemed all right."

"Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he doesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't

Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from his breast and back. Stevens had

been shot in the breast, fairly low down, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding himself

and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been

possible, and he felt no hope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.

"Feller's name was Brown," Stevens said. "Me an' him fell out over a hoss I stole from him over in

Huntsville. We had a shootin'scrape then. Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this

Brown, an' seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn't breakin' my word to you. I

kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But he didan' fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this

"It's pretty bad," replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful outlaw in the eyes.

"I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe I can stand this one. Now, Buck,

get me some place in the brakes, leave me some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out."

"Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends will foller us across the river a ways. You've

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

"Reckon we'd better keep right on in the darktill I drop," concluded Stevens, with a laugh.

All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the wounded outlaw, walked the trail and never

halted till daybreak. He was tired then and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was still

spirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, but asked for both whisky and water.

"Buck, will you take off my boots?" he asked, with a faint smile on his pallid face.

Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did not want to die with his boots on.

"Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But I wasn'tan' dyin' with your boots on is

"Shore. But I want to be correct about the bootsan' say, pard, if I do go over, jest you remember thet I was

Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance of dewwet grass upon which he

hobbled them. After that was done he prepared himself a muchneeded 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

When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, brighteyed, cheerful as usual, and apparently

"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

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 hidingplaces of the outlaws.

When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon you can pull on my boots once more." In

spite of the laugh accompanying the words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.

On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling

The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They were used to a trot, and that kind of

gait would not do for Stevens. The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while; darkness

set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars brightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking

and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane

thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain.

But at length a grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite and cactus.

Dawn caught the fugitives at a green campingsite 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

"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he said, and seemed immensely relieved when

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

"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads to a hole where you'll find mena few,

mebbe, like yourselfsome like mean' gangs of nogood hossthieves, 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 lonewolfin' 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

Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not want the whisky. His voice grew

"Aw, I'll talk tillI'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'llyou'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 Fisheryou 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 BlandI 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' gunfightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the

"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently. "You're too strappin' big an' goodlookin' 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

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

"Feller's namewas Brown," he rambled. "We fell outover a hoss I stole from himin Huntsville. He

stole it fuss. Brown's one of them sneaksafraid of the openhe steals an' pretends to be honest. Say, Buck,

That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift his head, but had not the strength. A strange shade

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.

Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprise in the haggard face. Stevens seemed

To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he could not understand.

Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones to mark the grave. That done, he saddled

his comrade's horse, hung the weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the trail

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

Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the likeliestlooking 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

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 wedgeshaped

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

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 irrigationditches. His horses drank thirstily.

And he drank with that fullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet water. Then he

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

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

As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with a loud exclamation:

The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advance toward Duane.

"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer Bosomer's nose is shore plain on the landscape."

These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them he thought they could have been

recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding

face which showed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch of sandy hair.

"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?" he demanded. His yellow eyes took in

Stevens's horse, then the weapons hung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upward to

Duane 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.

Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence, during which the men looked at

"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns," presently said Euchre.

"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I happen to be Luke Stevens's sidepardner."

Duane looked him over, from dusty, wornout boots to his slouchy sombrero. That look seemed to inflame

"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched them in. But the pack is mine," replied

Duane. "And say, I befriended your pard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it."

"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How do we know you didn't plug Stevens, an'

With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stamped into the saloon, where his voice

"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hotheaded," said the man Euchre. He did not appear unfriendly, nor were the

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

"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you and what're you doing here?"

Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chief appeared to be reasonable, if he was not

"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet about Luke wantin' his boots took offthet satisfies

"You said DuaneBuck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of that Duane who was a gunfighter some

"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim humor. "So you got in trouble and had to go on

"Fight? Do you mean gunplay?" questioned Bland. He seemed eager, curious, speculative.

"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."

"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't a free place there isn't one on earth. Every man is

"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's an ugly fellow. He's one of the few

gunmen I've met who wants to kill somebody all the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomer is

all one color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the trail."

"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as he spoke he felt that he did not know himself.

Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, and as he jumped clear of a last reaching

hand he uttered a snarl like an angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon had been

devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other outlaws quickly moved aside,

letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange change

passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the men who had followed him out piled

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 yelloweyed 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

But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment, his eyes pale and steady, his right

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 onlyboth from Duane's gunand 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

Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most inclined to lend friendliness to curiosity; and he

led Duane and the horses away to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses in an open shed and removed their

saddles. Then, gathering up Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the house.

It had two roomswindows without coveringsbare 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

"Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay," said Euchre. "I ain't rich in this world's goods, but I

"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

Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his face cleanshaven 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

Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he had used tobacco moderately since he

was sixteen. But now, strangely, he felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly what

he felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood, something that made him fear himself.

Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a little sick. When it comes to shootin' I run.

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

"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'

outan'out murderers, all of which had no bizness on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions.

He's no Texanyou 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.

"When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't any work a decent feller could do. You can't

herd with greasers. Why, Bland's men would shoot at you in the fields. What'll you do, son?"

"God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money last as long as possiblethen starve."

Here it struck Duane againthat 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

"I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of course I won't live with any one unless I can pay

"Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre, goodhumoredly. "You make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin'

"How do you ever pack supplies in here?" asked Duane, thinking of the almost inaccessible nature of the

"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 downriver. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this stock has to go down by boat

"Thet's not my secret," replied Euchre, shortly. "Fact is, I don't know. I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he

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,

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 cartridgeboxes and an advertisement on the back of a tobaccopouch. 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

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

whitehearted 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 gunthese 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 discontinuedthe 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 gunpracticed 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

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 flatboats, 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

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

Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he returned to the shack Euchre was busily

"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

"But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too, doesn't it?"

"I ain't shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in

"Who is Bland?" asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. "What do you know about him?"

"We don't know who he is or where he hails from," replied Euchre. "Thet's always been somethin' to interest

the gang. He must have been a young man when he struck Texas. Now he's middleaged. I remember how

years ago he was softspoken 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' gunplay he'd have

"I reckon there's short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland has several small camps up an'

"How does he control such a big force?" asked Duane. "Especially when his band's composed of bad men.

Luke Stevens said he had no use for Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil."

"Thet's it. He is a devil. He's as hard as flint, violent in temper, never made any friends except his righthand

men, Dave Rugg an' Chess Alloway. Bland'll shoot at a wink. He's killed a lot of fellers, an' some fer nothin'.

The reason thet outlaws gather round him an' stick is because he's a safe refuge, an' then he's well heeled.

Bland is rich. They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, an' lots of gold. But he's free with

money. He gambles when he's not off with a shipment of cattle. He throws money around. An' the fact is

there's always plenty of money where he is. Thet's what holds the gang. Dirty, bloody money!"

"It's a wonder he hasn't been killed. All these years on the border!" exclaimed Duane.

"Wal," replied Euchre, dryly, "he's been quicker on the draw than the other fellers who hankered to kill him,

Euchre's reply rather chilled Duane's interest for the moment. Such remarks always made his mind revolve

"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 fellersus hunted menthere ain't anythin' calculated to

rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this afternoonan' he said it seriouslike an'

speculativethet 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 Coltor 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 today 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' drawcan't youall see thet's a family gift?' "

Euchre's narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a slap with his flourwhitened hand.

Manifestly he had proclaimed himself a champion and partner of Duane's, with all the pride an old man could

"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 gunfighters 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

longhaired fourflush gunman or a sheriffan' 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 borderwise. Let's eat now, an' afterward we'll go out so the

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 boythese

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

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 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 newcomer 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

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; deepset, 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

"What have you got against him?" inquired Duane, as he sat down beside Euchre. He asked more for

something to say than from real interest. What did he care about a mean, haunted, craven faced criminal?

"Wal, mebbe I'm crossgrained," 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

"Shore. Bland's great on women. I'll tell you about this girl when we get out of here. Some of the gang are

During the ensuing halfhour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat

down for a moment. They were all gruff, loudvoiced, 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

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 gamblingresortssome 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 silverMexican pesosas 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,

"Bland's not here tonight," 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 bowlegged man with the half of his face shot off. He's oneeyed. 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 therethe 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 Marrthe feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in the other

day with some fresh bulletholes. 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

gota grand rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see the towheaded 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

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 proofhe was a criminal in sight

For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's heavy hand, clapping with a

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

"Say that twice," another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous tone from the other.

"I'll say it twice," returned the first gamester, in hot haste. "I'll say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf?

Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for

a full moment. Then suddenly the room was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.

"Run or duck!" yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed for the door. Duane leaped after him.

They ran into a jostling mob. Heavy gunshots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with pellmell

out into the darkness. There they all halted, and several peeped in at the door.

"I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him," went on yet another.

"Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's .38. Listen! There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't

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

"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The Kidyoung Fuller thet I was tellin' you

abouthe 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

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

Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his perilthe 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 werephantoms 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,

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, clearsighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its possibilities had been

"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

"Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled with gunplays 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."

"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.

"Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any women," rejoined Duane.

"I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was hopin', though, you might talk a

"Didn't I tell you about Jenniethe girl Bland's holdin' herethe one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in

"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 herbought 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 allfired 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 onWal, 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,

"I'll go, Euchre. Take me over," replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes upon him. The old outlaw, however,

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.

"Is that you, Euchre?" asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone of it, rather deep and with a note of

Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw's eyes was added significance to

"Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin' you about," Euchre said.

"Never mind how you look," interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. "It ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's

young Duane. Jennie, he's no rustler, no thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll"

Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance shifting from side to side.

But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in the doorway with downcast eyes

and a stain of red in her white cheek. She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.

"Don't be bashful, Jennie," said Euchre. "You an' Duane have a chance to talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs.

"I'm glad to meet you, MissMiss Jennie," said Duane. "Euchre didn't mention your last name. He asked me

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

"WellEuchre thoughthe wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit," replied Duane, somewhat lamely.

"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

"I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shootingscrape at home and had to run off. When it

"Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different." She kept the strained gaze upon him, but hope

Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth

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.

"Look at mestraight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven't you a fathera brother?"

"They're deadkilled 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 believeI know you're good. It was onlyI live so

much in fearI'm half crazyI've almost forgotten what good men are like, Mister Duane, you'll help me?"

"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

"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 Spenceso 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

"I realize that," replied he, thoughtfully. "I think my difficulty will be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me

"She'sshe'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

"ButDuane," she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand. "Bland will kill you."

Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange tumult in his breast. The old emotionthe

"Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn't," went on Jennie, with her tragic eyes on Duane's.

"Maybe he will," replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a smile. But he achieved one.

"Oh, better take me off at once," she said. "Save me without risking so muchwithout making love to Mrs.

"Waita 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"

"I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart," she whispered, passionately.

It was only as she turned away into the room that Duane saw she was lame and that she wore Mexican

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

goodlooking 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

Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs. Bland. She was young, probably not

over twentyfive, and not quite so prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and

brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she had white teeth.

Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to meet her.

Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and rather musical.

"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 today.

When Bland's away I have to nurse all these shotup boys, and it sure takes my time. Have you been waiting

She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of feature, Duane thought, and unless she

"I've been alone," replied Duane. "Haven't seen anybody but a sicklooking girl with a bucket. And she ran

"That was Jen," said Mrs. Bland. "She's the kid we keep here, and she sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre

"Wal, Kate," replied Euchre, speaking for himself, "you needn't worry none, for I told Buck nothin' but

Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Euchre, for her keen glance rested with amusement upon him.

"As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day," went on the woman. "It's a common enough story along this

"Wal, seein' as you've got me figgered correct," replied Euchre, dryly, "I'll go in an' talk to Jennie if I may."

"Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend," said Mrs. Bland, amiably. "You're always fetching some

When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. Bland turned to Duane with curiosity and interest in her gaze.

"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 camprode 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

"Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley. Just a great blueeyed sunburned boy!"

"Humph!" exclaimed Duane. "I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth seeing."

"But I'm not disappointed," she returned, archly. "Duane, are you going to stay long here in camp?"

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,

"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

hereburied alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being glad to see a young

fellowa gentlemanlike the boys I used to go with? I tell you it makes me feel fullI 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

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 wifeand a woman who

fitted her consort and the wild nature of their surroundingsshould have weakness enough to weep. Duane

"Don't be SORRY for me," she said. "That only makes me see thethe 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 thingthat it is provoked by the fourflushes, 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

"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

He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before she could reply Euchre returned to the

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

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

Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning "Adiosmanana," 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

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

"Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you done the job too well."

"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

"Buck, I've seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, takin'

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 coffeecup and began to stare, and at the conclusion

of the story his face lost some of its red color and beads of sweat stood out thickly on his brow.

"Wal, if thet doesn't floor me!" he ejaculated, blinking at Duane. "Young man, I figgered you was some swift,

an' sure to make your mark on this river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So thet's what it means to be

a man! I guess I'd forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my heart was in the right place I never was built fer big

"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

"Wal, you'll have to kill Bland an' Chess Alloway an' Rugg, an' mebbe some others, before you can ride off

"Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune time sneak off without any

"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 carelesslike 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 drawmebbe swifter 'n him. Thet's the hell of this gunplay business.

No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination mebbe

you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil onless there was reason not to, an' then I don't believe he'd

invite himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put you out of the way. Still Bland's no

coward, an' if you came across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was with Bosomer."

"All right. I'll meet what comes," said Duane, quickly. "The great point is to have horses ready and pick the

"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 meBland, an' his righthand pards, an' thet

rabbitfaced 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' tiredwhat's the difference if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if

I am afraid of gunplay. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's

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 dayEuchre to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to

blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon, they proceeded to put them into action.

No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those goodnatured 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 hoursand 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

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 allsatisfying 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

He was playing at a game of loveplaying 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

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

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 twoscore 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

Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre suggested that they go down to the river to the

"Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin'," said Euchre. "River gettin' low an' sandbars makin' it hard fer

hosses. There's a greaser freightwagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the freighters.

Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled on the riverbank, lolling in the shade of the cottonwoods. The

heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw offered to help the freighters, who were trying to dig a heavily freighted

wagon out of the quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let alone for the despised Mexicans.

Duane and Euchre joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euchre lighted a black pipe, and, drawing

his hat over his eyes, lay back in comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Duane was

alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was his belief that any moment an idle word might

"New. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they'll fill orders bigger 'n thet."

Duane could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of

"So Jim was tellin' me. Bloodpoison, ain't it? Thet hole wasn't bad. But he took the fever," rejoined a

"Wal, Kate Bland ain't nursin' any shotup boys these days. She hasn't got time."

A laugh followed this sally; then came a penetrating silence. Some of the outlaws glanced goodnaturedly at

Duane. They bore him no ill will. Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation.

This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Duane. He did not choose to ignore them

"Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's name again. My hand is nervous and

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 gundrawing

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 gunfighter's hand. It never seemed to be gloved, never to be

There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches on their gunhandles, and they,

with their comrades, accorded Duane silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held.

Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and certainly

he had never before hinted of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done better.

"Orful hot, ain't it?" remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not keep quiet for long. He was a typical

Texas desperado, had never been anything else. He was stoopshouldered and bowlegged 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.

This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to join him in a bath.

"Laziest outfit I ever rustled with," went on Bill, discontentedly. "Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to

"Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I might take it to heart," replied Black, with

Here it was againthat upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply would mollify the outlaw or it

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 runningorder, Black was like a fish on dry land.

"Wal, if youall are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?" he asked, in disgust.

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 twobit pieces or their

"See thet turtledove there?" he said, pointing. "I'll bet he'll scare at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly

That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could withstand.

The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtledove took flight, to the great joy of all the outlaws

"I'll bet youall he'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits," he offered, imperturbably.

Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass.

Somebody had a watch, and they all sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the tree. The

minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular remarks anent a fool and his money. When four

and threequarter minutes had passed a turtledove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an impressive

"But it hadn't the same dove!" exclaimed one outlaw, excitedly. "This 'n'is smaller, dustier, not so purple."

"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

"Wal, then, I'll bet any of you even money thet you CAN'T scare him with one stone."

Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous

allusions to their banding together. The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to that

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

poorlooking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him a handful of silver coins. Speechless, dazed, he

"I'll bet he drops some before he gits to the road," declared Bill. "I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you fourflush

Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became sullen and silent. Strangely his good

Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him and wondered what was in his mind. These men

were more variable than children, as unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite.

"Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket thet peon's packin'," said the outlaw called Jim.

Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon carrying a tin bucket toward the river.

This peon was a halfwitted Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had met

Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He caught a leaping gleam in the

"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

Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that Black held too high. Another look at

the hard face, now tense and dark with blood, confirmed Duane's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at

the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his hand. Another outlaw picked it up.

Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the same man, or else he was cowed by

Duane's significant and formidable front. Sullenly he turned away without even asking for his gun.

What a contrast, Duane thought, the evening of that day presented to the state of his soul!

The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains; twilight came slowly; a faint breeze

blew from the river cool and sweet; the late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only

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

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

These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's house. He had let Euchre go on

ahead because he wanted more time to compose himself. Darkness had about set in when he reached his

destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for him on the porch.

She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such a shock through him that he all but

forgot the deep game he was playing. She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her

embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered that Euchre had acquainted her of

"He might have killed your" she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane had ever heard love in a voice he

heard it then. It softened him. After all, she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in her

experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her advance so far that he returned the

embrace and kissed her. Emotion such as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a

certain charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that, whatever her abandonment

"Yesyes," 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,

"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, Rugganybody who stands in my path. You were dragged

here. You are goodI know it. There's happiness for you somewherea home among good people who will

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

"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

The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark mountain, and now the valley was flooded with mellow

Suddenly the clipclop, clipclop of hoofs caused Duane to raise his head and listen. Horses were coming

down the road from the head of the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the narrow,

moonlit lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects. Two horses Duane discerned.

"It's Bland!" whispered the woman, grasping Duane with shaking hands. "You must run! No, he'd see you.

"But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here," protested Duane. "Euchre's with me. It'll be all right."

"Maybe so," she replied, with visible effort at selfcontrol. Manifestly she had a great fear of Bland. "If I

"Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay with the girl! I'll tell Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you

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 feltthat 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

"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 gunthrowin' 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

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

"That's Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside at the window with Jen," replied Mrs. Bland.

"Why, I asked him to come," said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and naturally and made no change in

tone. "Jen has been ailing. She gets thinner and whiter every day. Duane came here one day with Euchre, saw

Jen, and went loony over her pretty face, same as all you men. So I let him come."

Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent action of some kind and

"Yes, I did," replied the wife, stubbornly. "Why not? Jen's in love with him. If he takes her away and marries

"She's lyin' or she's crazy," replied Alloway, and his voice carried an unpleasant ring.

Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to keep his mouth shut.

Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was carrying rattling, and he flopped

Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail. He answered Euchre's greeting with a

Mrs. Bland's full voice in eager questioning had a tendency to ease the situation. Bland replied briefly to her,

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 nonplussed, and Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. "Jennie," whispered Duane,

"that was clever of Mrs. Bland. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now be ready!"

She pressed close to him, and a barely audible "Hurry!" came breathing into his ear.

Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Bland returned the greeting, and, though he was not

"Met Jasper as I rode in," said Bland, presently. "He told me you made Bill Black mad, and there's liable to

Duane explained the incident. "I'm sorry I happened to be there," he went on. "It wasn't my business."

"Scurvy trick that 'd been," muttered Bland. "You did right. All the same, Duane, I want you to stop

quarreling with my men. If you were one of usthat'd be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But

"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 gunfighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has

"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 alonea lone wolf, as the Texans saywhy not make

"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 hereall 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

Euchre's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence. Alloway shifted uneasily on his feet, his

"That's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your band," said Duane, easily.

He left the group, followed by Euchre. When they reached the end of the lane, and before they had exchanged

a word, Bland called Euchre back. Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin and sat down

under the cottonwoods to wait for Euchre. The night was intense and quiet, a low hum of insects giving the

effect of a congestion of life. The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony canons of shadow under the

mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night, made Duane shudder in the realization of how far

aloof he now was from enjoyment of these things. Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His

mind was clouded. His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions of nature, but the joy of them had

Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead of him there was yet a strange

sweetness left to him, and it lay in thought of Jennie. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in his. He

did not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his feelings. He just had vague, dreamy thoughts and

imaginations that were interspersed in the constant and stern revolving of plans to save her.

A shuffling step roused him. Euchre's dark figure came crossing the moonlit grass under the cottonwoods.

The moment the outlaw reached him Duane saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely

"Wait till I git my breath," replied Euchre. He sat silent a little while, fanning himself with a sombrero,

though the night was cool, and then he went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe.

"Fine night," he said; and his tone further acquainted Duane with Euchre's quaint humor. "Fine night for

"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

"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

"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

"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 haveto guess pretty nice, but not to BE

sure. Bland gave it up after a while. An' then he cussed an' raved at her. One sayin' of his is worth pinnin' in

your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't need much fer thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy!'

"Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You

know Jen got thet injury fightin' off one of them devils in the dark. An' when I seen Bland twist herhurt

herI had a queer hot feelin' deep down in me, an' fer the only time in my life I wished I was a gunfighter.

"Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter'n a sheet, an' her eyes were big and stary, but she had nerve. Fust time

"'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

"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.

"'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

"'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?'

"'Go to bed, you whitefaced' Bland choked on some word or othera bad one, I reckonan' he

"Jennie went then, an' Kate began to have hysterics. An' your Uncle Euchre ducked his nut out of the door an'

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

"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

Both men were awake early, silent with the premonition of trouble ahead, thoughtful of the fact that the time

for the longplanned 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

"Buck, the sooner the better now," he declared, with a glint in his eye. "The more time we use up now the less

"Wal, saddle up, then," went on Euchre, gruffly. "Tie on them two packs I made, one fer each saddle. You

can't tellmebbe 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'sbringin' in your hosses an' havin' them ready?"

"Euchre, I hope you're not going to get in bad here. I'm afraid you are. Let me do the rest now," said Duane.

"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

"Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the mountain! I wisht I was a gunfighter. 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

Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out Duane saw that he wore a gunandcartridge belt. It was the

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 waterbottles. That done, he returned to the cabin to wait.

At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation of any kind. There was no more thinking and planning to

do. The hour had arrived, and he was ready. He understood perfectly the desperate chances he must take. His

thoughts became confined to Euchre and the surprising loyalty and goodness in the hardened old outlaw.

Time passed slowly. Duane kept glancing at his watch. He hoped to start the thing and get away before the

outlaws were out of their beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of Euchre's boots on the hard path. The sound was

When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin Duane was not so astounded as he was concerned to see

"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

"He straightened up surprised an' meanlookin'. An' I let him have it, plumb center! He wilted, an' the

"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

"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."

"I'll fetch them an' come along about two minnits behind you. 'Pears to me you ought to have the job done an'

Jennie outside by the time I git there. Once on them hosses, we can ride out of camp before Alloway or

anybody else gits into action. Jennie ain't much heavier than a rabbit. Thet big black will carry you both."

"All right. But once more let me persuade you to staynot to mix any more in this," said Duane, earnestly.

"Nope. I'm goin'. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn't give me the benefit of any doubts.

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

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.

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 now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch and then distinguished what was

"If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!" That was panted out in Kate Bland's full voice.

"I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the laugh on her new lover."

"I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!" His voice grew hoarser with passion. "Let me go now!"

"No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke thethe truth out of heryou'll kill her."

"Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn'tmurder herfor that."

Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in violent straining contactthe scrape of

feetthe jangle of spursa crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.

Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half across a table where she had been

flung, and she was trying to get to her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's

room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low, shuddering cry. Then he called out

With catlike swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold. His sight, quick as his action, caught

Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for his gun. But he would not have time for a

step. Duane read in his eyes the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland shifted his

glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate with the swing of his arm.

Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the floor, and dropped loose from stretching

fingers. Duane stood over him, stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then

She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands clenching, her face slowly whitening. She

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

It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At that moment there was a pounding of

ironshod hoofs out in the lane. Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was

"Where 're you taking Jen?" she cried, her voice like a man's. "Get out of my way," replied Duane. His look

perhaps, without speech, was enough for her. In an instant she was transformed into a fury.

"You hound! All the time you were fooling me! You made love to me! You let me believeyou 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 meget at her! She'll never win any more men in this camp."

She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane's strength to ward off her onslaughts. She clawed at Jennie

"HELP! HELP! HELP!" she shrieked, in a voice that must have penetrated to the remotest cabin in the valley.

"Let go! Let go!" cried Duane, low and sharp. He still held his gun in his right hand, and it began to be hard

for him to ward the woman off. His coolness had gone with her shriek for help. "Let go!" he repeated, and he

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

With an iron grasp Duane held to the riflebarrel. 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.

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

It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block his plan.

"Let go!" he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that instant he relaxed his hold on the

With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle down and discharged it. Duane felt a

blowa shocka burning agony tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully upon

the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and seemed stunned.

Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch. The sharp cracking of a gun halted him. He

saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled, and

he was firing down the lane. Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre's ceased. He fell from the horse.

A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane. Chess Alloway! His gun was smoking.

He broke into a run. Then in an instant he saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But

that slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun went off. His bullet whistled

Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging bay. Euchre lay flat on his back,

dead, a bullethole in his shirt, his face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.

"Jennie, you've nerve, all right!" cried Duane, as he dragged down the horse she was holding. "Up with you

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

Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began

She was gazing horrorstricken at his breast, as in turning to look back he faced her.

"Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!" she faltered, pointing with trembling fingers.

With her words Duane became aware of two thingsthe hand he instinctively placed to his breast still held

Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave apprehension of his life. The

cleancut 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 reddishtinged foam.

"Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. I wasn't quick enough."

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

"Butyourwound!" she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. "I seethe blooddripping from your back!"

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

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

"Jennie, I'll give out soon," he said. "NoI don't meanwhat you think. But I'll drop soon. My strength's

going. If I dieyou ride back to the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at night. That trail goes to water. I

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

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 fugitiveone 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 coffeepot. Probably she was outside looking after the horses or getting water. He thought he

heard a step and listened, but he felt tired, and presently his eyes closed and he fell into a doze.

Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside him. In some way she seemed to have changed. When he

"Hello. How're you, Jennie, and how am I?" he said, finding it a little difficult to talk.

"Oh, I'm all right," she replied. "And you've come toyour wound's healed; but you've been sick. Fever, I

Duane saw now that the difference in her was a whiteness and tightness of skin, a hollowness of eye, a look

"Nine days!" he exclaimed, incredulously. But another look at her assured him that she meant what she said.

"I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of here. There's good grass and water."

"Good Lord! I should think not. You've had a time of it sitting here day and night nursing me, watching for

"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."

"I don't know. Maybe. I did all I knew how to do," she replied. "You saved minemore than my life."

"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."

"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

"Jennie, I'll go back to the brakes. I daren't show my face among respectable people. I'm an outlaw."

"Jennie, on this border the little difference between an out law and a criminal doesn't count for much."

"You won't go back among those terrible men? You, with your gentleness and sweetnessall that's good

"I can't go back to the outlaws, at least not Bland's band. No, I'll go alone. I'll lonewolf it, as they say on the

"Oh, I don't know. Couldn't you hide? Couldn't you slip,out of Texasgo far away?"

"I could never get out of Texas without being arrested. I could hide, but a man must live. Never mind about

In three days Duane was able with great difficulty to mount his horse. During daylight, by short relays, he

and Jennie rode back to the main trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then in the dark they rode out

of the canons and gullies of the Rim Rock, and early in the morning halted at the first water to camp.

From that point they traveled after nightfall and went into hiding during the day. Once across the Nueces

River, Duane was assured of safety for her and great danger for himself. They had crossed into a country he

did not know. Somewhere east of the river there were scattered ranches. But he was as liable to find the

rancher in touch with the outlaws as he was likely to find him honest. Duane hoped his good fortune would

not desert him in this last service to Jennie. Next to the worry of that was realization of his condition. He had

gotten up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard, and now he felt that any moment he might fall from his

saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren mesquitedotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of green

and a little flat, red ranchhouse. He headed his horse for it and turned a face he tried to make cheerful for

When near at hand he saw that the rancher was a thrifty farmer. And thrift spoke for honesty. There were

fields of alfalfa, fruittrees, corrals, windmill pumps, irrigationditches, 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

"Howdy, stranger," he called, as Duane halted. "Get down, you an' your woman. Say, now, air you sick or

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.

"Martha, come out here!" he called. "This man's sick. No; he's shot, or I don't know bloodstains."

Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side. Duane appeared about to faint.

"Buck Duane!" exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. "The man who killed Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a

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

"Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myselfjust all in. The wounds I got at Bland's are healing. Will you

"Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See hereany rustlers on your trail?"

"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.

"Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell

"I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to it. Come now, let me help you

Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal of his

He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another week then before he could walk out a

little in the dusk of the evenings. After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end of this

long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his illness he had been silent, moody.

"Jennie, I'll be riding off soon," he said, one evening. "I can't impose on this good man Andrews much

longer. I'll never forget his kindness. His wife, tooshe's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will

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 goodby 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,

"It's likely we won't ever see each other again," he said. "That's strange to think of. We've been through some

Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed the subject to something less personal.

"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

"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

"I'll be able to ride and take care of myself in a day or two," went on Duane. "Then I'll goI'd like to talk to

"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

"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.

"Shelbyville. I reckon about two days' ride. Poor stock country, so you ain't liable to meet rustlers. All the

At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mounted their horses and said goodby to the rancher and his

"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Duane. "I may come along here again some day."

"Get down an' come in, then, or you're no friend of mine. I reckon there ain't nothin' I can think ofI 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 welltodo. Got skinned by a man named BrownRodney Brown. He lives in Huntsville, an' he's

my enemy. I never was much on fightin', or I'd fixed him. Brown ruined mestole all I had. He's a hoss an'

cattle thief, an' he has pull enough at home to protect him. I reckon I needn't say any more."

"Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named Stevens?" queried Duane, curiously.

"Shore, he's the same. I heard thet story. Brown swears he plugged Stevens through the middle. But the

"The main road for about three miles, then where it forks take the lefthand road and keep on straight. That

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 wasto 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 himonly a thoughtful understanding of his danger and a hold upon some

Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, holding out hopeful views of her future, and presently

darkness set in. The sky was overcast with heavy clouds; there was no air moving; the heat and oppression

threatened storm. By and by Duane could not see a rod in front of him, though his horse had no difficulty in

keeping to the road. Duane was bothered by the blackness of the night. Traveling fast was impossible, and

any moment he might miss the road that led off to the left. So he was compelled to give all his attention to

peering into the thick shadows ahead. As good luck would have it, he came to higher ground where there was

less mesquite, and therefore not such impenetrable darkness; and at this point he came to where the road split.

Once headed in the right direction, he felt easier in mind. To his annoyance, however, a fine, misty rain set in.

Jennie was not well dressed for wet weather; and, for that matter, neither was he. His coat, which in that dry

warm climate he seldom needed, was tied behind his saddle, and he put it on Jennie.

They traveled on. The rain fell steadily; if anything, growing thicker. Duane grew uncomfortably wet and

chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat better by reason of the heavy coat. The night passed quickly despite

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

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 hidingplace. 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

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, deathdealing 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

Tomorrow she would be gone among good, kind people with a possibility of finding her relatives. He

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

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

"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 bedsomebody to love them. And you,

Duaneoh, 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, holesthese

must be the important things in your life. You must go on riding, hiding, killing until you meet"

She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her knees. Duane was amazed, deeply touched.

"My girl, thank you for that thought of me," he said, with a tremor in his voice. "You don't know how much

"I've heard tellthe best of men go to the bad out there. You won't. Promise me you won't. I neverknew

any manlike you. IIwe may never see each other againafter today. I'll never forget you. I'll pray

for you, and I'll never give up trying toto do something. Don't despair. It's never too late. It was my hope

that kept me aliveout there at Bland'sbefore you came. I was only a poor weak girl. But if I could

hopeso can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. Fight for your life. Stick out your exileand

Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand and with feeling as deep as hers promised to remember her

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

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 thornbush 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

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

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

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 wellshod 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

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

againan 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 offprobably by outlaws. Duane realized that pursuit was out of

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

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

neverfailing sweet water, grass all the year round, cool, shady retreats, deer, rabbits, turkeys, fruit, and miles

and miles of narrowtwisting, deep canon full of broken rocks and impenetrable thickets. The scream of the

panther was heard there, the squall of the wildcat, the cough of the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the

spring blossoms, and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. All day there was continuous song of birds,

On clear daysand rare indeed were cloudy dayswith the subsiding of the wind at sunset a hush seemed

to fall around the little hut. Fardistant dimblue mountains stood goldrimmed gradually to fade with the

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,

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 beliefthat 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

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

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

The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest bearable. The little hut on the rim of the gorge seemed to

hold Jennie's presence. It was not as if he felt her spirit. If it had been he would have been sure of her death.

He hoped Jennie had not survived her second misfortune; and that intense hope had burned into belief, if not

surety. Upon his return to that locality, on the occasion of his first visit to the hut, he had found things just as

they had left them, and a poor, faded piece of ribbon Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No

wandering outlaw or traveler had happened upon the lonely spot, which further endeared it to Duane.

A strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the freshness of itthe failure of years, toil, strife,

deathdealing to dim itto deaden the thought of what might have been. He had a marvelous gift of

visualization. He could shut his eyes and see Jennie before him just as clearly as if she had stood there in the

flesh. For hours he did that, dreaming, dreaming of life he had never tasted and now never would taste. He

saw Jennie's slender, graceful figure, the old brown ragged dress in which he had seen her first at Bland's, her

little feet in Mexican sandals, her fine hands coarsened by work, her round arms and swelling throat, and her

pale, sad, beautiful face with its staring dark eyes. He remembered every look she had given him, every word

she had spoken to him, every time she had touched him. He thought of her beauty and sweetness, of the few

things which had come to mean to him that she must have loved him; and he trained himself to think of these

in preference to her life at Bland's, the escape with him, and then her recapture, because such memories led to

bitter, fruitless pain. He had to fight suffering because it was eating out his heart.

Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the old homestead and his whitehaired mother. He saw the old

home life, sweetened and filled by dear new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with him a part of it.

Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of bitter reality, he would send out a voiceless cry no less

poignant because it was silent: "Poor fool! No, I shall never see mother againnever go homenever 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 brighthaired boy, no darkeyed girl will ever love me. I am an

outlaw, an outcast, dead to the good and decent world. I am alonealone. Better be a callous brute or better

dead! I shall go mad thinking! Man, what is left to you? A hidingplace like a wolf'slonely 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 gunfighter to liveto hang on to miserable

lifeto have no fear of death, yet to cling like a leachto die as gunfighters 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 othersyou're avenged. Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!"

A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering round him, escorted him to his bed.

When Duane had been riding the trails passionbent to escape pursuers, or passionbent in his search, the

constant action and toil and exhaustion made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually he

required less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active. Little by little his phantoms gained hold on

him, and at length, but for the saving power of his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.

How many times he had said to himself: "I am an intelligent man. I'm not crazy. I'm in full possession of my

faculties. All this is fancyimaginationconscience. I've no work, no duty, no ideal, no hopeand 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

So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable camp. The night was starbright above the canonwalls,

darkly shadowing down between them. The insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a continuous thick

song, low and monotonous. Slowrunning water splashed softly over stones in the streambed. From far

down the canon came the mournful hoot of an owl. The moment he lay down, thereby giving up action for

the day, all these things weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of loneliness. In truth, they did not

And he could no more have dispelled thought than he could have reached out to touch a cold, bright star.

He wondered how many outcasts like him lay under this starstudded, velvety sky across the fifteen hundred

miles of wild country between El Paso and the mouth of the river. A vast wild territorya refuge for

outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or read that the Texas Rangers kept a book with names and records of

outlawsthree 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, hidingplace

to hidingplace, 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,

But all of them were akin in one sensetheir 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

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 livesthe 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

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 palefaced, flatchested men not fit for that wilderness and not surviving;

the dishonest cattlemen, hand and glove with outlaws, driven from their homes; the old grizzled, bowlegged

genuine rustlersall 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 penaltyif not of conscience, then of fear; if not of fear, then of that most terrible

Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew the internal life of the gunfighter 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 killingmachine, 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 gunfighters 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

foemore 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

The hell in Duane's mind was not fear of man or fear of death. He would have been glad to lay down the

burden of life, providing death came naturally. Many times he had prayed for it. But that overdeveloped,

superhuman spirit of defense in him precluded suicide or the inviting of an enemy's bullet. Sometimes he had

a vague, scarcely analyzed idea that this spirit was what had made the Southwest habitable for the white man.

Every one of his victims, singly and collectively, returned to him for ever, it seemed, in cold, passionless,

accusing domination of these haunted hours. They did not accuse him of dishonor or cowardice or brutality or

murder; they only accused him of Death. It was as if they knew more than when they were alive, had learned

that life was a divine mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged about him with their voiceless clamoring,

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 hima

longing to see the faces of people, to hear their voicesa 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

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 rudelettered 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

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 clothesthese things for the time being made a changed man of

Duane. To be sure, he did not often speak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him

silent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In the years of his absence from home he had

never heard a word about his mother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would have

been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters that might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.

Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight fell was loath to go and yielded to a

pressing invitation to remain overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early in the

evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and heroworshiping sons of the house, Jones returned

from a quick visit down to the postoffice. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored under intense

"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 fellowsdevils with the women."

"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."

"Slightbuilt 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

"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 gunfighter, but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death. Which

he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly. Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You

never met a ranger or any officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown."

Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact of how fleeting must be his stay

"I've already fixed up a pack of grub," went on Jones. "I'll slip out to saddle your horse. You watch here."

He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded on the hard path. A man turned in at

the gate. The light was dim, yet clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared nearer he

"It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the river just out of town. He sends

"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 doublecross anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he

"Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without bloodshed," observed Duane. "Pretty

"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. Tomorrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil he

"Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracing you that way. Duane, the fellow

didn't pack a gun. I'll swear to that. Pretty odd, this trick. But you can't trust it. Hit the road, Duane."

A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, bearing a tall, dark rider who peered keenly into every

shadow, trotted down a pasture lane back of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking into

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

Next morning he was off again, working south. During the next few days he paid brief visits to several

villages that lay in his path. And in each some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that made

Duane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive call upon these friends and left this

message, "Tell Buck Duane to ride into Captain MacNelly's camp some time after night."

Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the new ranger's main purpose in the Nueces

country was to capture or kill Buck Duane, and that this message was simply an original and striking ruse, the

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 rifleshot from a

ranchhouse, 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

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 bottomland green with willow and cottonwood and thick

as chaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a river he decided must be the lower Nueces.

One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he saw the lights of a village. He tried to

pass it on the left, but was unable to because the brakes of this bottomland 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

He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket or clump of mesquite near the waterhole

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 downhill between

high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse heard something to frighten him or shied at something

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

The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had never before found himself so

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

Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chief concern of the moment was for his

injured arm. He found that the bones were still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, was

an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head, Duane wound his scarf tightly

round the holes, and with teeth and hand tied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.

Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were more coming round the cut where the road

curved. The leader was perhaps a quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duane needed

only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hardriding 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

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,

Duane had only one planthe only plan possible in this caseand that was to make the riverbottoms,

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, mesquitedotted and yuccaspired country extended away on either side.

Duane believed that he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was certainhe had to go

round the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the village; and once in the willows, he would

Dustclouds 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 newcomers 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

He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. There were patches of open sandy ground

between clumps of cactus and mesquite, and he found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It was

impossible for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, he decided, and take to his tracks.

What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket right into a low ridge of rough, broken rock,

impossible to get a horse over. He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy ground gave place to a harder

soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths of mesquite and cactus became scanter, affording

better travel but poor cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw moving

dustclouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mile away, and swinging obliquely across the

flat, which fact proved that they had entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive's difficulty.

Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best efforts, straight ahead. He had to pass those

men. When this was seemingly made impossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to

feel cold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to an outlaw's career. He wanted then to

ride straight at these pursuers. But reason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless, the

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, washesall operated against his following a straight

line. Almost he lost his bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemies had not good fortune

Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost within gunshot. 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

Duane dashed out into another open place dotted by few trees, and here, right in his path, within pistolrange,

stood horsemen waiting. They yelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned his

horsefaced 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 gunfighter's instinct of selfpreservation.

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 horsethese vied

in sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the rack of his wound, the cold, sick cramp in his stomach.

With these also was dull, raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It took all his mind to force

back that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers, of this race for his useless life.

Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with

hot, strange joy, he wheeled his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out in

front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of breaking. Presently Duane looked back.

Pursuershe could not count how manywere loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them,

and with teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil them.

He passed a few scattered ranchhouses 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,

Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner than he expected. Then he made a

discoveryhe had entered the zone of wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to

ride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers were half a mile distant, too far to alarm

any villagers in time to intercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and began to

labor. Duane did not believe he would last long enough to go through the village.

Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means new, and one he had carried out

successfully before. As he pulled in his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the

place, and one of them stepped to a cleanlimbed, fiery bay. He was about to get into his saddle when he saw

"Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade," drawled the man. "But ain't you a little swift?"

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

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 redtinged willow. How welcome it

was to his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his hole in the rocks. Zigzagging

down the soft slope, he put the bay to the dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.

There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubborn beast into the thicket. This was harder

and slower work than Duane cared to risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. So he

had to abandon the horse a circumstance that only such sore straits could have driven him to. Then he went

He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuers piling over the bluff, loudvoiced,

"Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!" called one, evidently to the man Duane had forced into a trade.

"Say, if you locoed gents'll hold up a little I'll tell you somethin'," replied a voice from the bluff.

"Wal, mebbe, an' if you hev it's liable to be damn hot. THET FELLER WAS BUCK DUANE!"

Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by a rattling of loose gravel and then low

"He can't git across the river, I tell you," came to Duane's ears. "He's corralled in the brake. I know thet hole."

Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no more from his pursuers. He headed

straight for the river. Threading a passage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days and

nights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been envied by an Indian.

The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texas ran between wide, low, flat lands

covered by a dense growth of willow. Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with

the willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that an inexperienced man would

have considered impenetrable. From above, these wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they

were gray and yellowa striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There were a few deerrunways and

sometimes little paths made by peccariesthe 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

Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring

something which always seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any

unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided under the low, rustling green roof

of this wild covert. It was not hard to conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could

hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and never know it. The problem of

sustaining life was difficult; but, then, hunted men and animals survived on very little.

Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping in the brake, work his way upstream till he

had reached country more hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river, Duane had

his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put the river between him and his hunters. He

pushed on. His left arm had to be favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the willows,

he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There were narrow aisles and washes and holes low

down and paths brushed by animals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling, stooping

any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was not easyhe did it by marking some bright sunlit stem

or tree ahead, and when he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progress necessarily grew

slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder, denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his

head. He kept on without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that the afternoon was far

advanced. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrong direction. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his

anxiety, and after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through to the bank of the river.

He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank extending like a green and yellow

wall. Duane perceived at a glance the futility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggish

water raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was all quicksand, and very likely there was not a

foot of water anywhere. He could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Any solid

thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and sucked down. To prove this he seized a long

pole and, reaching down from the high bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore there apparently

was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned any hope of crossing the river. Probably for miles

up and down it would be just the same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon the pole and

lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked his way back to where thinner growth made

advancement easier, and kept on upstream 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

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 treetrunk 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, softfooted 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

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

The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a deep, fulltoned, 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 closegrowing 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

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

It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork about fifteen feet up, and branches thereafter in succession.

Duane climbed until he got above the enshrouding belt of blackness. A pale gray mist hung above the brake,

and through it shone a line of dim lights. Duane decided these were bonfires made along the bluff to render

his escape more difficult on that side. Away round in the direction he thought was north he imagined he saw

more fires, but, as the mist was thick, he could not be sure. While he sat there pondering the matter, listening

for the hounds, the mist and the gloom on one side lightened; and this side he concluded was east and meant

that dawn was near. Satisfying himself on this score, he descended to the first branch of the tree.

His situation now, though still critical, did not appear to be so hopeless as it had been. The hounds would

soon close in on him, and he would kill them or drive them away. It was beyond the bounds of possibility that

any men could have followed running hounds through that brake in the night. The thing that worried Duane

was the fact of the bonfires. He had gathered from the words of one of his pursuers that the brake was a kind

of trap, and he began to believe there was only one way out of it, and that was along the bank where he had

entered, and where obviously all night long his pursuers had kept fires burning. Further conjecture on this

point, however, was interrupted by a crashing in the willows and the rapid patter of feet.

Underneath Duane lay a gray, foggy obscurity. He could not see the ground, nor any object but the black

trunk of the tree. Sight would not be needed to tell him when the pack arrived. With a pattering rush through

the willows the hounds reached the tree; and then high above crash of brush and thud of heavy paws rose a

hideous clamor. Duane's pursuers far off to the south would hear that and know what it meant. And at

daybreak, perhaps before, they would take a short cut across the brake, guided by the baying of hounds that

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

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 bullethole. 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

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

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

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 dangerzone, 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 bluffline, 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 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

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

He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky barrier, and kept on, wondering what the next mile would

It brought worse, for he was seen by sharpeyed scouts, and a hot fusillade drove him to run for his life,

Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trapwall, 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

When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his mind clamped between two

thingswhether 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 breedingground for the bloodsuckers. They sang and

hummed and whined around him in an everincreasing 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

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

that he might ford the shallow water and bars of quicksand. But not yet! Wearily, doggedly he faced about

All that day and all that night, all the next day and all the next night, he stole like a hunted savage from river

to bluff; and every hour forced upon him the bitter certainty that he was trapped.

Duane lost track of days, of events. He had come to an evil pass. There arrived an hour when, closely pressed

by pursuers at the extreme southern corner of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows, driven to what

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.

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

"Hold on thar, you boys," came a shout in authoritative tones from farther up the bluff. "Go slow. Youall air

"Thet's right, Colonel. Hold 'em back. There's nothin' shorer than somebody'll be stoppin' lead pretty quick.

How clearly all this talk pierced Duane's ears! In it he seemed to hear his doom. This, then, was the end he

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

Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept his fateto 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

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 selfrespect. He wondered was he afraid;

had he, the last of the Duaneshad 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

Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. He lay under the burning sun, parched by thirst, laboring

to breathe, sweating and bleeding. His uncaredfor wound was like a redhot prong in his flesh. Blotched

and swollen from the neverending attack of flies and mosquitoes his face seemed twice its natural size, and

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

trailthat 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,

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

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

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 huntingdog 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 hidingplace. A strange relief swiftly swayed over Duane. The end was near now. He had no further

choice. Let them comea quick fierce exchange of shotsand then this torture past! He waited for the dog

But the dog looked at him and trotted by into the thicket without a yelp. Duane could not believe the evidence

of his senses. He thought he had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to and fro

among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all sound from him ceased.

"Thar's Rover," called a voice from the bluffside. "He's been through thet black patch."

"Bah! Thet pup's no good," scornfully growled another man. "Put a hound at thet clump of willows."

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 persistedlooked a little brighterled him on, perhaps, to forlorn hope.

All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the willow brake, or else Duane noted it suddenly. He

imagined it to be caused by the approaching storm. But there was little movement of air or cloud, and thunder

still muttered and rumbled at a distance. The fact was the sun had set, and at this time of overcast sky night

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 rivershore, 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 roughhewn 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

The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not break off any earth to splash into the water. There was a

willow growing back some few feet from the edge of the bank. Cautiously he pulled it down, bent it over the

water so that when he released it there would be no springing back. Then he trusted his weight to it, with his

feet sliding carefully down the bank. He went into the water almost up to his knees, felt the quicksand grip

his feet; then, leaning forward till he reached the plank, he pulled it toward him and lay upon it.

Without a sound one end went slowly under water and the farther end appeared lightly braced against the

overhanging willows. Very carefully then Duane began to extricate his right foot from the sucking sand. It

seemed as if his foot was incased in solid rock. But there was a movement upward, and he pulled with all the

power he dared use. It came slowly and at length was free. The left one he released with less difficulty. The

next few moments he put all his attention on the plank to ascertain if his weight would sink it into the sand.

The far end slipped off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled to rest upon the bottom. But it

sank no farther, and Duane's greatest concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible for him

to keep his head up for long he carefully crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an arm and shoulder

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 outlawhunting 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

Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And with that in his mind he waited, strong as steel in his conviction,

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

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 heartnumbing 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,

Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling. Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over

the treacherous place. This way he made faster progress. The obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping

him. When he looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with the surrounding gloom, the fires

were streaky, blurred patches of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.

To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable spirit and waning strength Duane shoved the

plank along, and when at last he discerned the black border of bank it came in time, he thought, to save him.

He crawled out, rested till the gray dawn broke, and then headed north through the willows.

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

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 crossroad

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 postoffice

burglary, some gunshooting scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been accused of worse deeds.

Abruptly Duane decided to ride over there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.

As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the first time he had ever deliberately hunted

trouble. Introspection awarded him this knowledge; during that last terrible flight on the lower Nueces and

while he lay abed recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless bitterness abided with him. He

had reached the end of his rope. All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him back from

That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term, to be what he was credited with beingthat 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 outlawswhy 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

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 signpost. Duane drew rein near it and leaned close to read the faded

print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more

faded print, Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff Aiken at her ranch near Shirley.

The month September was named, but the date was illegible. The reward was offered by the woman's

husband, whose name appeared with that of a sheriff's at the bottom of the placard.

Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick with the horror of his fate, wild with passion at

those misguided fools who could believe that he had harmed a woman. Then he remembered Kate Bland,

and, as always when she returned to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had gone abroad that he

had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done often.

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

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

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 shirtsleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, goodnatured 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

"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placardout there on a signpost. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this

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

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

That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened his lips to speak, but if he had

yelled at the top of his lungs he could not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt

man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy. He made no move, however, to hold

up his hands. The villagers surrounded him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay

hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even if Duane had had the spirit.

Some one of them fetched his halter from his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.

People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers

came on the trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of

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

"Shut up, will youall?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to hear somethin'. Easy nowsoho. There ain't

nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off."

This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who

"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give it to me. Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped

The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking hand and pointed.

"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!" cried an excited villager.

"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 usall. Then he jumped off, says he

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 nooseend of Duane's

With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former statement.

"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?" bluntly queried the cowboy.

"Whyhe set down tharan' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on

What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the

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

"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool ought to know that. You mean it,

"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a

"No," replied Duane. "Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a little off his head."

"Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an' all his doings?"

"I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did. That's why I'm here. I saw that placard

out there offering the reward. Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed for what

I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to send for Jeff Aiken."

"An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?" queried the cowboy in amazement.

"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

"Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you; what then?"

Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out above and beyond them. It was in

this way that he chanced to see a number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with hard

faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these seemed agitated by excitement or

distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck.

Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed fascinated at his gaze,

but were not averted. It was the old women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.

Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's wandering glance rested upon her.

Her eyes were riveted upon him. A softhearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!

Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart build. He had a gun in his hand,

"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

handsagain the insane tumult was about to break outthe demand for an outlaw's blood, the call for a

Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat and cuffed in vain.

"Jeff, will you listen?" broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the other man's arm.

Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of themselves under circumstances

like these, recognized the spirit that dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of

bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of death he felt it then.

"Sure this 's your game, Aiken," said Sibert. "But hear me a minute. Reckon there's no doubt about this man

bein' Buck Duane. He seen the placard out at the crossroads. 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

Then for the first time the drawnfaced, hungryeyed 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

"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 todaydeliberately 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 youto tell you this: I never saw Shirley before today. It was impossible for me to

havekilled 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 knowyou'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 saywhy, by God! you can kill me!"

"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

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 womanmurderer which

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

"Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?" asked Aiken, huskily and low. "Is he the onewho came

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 silenceof suspense.

Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. The

"See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man," burst out the cowboy, as he made the

"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 forwhich all he never done. Clear away there. Where's his hoss?

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.

He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they escorted Duane across the plaza.

Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously probably, he still held the gun.

"Duane, a word with you," he said. "I believe you're not so black as you've been painted. I wish there was

time to say more. Tell me this, anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?"

"I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield," went on Aiken, hurriedly. "He declared you never killed my

wife. I didn't believe himargued with him. We almost had hard words over it. NowI'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. WhatI 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. Goodby. May God help you further

"So long, Buck!" called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over his brown face; and he held his

When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the signpost seemed to be the thing

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

Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp

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 churchbell

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

Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright objecta

gunbefore he discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail.

Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light from the fires flickered upon

"Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business with the Captain?"

"Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his campafter dark," finally said Duane.

The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it became

"Come here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning in the least toward the campfire.

"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 firelight. 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.

"Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peacefulfriendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was

Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the campfire heard what he said.

"Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait," replied an authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached itself from

This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers who were confronting Duane. He had

All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had happened lately.

"You've met Aiken!" exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. "By all that's bully!" Then he appeared to catch

"If I give my word you'll not be arrestedyou'll be treated fairlywill you come into camp and consult with

Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand and felt no unmistakable grip of

"It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet you," said Duane, soberly.

"You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the present."

"Pickers, go back on duty," he ordered, "and, Beeson, you look after this horse."

When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of the campsite, he saw a group of

perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small

"We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk," said MacNelly. "I've taken up temporary

quarters here. Have a rustler job on hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house."

Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set before him, urged on by curiosity

and astonishment. The only way he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that

MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would hardly have made this captain so eager.

There was a mystery here, and Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had bent keen

eyes around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no more attention to him. They were

all veterans in serviceDuane saw thatand rugged, powerful men of iron constitution. Despite the

occasional joke and sally of the more youthful members, and a general conversation of campfire 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.

"Come in and have a chair," said MacNelly, motioning for the one other occupant of the room to rise. "Leave

MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen in the light he was a finelooking,

soldierly man of about forty years, darkhaired and darkeyed, 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 lampchimney, and then, settling back in his chair, he faced Duane, making

a vain attempt to hide what must have been the fulfilment of a longnourished curiosity.

Duane smiled a littlea smile that felt strange on his face. He had never been much of a talker. And speech

He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner changed to grave thoughtfulness.

"I've lots to say, but where to begin," he mused. "Duane, you've had a hard life since you went on the dodge. I

never met you before, don't know what you looked like as a boy. But I can see whatwell, even ranger life

"That's tough. I'm glad to be able to tell you that up to just lately your mother, sister, uncleall your folks, I

Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his throat, and then said, "It's worth what I

"I can imagine how you feel about it. When I was in the war but let's get down to the business of this

"You've had word more than once in the last two years that I wanted to see you?"

"I supposed you imagined me one of those gunfighters who couldn't take a dare and expected me to ride up

"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.

"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,

"You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when you needed him badnever anything

"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

"Certainly." MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and glittered. The muscles along his brown

cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.

"Listen to this," he whispered, hoarsely. "If I place a pardon in your handmake you a free, honest citizen

once more, clear your name of infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of youwill you swear yourself

Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain MacNelly reiterated his startling query.

"Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What do you say?"

He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and outlaw then locked eyes that searched

each other's souls. In MacNelly's Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a fugitive

Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent sound, until, forcing back a flood of

A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness. He held out his hand. Duane met it

When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly fumbled for another cigarhe

had bitten the other into shredsand, 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

"Here's your pardon from the Governor," he said, quietly. "You'll see, when you look it over, that it's

He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along a dotted line.

Duane's hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It was with difficulty that he achieved his

"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

"So that's it!" burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his bewilderment. "You want me for ranger service?"

"Sure. That's it," replied the Captain, dryly. "Now to hear what that service is to be. I've been a busy man

since I took this job, and, as you may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you that political

influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a good deal of friction in the Department of State in

regard to whether or not the ranger service is any goodwhether 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 bankrobbing. 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

himto 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

"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

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 gunplay will pull you through. I'm hoping so.

"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 clearedthe service you render known. You

"Well, it's settled, then. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll start as soon as you likethe sooner the

better. I hope to think of other suggestions, especially about communicating with me."

Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased round the campfire 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

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 benchthings 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.

"Fellows," said MacNelly, "shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret ranger service for me. Service

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 lonewolf record. When he had seated himself in that

"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 holdup. 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

"I'll start at once," he said, extending his hand to the Captain. "I wishI'd like to thank you."

"Hell, man! Don't thank me!" replied MacNelly, crushing the proffered hand. "I've sent a lot of good men to

their deaths, and maybe you're another. But, as I've said, you've one chance in a thousand. And, by Heaven!

I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were trailing. No, not goodbyAdios, Duane! May we meet

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 mesquitedotted, cactuscovered 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

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

Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas was a world in itselfa world where the

riches of the rancher were ever enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this

outlawinfested 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 Mexicansthere were still the ruins of adobe missionsbut 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 handandglove with the outlaws or furnishing target practice for that wild element.

Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord, and in a community where all men were

remarkable for one reason or another he excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and most

engaging attentionhorses 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,

"Say mister, mind tellin' me his name?" asked a ragged urchin, with born love of a horse in his eyes.

"Thet there's fer the white mark, ain't it?" whispered the youngster to another. "Say, ain't he a whopper?

Bullet carried a huge black silverornamented saddle of Mexican make, a lariat and canteen, and a small

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 travelstained. 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 downbut that was too common a thing to attract notice in the

Big Bend. A close observer, however, would have noted a singular factthis rider's right hand was more

bronzed, more weatherbeaten than his left. He never wore a glove on that right hand!

He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide, highboarded 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 hitchingrail, 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

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,

Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mustache, leisurely detached himself from the crowd.

The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and nodded. Then: "I'm thirsty!"

That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting. One and all trooped after the stranger into

the hotel. It was a dark, illsmelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head. A bartender

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

"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

"My name might be Blazes, but it ain't," he replied. "What do you call this burg?"

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

"Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it? Funny trails hereabouts."

"I reckon I was goin' as far as I could," replied the stranger, with a hard laugh.

His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked

his drooping mustache, seemed thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny.

"Wal, Ord's the jumpin'off place," he said, presently. "Sure you've heerd of the Big Bend country?"

Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. "Knell, come in heah."

This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than a boy, almost pale beside those

"Knell, this heah's" Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. "What'd you call yourself?"

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

Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher relinquished his part in the situation, that a

"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

There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and drew himself up disdainfully.

"Wal, considerin' youall seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down here in this Big Bend country, I don't

"Ahuh! Thet so?" Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room. "You're from way down the river. Thet's what

With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving Knell and the stranger in the center.

Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's nerve. Knell had cut out with the trenchant

call, and stood ready. The stranger suddenly lost his every semblance to the rough and easy character before

manifest in him. He became bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him. His eyes held a singular piercing

"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 fourflushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you arego ahead

an' open the ball.... You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till they go fer theirs."

Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the least. Yet somehow it was evident in his

look that here was metal which rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight or

withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner characteristic of only the genuine gunman.

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.

"Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up againan' if you can't be friendly, be careful!"

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 landhunter; 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 himoutlawshe 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 neverdisturbed paradise of

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

purposehe was safer, and the habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to

Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hardearned 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 outlawsbut 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 hydrahead in new

guise. But of that he could not be sure. He dreaded the thought. He could only wait.

Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither passionate nor driving, yet not improbably even more potent

of new significance to life, was the imperceptible return of an old love of nature dead during his outlaw days.

For years a horse had been only a machine of locomotion, to carry him from place to place, to beat and spur

and goad mercilessly in flight; now this giant black, with his splendid head, was a companion, a friend, a

brother, a loved thing, guarded jealously, fed and trained and ridden with an intense appreciation of his great

speed and endurance. For years the daytime, with its birth of sunrise on through long hours to the ruddy

close, had been used for sleep or rest in some rocky hole or willow brake or deserted hut, had been hated

because it augmented danger of pursuit, because it drove the fugitive to lonely, wretched hiding; now the

dawn was a greeting, a promise of another day to ride, to plan, to remember, and sun, wind, cloud, rain,

skyall 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 cateyes through gloom for the

moving shape that ever pursued him; now the twilight and the dusk and the shadows of grove and canon

darkened into night with its train of stars, and brought him calm reflection of the day's happenings, of the

morrow's possibilities, perhaps a sad, brief procession of the old phantoms, then sleep. For years canons and

valleys and mountains had been looked at as retreats that might be dark and wild enough to hide even an

outlaw; now he saw these features of the great desert with something of the eyes of the boy who had once

This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against the goldenred of clear sky the bold,

black head of Mount Ord reared itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder that Duane

gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canon was

hidden the secret stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane

had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, his widely separated raids, of his flitting

here and there like a Jacko'lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his appearance.

Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north, riding down a rough, slowdescending

road that appeared to have been used occasionally for cattledriving. 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

The rough, wild, brushcovered 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

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, dancehalls, gamblingresorts 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 lodginghouse 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 quickshooting

The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long blackcoated and widesombreroed Texan who

reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable

leaning toward companionship and mintjuleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel Webb, of

Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no comment about himself.

"Sir, it's all one to me," he said, blandly, waving his hand. "I have traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is

one where it's healthier and just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion. You might be

Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El Pasoit's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with

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

"Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave," said Colonel Webb. "And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher

"Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here," replied Duane, trying not to appear curious.

"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."

"I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of men, sir, and the salvation of Texas."

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,

wellinformed, 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

"I'm a stranger in these parts," said Duane, finally. "What is this outlaw situation you speak of?"

"It's damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rustling any more, but just wholesale herdstealing, 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 bunchesthat'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 stockroad 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

Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his penetrating gaze upon Duane and

"Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct accusation another. This is not a healthy

When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk freely. Duane could not judge

whether the Colonel had a hobby of that subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that

any man would know all about them. The great name along the river was Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a

name detached from an individual. No person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine,

and those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in descriptions of the chief that they confused

the reality and lent to the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as there was no one

w;ho could identify him, so there was no one who could prove he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed

like water over the Big Bend country, and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact remained there were

no eyewitnesses to connect any individual called Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in striking

contrast to this mystery was the person, character, and coldblooded 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 horsehis cold, implacable, inhuman wiping out of his path any man that crossed it.

"Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name," said Colonel Webb. "Sometimes I wonder if he's not only a name. In

that case where does the brains of this gang come from? No; there must be a master craftsman behind this

border pillage; a master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and Knell. Of all the thousands of outlaws

developed by western Texas in the last twenty years these three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down

between the Pecos and the Nueces, there have been and are still many bad men. But I doubt if any outlaw

there, possibly excepting Buck Duane, ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?"

"Yes, a little," replied Duane, quietly. "I'm from southern Texas. Buck Duane then is known out here?"

"Why, man, where isn't his name known?" returned Colonel Webb. "I've kept track of his record as I have all

the others. Of course, Duane, being a lone outlaw, is somewhat of a mystery also, but not like Cheseldine.

Out here there have drifted many stories of Duane, horrible some of them. But despite them a sort of romance

clings to that Nueces outlaw. He's killed three great outlaw leaders, I believeBland, Hardin, and the other I

forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, had friends there. Bland had a hard name at Del Rio."

"Then this man Duane enjoys rather an unusual repute west of the Pecos?" inquired Duane.

"He's considered more of an enemy to his kind than to honest men. I understand Duane had many friends,

that whole counties swear by himsecretly, of course, for he's a hunted outlaw with rewards on his head.

His fame in this country appears to hang on his matchless gunplay and his enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I've

heard many a rancher say: 'I wish to God that Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred pesos to

see him and Poggin meet.' It's a singular thing, stranger, how jealous these great outlaws are of each other."

"Yes, indeed, all about them is singular," replied Duane. "Has Cheseldine's gang been busy lately?"

"No. This section has been free of rustling for months, though there's unexplained movements of stock.

Probably all the stock that's being shipped now was rustled long ago. Cheseldine works over a wide section,

too wide for news to travel inside of weeks. Then sometimes he's not heard of at all for a spell. These lulls are

pretty surely indicative of a big storm sooner or later. And Cheseldine's deals, as they grow fewer and farther

between, certainly get bigger, more daring. There are some people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do

with the bankrobberies and trainholdups 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

"What's your view of the outlook? How's all this going to wind up? Will the outlaw ever be driven out?"

"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

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 sleuthhound tendency in his nature, but now he felt something

like one. Above all others his mind fixed on PogginPoggin 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

stateto break up Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange grim and deadly

instinctwhich 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

Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated two days' ride from Bradford toward the north. There was a

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

It was just sunset when he made out a cluster of adobe houses that marked the halfway point between

Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for wayfarers.

When he drew up before the inn the landlord and his family and a number of loungers greeted him

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 mudbespattered 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, strikinglooking 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

Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper would soon be ready. At table he found himself opposite the

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, olivetinted 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 jetall 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

After supper the guests assembled in a big sittingroom 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 darkfaced 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

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, dimlighted barroom. 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

"No thanks, I don't drink," Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny with interest. "How's tricks in the Big

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

"Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both corners today," he replied, and he put both hands on the bar

and looked at Duane. "They nooned heah, comin' from Bradford, they said, an' trailed in after the stage."

When Duane returned to the sittingroom 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.

"Excuse me," said Duane, addressing them. "I want to tell you there are a couple of roughlooking men here.

I've just seen them. They mean evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doorsbar your windows

"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 dangerhere?"

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

The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade in the barroom 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

His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who stood there frightened, speechless.

"Git a move on, Bill," called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance backward. A stamp of hoofs came from

outside. Of course the robbers had horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with brutal,

careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to search them. The robber in the doorway

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

"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.

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

"Don't dare touch me!" she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She had nerve.

It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had been a science with him. But here it

was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted, and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped

Duane, yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man made at her. Then his rough hand

caught her waist, and with one pull ripped it asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.

She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not shaken Miss Longstreth's nerve as had this

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.

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

Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and he could not tell on the instant whether

it hit the robber or went into the ceiling. Then the robber's gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood

spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small bullet had glanced.

Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported her. It was only a few steps to a

couch, to which he half led, half carried her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through the bar

to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled horse, probably the one belonging to

the fellow he had shot. His comrade had escaped. Returning to the sittingroom, Duane found a condition

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 stagedriver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The

woman, wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The girls were still and white. The

robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and Duane guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the

thing that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth's rage. He never saw such passion. Like a caged lion

Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:

"Man, what're you ravin' aboot? Nobody's hurt, an' thet's lucky. I swear to God I hadn't nothin' to do with

"I ought to kill you anyhow!" replied Longstreth. And his voice now astounded Duane, it was so full of

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

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

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 womenfolk, seemed to be gentle and kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the

"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 thickskulled robber," he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he went out.

Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the other she extended to Duane. He took

"I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd

"My intention was bad enough," Duane went on. "It was a ticklish place for me. You see, he was half drunk,

"Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of nothingwatching for nothing except a

"Cousin," said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, "it was fortunate for us that this gentleman happened to be

here. Papa scoutslaughs at danger. He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came."

"Go with us all the way to Fairdaleplease?" asked Miss Ruth, sweetly offering her hand. "I am Ruth

"I'm traveling that way," replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not know how to meet the situation.

Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night, which seemed rather curt by contrast

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

"I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame fer that twobit of a holdup!"

"What did you make of the old gent's rage?" asked Duane, watching the innkeeper. He scratched his head

"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

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

conclusionhis 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 thoughtdisturber, but Duane put it

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

"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 agoFloyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughterand my

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

He was under thirty, yet gray at his templesdark, smoothshaven, with lines left by wildness, dissipation,

shadows under dark eyes, a mouth strong and bitter, and a square china 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

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

Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a wide, hardpacked 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 mesquitepatched sweep of ridge and flat. The driver pushed his team to a fast trot,

The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the horses could be watered, the second at a

chuckwagon 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

Early in the afternoon from a ridgetop 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

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, flatroofed 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

Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the town with mingled feelings of curiosity,

eagerness, and expectation. The street he rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was a

solid row of saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched all along the sidewalk in two long lines,

with a buckboard and team here and there breaking the continuity. This block was busy and noisy.

From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other frontier towns, and Duane's expectations

were scarcely realized. As the afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his horse.

Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject most in mind.

"Reckon he has," replied the lad. "Doan know how many cowboys. They're always comin' and goin'. I ain't

"Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who were arrested."

"Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins they belong heah, but they ain't heah much.

Duane did not want to appear overinquisitive, so he turned the talk into other channels.

After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When darkness set in he went into a hotel,

bought cigars, sat around, and watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of rough

crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming

and goinga dustybooted 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 floorspace 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 cardplaying 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

Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were conversing inside, and they had not

"Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No cattleman, him. How'd you size him?"

"Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a man for yearsto kill him when he

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

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 herhow strangely the meeting with her had

affected him. It made him remember that longpast 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

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 daysthat he was now broken, bitter, and hard.

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 cattlebuyer on a large scale. Floyd

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 roughlooking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside Laramie

was lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to be dangerously hurt.

"Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cashdrawer," said Laramie, laboring to his feet.

"I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before without that."

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,

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 actionone of anger, and the other a desire to make a

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,

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

Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars that supported the porch roof; at sight of Duane his face

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

Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable effect upon Duane. He was plunged into confusion. For the

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 darkeyed girl made him

"Search my house!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth; and red succeeded the white in her cheeks. She appeared

"A manBo Sneckerassaulted and robbed Jim Laramie," replied Duane, hurriedly. "I chased Snecker

"Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We have seen no one. In the absence of my father I'm mistress here.

"Ray, don't be bothered now," he said, to his cousin. "This fellow's making a bluff. I'll settle him. See here,

"Bah! That's all a bluff," sneered Lawson. "I'm on to your game. You just wanted an excuse to break in

hereto see my cousin again. When you saw the company you invented that excuse. Now, be off, or it'll be

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

"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 herein your father's house. He's hidden somewhere. May

"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 meinsult me. Some day you may be sorry."

"All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I'll take a couple of cowboys and go with thisthis Texas Ranger."

"Thanks," said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. "Perhaps you'll be able to find Snecker quicker than I

"What do you mean?" demanded Lawson, and now he grew livid. Evidently he was a man of fierce quick

"Don't quarrel," said Miss Longstreth. "Floyd, you go with him. Please hurry. I'll be nervous tillthe man's

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

He came forth into the flarea tall, slim, darkfaced 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

"Ranger, what'll you do with him?" Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now the capture was made.

"I'll see to that," replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him out into the court.

Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking Snecker before Mayor Longstreth in the court.

When Duane arrived at the hall where court was held there were other men there, a dozen or more, and all

seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on a platform. Near

him sat a thickset grizzled man, with deep eyes, and this was Hanford Owens, county judge. To the right

stood a tall, angular, yellowfaced fellow with a drooping sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a

huge silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Longstreth's sheriffs. There were four other men whom Duane

knew by sight, several whose faces were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.

Longstreth pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was unable at once to quell the

excitement. Gradually, however, it subsided, and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored

"Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?" interrogated Duane. His voice was clear and loud,

"Yes," replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his intense interest.

"I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robberyif not murder. He's had a shady past here,

"What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself," said Longstreth, gruffly.

Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had shuffled forward a few steps toward the

"It ain't so, Longstreth," he began, loudly. "I went in Laramie's place fer grub. Some feller I never seen before

come in from the hall an' hit Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger chased

me an' fetched me here. 1 didn't do nothin'. This ranger's hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch,

Longstreth said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy nodded his great bushy head.

"Bo, you're discharged," said Longstreth, bluntly. "Now the rest of you clear out of here."

He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his rebuff to Duanehis 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 assurancethese 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

Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that broke the spell of silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the

"Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie," said Duane, his voice still ringing. "What has the court to say to

"The court has this to say. West of the Pecos we'll not aid any ranger service. We don't want you out here.

"That's a lie, Longstreth," retorted Duane. "I've letters from Fairdale citizens all begging for ranger service."

Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared about to burst into rage. He was at a

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.

"I don't need warrants to make arrests. Longstreth, you're ignorant of the power of Texas Rangers."

That passionate reply of Longstreth's was the signal Duane had been waiting for. He had helped on the crisis.

"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 AdjutantGeneral at Austin.

"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 plainyours 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 officeinnumerable streetfights 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 courtsuits over waterrights, 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

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

"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

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 illconcealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot trait,

and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely that Cheseldine might be at the other end.

Duane controlled a mounting eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of Ray

Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended. He might, very probably would, bring

sorrow and shame to this young woman. The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him, and

then he was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the disgrace he might bring upon her. Some

strange emotion, long locked inside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was troubled.

Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the worse for his injury.

"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.

"I ain't accusin' Bo," remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane thoughtful.

"Well, I accuse him. I caught himtook him to Longstreth's court. But they let him go."

"See here, Laramie," went on Duane, "in some parts of Texas it's policy to be closemouthed. Policy and

healthpreserving! Between ourselves, I want you to know I lean on your side of the fence."

Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his gaze. He had startled Laramie out of

his habitual set taciturnity; but even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out of

his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough. Like a bloodhound he had a scent.

"Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish today. It's that bump on your head. Who

"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 soreha, ha!

"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

"Talk's cheap," replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red was deeper in his face.

"Sure. I know that," Duane said. "And usually I don't talk. Then it's not well known that Longstreth owns the

"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs

"That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that we don't have lots of crooked

farodealers. A fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, backhanded, never looks you in the eyes.

"Thanks," replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. "Didn't you hear I used to run it?"

"Well, I'll be doggoned." It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came a

Laramie was bursting for relief nowto talk, to tell. Sympathy had made him soft.

"It was two years agotwo years last March," he went on. "I was in a big cattle deal with Longstreth. We got

the stockan' my share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come

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 fearthese Duane thought best to try to learn at some later time.

"Hard luck! It certainly was tough," Duane said. "But you're a good loser. And the wheel turns! Now,

Laramie, here's what. I need your advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest some.

Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I want you to steer me on is a good square

rancher. Or maybe a couple of ranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with

ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is full of them. Now, Laramie, you've been

"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 medon't

"Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker 'n he can say Jack Robinson. The

pioneers, the new cattlementhese 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

"Hello, Morton," replied Laramie. "I'd introduce you to my guest here, but I don't know his name."

"Say, Morton," put in Duane, "Laramie gave me a hunch you'd be a good man to tie to. Now, I've a little

"I'm on the square," Duane said, bluntly. "If you fellows never size up your neighbors any better than you

It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnant with meaning. Morton showed his

"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

"Wal, stranger, to come out flatfooted, 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

twentyfive hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them,

"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton," replied Duane, with impatience. "You see, I haven't ever lived

Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused smile, then snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive

"Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work,

"They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a single steer left," he declared.

"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one of the rustlers""

Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of his whip. His anger flashed by then,

evidently as unworthy of him, and, something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.

"It's not so funny," Duane went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellow streak, what else will I think?"

"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 shadowsafraid to be out after darkafraid to open their mouths. But you're not one.

So I say if you claim these rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just to help the popular idea

along. For they CAN"T last. What you need out here is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"

"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over him. "Stranger, I'll look you up the next

He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze fixed again on Duane.

"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men. Now, who in the hell are you?"

Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned the lining out. A starshaped bright silver

"RANGER!" he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "You sure rung true to me."

"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers hereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was

characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. His voicesomething deep, easy, cool about himseemed

"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

"Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are associated with this gang here?"

"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us ever seen Cheseldinean' thet's

strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No,

Poggin doesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're around all over west of the Pecos."

"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do menapparently honest menseem to be so

"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost cattle an' property in Fairdalelost them honestly

or otherwise, as hasn't been proved. An' in some cases when they talkedhinted a littlethey was found

dead. Apparently held up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk! Thet's why we're close mouthed."

Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not intolerable. Western Texas had gone on

prospering, growing in spite of the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret, murderous

hold on a little struggling community was something too strange, too terrible for men to stand long.

The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and

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

"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come fooling round the ranch again there'll be

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 hotheaded

Louisianian of French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in anything, and who was

strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the face of a situation like this made him simply a fool.

"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you,

"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his voice sharp and cold.

"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty bloodtracker 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

"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

Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's working passionblackened face.

Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward. His long arm swept up. And

Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a halfsitting posture against the wall.

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.

"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you. Kickin' men like him won't do out here."

"That bullheaded fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've

"That may be truewhoever you arebut 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

"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

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

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.

"Something's happened surely, Ruth," he heard Miss Longstreth say, anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall

"Cousin Floyd looked like a thundercloud," said Ruth. "For once he didn't try to kiss me. Something's

"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life miserable for me. And he teases you

"I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon," declared Ruth, emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."

"I don't care," replied Ruth, stubbornly. "it's so. He's mushy. And when he's been drinking and tries to kiss

"Floyd, what's the matter?" asked Ray, presently. "I never saw papa as he is tonight, nor you soso

"Well, Ray, we had a jar today," replied Lawson, with a blunt, expressive laugh.

"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 youall about it." He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that

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

"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 restaurantkeeper 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 orhe 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

"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 gunfighters 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 coldnerved devilthe born gunman. My God, any instant I expected to see

"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!

"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 byby an adventurer."

"Yes, he can be injured," replied Floyd, quickly. "The frontier is a queer place. There are many bitter men

heremen who have failed at ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger has

Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hardlooking customers, new to Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to

create a charged and waiting atmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.

Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by rowdies carousing in the streets.

Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertain the opinion that the first time he

walked downstreet 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, mysteriousall 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 holdingup of one of them. Nevertheless, he

was sure such an event would discover Lawson, or some one in that house, to be in touch with crooked men.

Laramie was right. Not twentyfour 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 bullethole 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

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

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 menwildest rumor of all. lt was actually said of him he had the gunskill of Buck

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 keeneyed ranger. At the tables, at the bars and

loungingplaces 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 fustan' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be found

When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honest stayathome citizens to array

them in time against the other element, then Fairdale showed its wolfteeth. 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 cardtables, 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

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 goingson among the habitues of the resorts and the cowboys

who came in to drink and gamble were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull,

however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so long.

Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoon while he was there he saw Miss

Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the door. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie's

trouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining room rather than meet them.

The little room was not very light, there being only one window and the doors, but Duane could see plainly

enough. Mrs. Laramie lay, hollowchecked 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,

Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs. Laramie was going to regard the

"So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?" queried the woman, with her bright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.

"Yes," replied Miss Longstreth, simply. "This is my cousin, Ruth Herbert. We've come to nurse you, take

"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 canif I ought accept anything from you.

"Yes, I know," replied the girl, sadly. "That's all the more reason you should let me help you. Pray don't

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

The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, actionand these the girls furnished with a spirit that did

"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

"Oh! So you've had no help but his," replied Miss Longstreth, hastily. "No women. Too bad! I'll send some

"It'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "You see, Jim had few friendsthat is, right in town. And

"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?"

"Why, it's on hind side before," declared Ruth. "I guess Mr. Ranger hasn't dressed many babies."

"He did the best he could," said Mrs. Laramie. "Lord only knows what would have become of us!"

"Then he isis something more than a ranger?" queried Miss Longstreth, with a little break in her voice.

"He's more than I can tell," replied Mrs. Laramie. "He buried Jim. He paid our debts. He fetched us here. He

bought food for us. He cooked for us and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first

two nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's so kind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me

up just by being near. Sometimes I'd wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know how false were all

these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first. Why, he plays with the children justjust 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 mehe sees the good in things. Once he said somebody had to be a

"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 youfriends would come? So will the

"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

"Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss Longstreth. "I shall see you are well cared for. I

"Miss Longstreth, that's fine!" exclaimed Duane. "It's what I'd haveexpected of you."

It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face burned out in a beautiful blush.

"And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come," added Duane. "Let me thank you both. I'm glad I have

you girls as allies in part of my lonely task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little

ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's risk. And now I'll be going. Goodby, Mrs.

"Mr. Ranger, wait!" called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was white and wonderful. She stepped out of

"I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I seeI wronged you."

"You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of wronging me. I have been aa

gunman, I am a ranger and much said of me is true. My duty is hard on otherssometimes on those who

"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no other sound like her voice. "Will you take my

She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast. Duane took the proffered hand. He did

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

"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 fearI fearOh, surely I'll need a friend soonsoon.

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

It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun to suspectthat 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.

"Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He liedhe 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 ififWill you help me?"

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 wellknown 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

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

This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the back and larger part. There was a

narrow passage between the houses, leading from the outside through to the patio.

This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, and he decided to avail himself of it in spite of the very

great danger. Crawling on very stealthily, he got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage. In the

blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of a crack in the wall. He had to slip in sidewise. It was a

tight squeeze, but he entered without the slightest noise. As he progressed the passage grew a very little wider

in that direction, and that fact gave rise to the thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit he would do

best by working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in reaching a vantagepoint.

When he did get there the crack he had marked was a foot over his head. There was nothing to do but find

toeholes 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

"But suppose I don't choose to talk here?" protested Longstreth, impatiently. "I never before made my house

"We've waited long enough. This place's as good as any. You've lost your nerve since that ranger hit the

"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?"

"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 soninlaw, 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

"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

"Well, we can settle what Ray's concerned in, right now," replied Longstreth, rising. "Come on; we'll ask her.

They went out, leaving the door open. Duane dropped down to rest himself and to wait. He would have liked

to hear Miss Longstreth's answer. But he could guess what it would be. Lawson appeared to be all Duane had

thought him, and he believed he was going to find out presently that he was worse.

The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have been occasioned by Duane's

thrilling interest and anxiety. Finally he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He was leadenfaced,

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

"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

"You know the hold I got on youthe deal that made you boss of this rustler gang?"

"I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her believe I'd tell it broadcasttell this rangerunless she'd marry

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.

"But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know I'm a rustler, a thief, a redhanded ruler of

Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred to him. But he was not long at a loss.

"She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now there's something wrong out here. She's

"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

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

"Longstreth, that may well be true," he said. "No doubt all you say is true. But it doesn't help me. I want the

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

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 enteringwedge of dissension.

"You're too impatient," concluded Longstreth. "You'll ruin any chance of happiness if you rush Ray. She

might be won. If you told her who I am she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd

hate you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her. Cut out your drinking. She despises

that. Let's plan to sell out herestock, ranch, propertyand leave the country. Then you'd have a show with

"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 mean doublecross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them here to face whatever comes?"

"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

"Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had cold feet, and especially since this

"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 itbefore I knew itwe had

shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!"

"I reckon we've all said that. None of the gang wants to quit. They all think, and I think, we can't be touched.

"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

Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince this man. Talking had not increased

his calmness, and he now showed more than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes.

"Your stock and property will last a long timedo you lots of good when this ranger"

"Bah!" hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger's name was a match applied to powder. "Haven't I told you he'd

"Yes, you mentioned thethe supposition," replied Longstreth, sarcastically. "I inquired, too, just how that

"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

"Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if he did drop some of them," declared Lawson;

"To tell you the truth, I wouldn't," returned the other, bluntly. "I'm pretty sick of this mess."

Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions were all out of proportion to his intelligence. He was not at all

"If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do," replied Longstreth, quickly. He stood up then,

cool and quiet, with flash of eyes and set of lips that told Duane he was dangerous.

"Well, after all, that's neither here nor there," went on Lawson, unconsciously cowed by the other. "The thing

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

Five masked men entered. They all wore coats hiding any weapons. A big man with burly shoulders shook

The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been a nonentity for all he counted.

Longstreth was another mana 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

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

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

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.

That was the signal for Duane to drop down from his perch, yet despite his care he made a noise.

No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe wall fell with a thud. Duane heard it crack, felt it shake.

Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. Duane began to squeeze his body through the narrow

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

A low cry greeted Duane. The room was light. He saw Ray Longstreth sitting on her bed in her

dressinggown. 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,

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

"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

"Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get awayto save my life. I was pursued. I was

spying onon your father and his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They don't know who was

Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing. quickening windows of thought.

Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire and intelligence of a woman in her eyes.

Briefly Duane told her what had happened before he entered her room, not omitting a terse word as to the

"My God! So it's that? I knew something was terribly wrong herewith himwith the placethe people.

And right off I hated Floyd Lawson. Oh, it'll kill me ififIt's so much worse than I dreamed. What shall I

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.

"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

"I oughtn't to stay. I don't want toI won't," Duane replied, perplexed and stubborn.

"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. Thenthe fact of my being here"

Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the door. White of face and dark of eye,

she took hold of him to detain him. She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been

either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make Duane weak.

"Up yet, Ray?" came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to be natural.

"No. I'm in bed reading. Good night," instantly replied Miss Longstreth, so calmly and naturally that Duane

marveled at the difference between man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He

The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half entered, haggard, flamingeyed. Behind

Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as well as distrust. He wanted to see

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

Presently he pushed open the closet door and stepped forth. Miss Longstreth had her head lowered upon her

"II couldn't thank you enough. It's been hard on methis finding outand you his daughter. I feel

strange. I don't understand myself well. But I want you to knowif I were not an outlawa rangerI'd lay

"All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the trouble my coming caused you."

"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 tonight I had strong suspicions aroused."

"I overheard Floyd say that men were coming tonight to arrange a meeting for my father at a rendezvous

"I gathered so much myself," she replied, miserably. "But Longstreth is father's real name."

Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the girl's part in this tragedy that weakened him. The

instant she betrayed the secret Duane realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion was like a great

"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 youwreck your lifer Why, Miss Longstreth, I

believe II love you. It's all come in a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How fatalterriblethis is! How

Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to the court.

When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind, his relief equaled his other feelings.

The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as soon as he got clear of the ranch to

lose something of the pain he felt. But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his

throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray Longstreth. What a woman she had

turned out to be! He seemed to have a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he

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 righthand men! Duane experienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of

Poggin more than thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over this emotion.

Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale for a while. But the hours and the

miles in no wise changed the new pain in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let

He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at Bradford.

The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and express train going east, was held up by

trainrobbers, the WellsFargo messenger killed over his safe, the mailclerk 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,

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 longhunted 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

Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher stood wiping his beard. He was hatless, vestless, and

"Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him from any chance tourists as might happen to ride up

"Wal, if them tourists ain't too durned snooky the hoss'll be safe in the 'dobe shack back of Bill's here. Feed

Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his welfare, and left him there. Upon returning to the

tavern porch Duane saw the group of men had been added to by others, some of whom he had seen before.

Without comment Duane walked along the edge of the road, and wherever one of the tracks of his horse

showed he carefully obliterated it. This procedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.

"Wal, Dodge," remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, "thet's safer 'n prayin' fer rain."

Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the effect that a long, slow, monotonous ride was

conducive to thirst. They all joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell was not there, and most assuredly

not Poggin. Fletcher was no common outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it probably lay in execution of orders.

Apparently at that time these men had nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern. Evidently they

were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed they could borrow a peso occasionally from the

bartender. Duane set out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was cardplaying 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

From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged that word and the ensuing action was rare in Ord.

"What the hell!" muttered Fletcher, as he gazed down the road at a dark, compact bunch of horses and riders.

"Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord! We're gettin' popular like them camps out of Valentine. Wish Phil was

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 cleancut, leanlimbed

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.

At his short, dry response and the way he strode leisurely out before the posse Duane found himself

"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.

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

"Didn't I tell ye this was a wildgoose chase, comin' way out here?" protested an old hawkfaced rancher.

"Them hoss tracks we follored ain't like any of them we seen at the watertank where the train was held up."

"Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hellbent fer election! But it's a wrong lead out

this way. If you're right this roadagent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through town. An'

with them mailbags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some greasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin'

"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 cardoor an' did the killin'he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it."

Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old cattleman. Finally the young leader

"Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of

"Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk," he said. The menace was in the tone, not the content of

Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the posse out of sight.

"Luck fer youall 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 barroom. When he looked into Duane's

"Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal, seein' I staved off Guthrie."

Duane played his part. Here was his a tiger after prey he seized it. First he coolly eyed the outlaw and then

disclaimed any knowledge whatever of the trainrobbery 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 willpower

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

Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse and make for camp out in the brush,

"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

"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

Duane laughed. "I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure, he's the kingpin rustler. When he

seen me an' asked me what reason I had for bein' on earth or some such likewhy, I up an' told him."

All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white. "CheseldineLongstreth!" 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!

"You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty

lonely for years, an' I'm gettin' in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana."

The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he returned to the tavern, watched him ride

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

He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail and road from a ridge, he returned to

Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not expected to see

Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.

That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently well known and liked by his fellows,

and Duane beard him say, before he could possibly have been told the trainrobber 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

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

"Five hundred!" he exclaimed. "Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you, considerin' the job wasn't"

"Considerin' nothin'," interrupted Duane. "I'm makin' no reference to a job here or there. You did me a good

turn. I split my pile. If thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this country."

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;

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 hidingplace was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,

highwalled 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 bankrobbery; but

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, stockbuyer, cattlespeculator, propertyholder, 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 redhanded Poggin, if that coldeyed, deadfaced 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.

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

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, darkfaced, hardriding 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

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.

Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher walked his horse, with Duane beside

"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."

"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

"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 tonight. If you don't see it thet night you hit the trail. I'll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks to his pals.

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 righthand 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 hidingplaces, 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 againtried in vain to revolt from a judgment

Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up Cheseldine in his mountain retreat? The thought no sooner

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 grassgrown 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, brushcovered foothills, through arroyos and gullies lined with mesquite,

In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, and as he climbed he got a view of the rolling,

blackspotted country, partly desert, partly fertile, with long, bright lines of dry streambeds winding away

to grow dim in the distance. He got among broken rocks and cliffs, and here the open, downwardrolling

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 halfway up the mountain. He

halted at a little sidecanon with grass and water, and here he made camp. The night was clear and cool at

that height, with a darkblue 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 hidingplace, he felt the pressing return of old haunting thingsthe

past so long ago, wild flights, dead facesand the places of these were taken by one quiveringly alive, white,

In the morning, satisfied that he had left still fewer tracks than he had followed up this trail, he led his horse

up to the head of the canon, there a narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of cedar fenced him in.

Without the horse he made better time and climbed through deep clefts, wide canons, over ridges, up shelving

slopes, along precipicesa long, hard climbtill 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

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

Duane worked halfway 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

Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The cabin appeared to be a crude structure. Though large in size, it

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

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

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 wideroving 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

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

cookingutensils. He smelled fragrant woodsmoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light. Evidently

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 seenif only there was no watchdog! But all his outlaw days he had taken

risks with only his useless life at stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an Indian.

He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their shadows, for at few paces' distance he had

been able to see only their tops. From there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with his hands.

He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He saw a room shrouded in shadows, a

lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the fire.

Voices came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther alongall 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 woodpile, all the cover he needed at that corner. He did not

Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing close to it Duane paused a moment.

This excitement was different from that he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no

dread. There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the same. Then he looked.

He saw a bright fire, a redfaced 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,

"It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one right over the mountain," one outlaw was

"What's eatin' you, Panhandle?" ejaculated another. "Blossom an' me rode from Faraway Springs, where

"Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn't see you come in, an' Boldt never said nothin'."

"It took you a long time to get here, but I guess that's just as well," spoke up a smooth, suave voice with a

Here they wereCheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldthow well Duane

remembered the names!all here, the big men of Cheseldine's gang, except the biggestPoggin. 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 lessstrained position he peered forth

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 leanlimbed messenger who

had so angered Fletcher. Boldt was a giant in stature, dark, bearded, silent. Panhandle Smith was the

redfaced cook, merry, profane, a short, bowlegged 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

Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the cabin, and cheerfully called out: "If you gents air hungry fer

The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and clatter as they sat to their meal. Like hungry men, they

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

Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. His heart pounded. Longstreth entered, turned up the light,

"Here, you fellows, go outside and smoke," he said. "Knell, come on in now. Let's get it over."

He returned, sat down, and lighted a cigar for himself. He put his booted feet on the table.

Duane saw that the room was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished. There must have been a good trail, he

thought, else how could all that stuff have been packed in there. Most assuredly it could not have come over

the trail he had traveled. Presently he heard the men go outside, and their voices became indistinct. Then

Knell came in and seated himself without any of his chief's ease. He seemed preoccupied and, as always,

"Aw, he needn't have got sore. He's breakin' a new hoss over at Faraway, an you know him where a hoss 's

"Well, it begins back a ways. I don't know how long ago weeksa stranger rode into Ord an' got down

easylike as if he owned the place. He seemed familiar to me. But I wasn't sure. We looked him over, an' I

"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

"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, Jimhe up an' takes

this stranger to be the fly roadagent 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."

"Damn you, Knell! You're incorrigible. You're unreliable. Another break like that queers you with me. Did

"Yes. That's one reason we fell out. He raved. I thought he was goin' to kill me."

"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 wrongthat's why. I was born of good parents, an' I know what's right. We're wrong, an'

we can't beat the end, that's all. An' for my part I don't care a damn when that comes."

"Fine wise talk from you, Knell," said Longstreth, scornfully. "Go on with your story."

"As I said, Jim cottons to the pretender, an' they get chummy. They're together all the time. You can gamble

Jim told all he knew an' then some. A little liquor loosens his tongue. Several of the boys rode over from Ord,

an' one of them went to Poggin an' says Jim Fletcher has a new man for the gang. Poggin, you know, is

always ready for any new man. He says if one doesn't turn out good he can be shut off easy. He rather liked

the way this new part of Jim's was boosted. Jim an' Poggin always hit it up together. So until I got on the deal

Jim's pard was already in the gang, without Poggin or you ever seein' him. Then I got to figurin' hard. Just

where had I ever seen that chap? As it turned out, I never had seen him, which accounts for my bein'

doubtful. I'd never forget any man I'd seen. I dug up a lot of old papers from my kit an' went over them.

Letters, pictures, clippin's, an' all that. I guess I had a pretty good notion what I was lookin' for an' who I

wanted to make sure of. At last I found it. An' I knew my man. But I didn't spring it on Poggin. Oh no! I want

to have some fun with him when the time comes. He'll be wilder than a trapped wolf. I sent Blossom over to

Ord to get word from Jim, an' when he verified all this talk I sent Blossom again with a message calculated to

make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said he'd wait for Jim, an' I could come over here to see you about the new

Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then with passion. His pale eyes glinted like fire in ice, and

"That Nueces outlaw? That twoshot aceofspades gunthrower who killed Bland, Alloway?"

"An' Hardin." Knell whispered this last name with more feeling than the apparent circumstance demanded.

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," began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, "I gathered you have some grudge against this Buck

"Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men woulddon't meet this Buck

"Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. He'll get Poggin, and they'll fix even Buck Duane."

"Don't run into him!" Longstreth's voice fairly rang with the force of its passion and command. He wiped his

face, drank again from the flask, sat down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper from his vest pocket

"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 twentyfifth 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 twentythird, ride across country by the trail till you get within sight of Mercer. It's a hundred miles

from Bradford to Val Verdeabout the same from Ord. Time your travel to get you near Val Verde on the

morning of the twentysixth. 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?"

"The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I say againlook 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

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 twentyfifth. 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 halfwon 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

Under the wall the shadows were black, only the tips of trees and crags showing, yet he went straight to the

trail. It was merely a grayness between borders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It did not seem steep.

His feet might have had eyes. He surmounted the wall, and, looking down into the ebony gulf pierced by one

point of light, he lifted a menacing arm and shook it. Then he strode on and did not falter till he reached the

huge shelving cliffs. Here he lost the trail; there was none; but he remembered the shapes, the points, the

notches of rock above. Before he reached the ruins of splintered ramparts and jumbles of broken walls the

moon topped the eastern slope of the mountain, and the mystifying blackness he had dreaded changed to

magic silver light. It seemed as light as day, only soft, mellow, and the air held a transparent sheen. He ran up

the bare ridges and down the smooth slopes, and, like a goat, jumped from rock to rock. In this light he knew

his way and lost no time looking for a trail. He crossed the divide and then had all downhill before him.

Swiftly he descended, almost always sure of his memory of the landmarks. He did not remember having

studied them in the ascent, yet here they were, even in changed light, familiar to his sight. What he had once

seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as a deer striking for home, he reached the canon where he had left

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 stonethese 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,

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 lifewhich meant victory, honor, happiness. Duane knew he was

not just right in part of his mind. Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward,

his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true course never before even in flight so

keen and acute. Yet all the time a spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had left

her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with the trap to spring, with success strangely

haunting him, Duane could not dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and the

dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and toil were nothing.

The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to the other side of him. The stars

dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks, with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short

work of the long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down to Ord. The little outlaw camp,

with its shacks and cabins and row of houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on

the lower trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He watched the dying moon, the waning stars,

and the east. He had time to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous about the

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

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

With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message he had carefully composed.

Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse a couple miles back on the road and

then rested him till break of day. The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.

When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord he saw a bunch of saddled horses

hitched in front of the tavern. He knew what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he

could ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make his power felt. An open conflict

against odds lay in the balance. That would be fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a

presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities held them. He knew what to

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

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.

There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table upon which were papers, stacks of

"Are you gents lookin' for me?" asked Duane. He gave his voice all the ringing force and power of which he

was capable. And he stepped back, free of anything, with the outlaws all before him.

Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other outlaws looked from him to Duane.

"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.

"Hold on, Dodge, an' youall, everybody," said Fletcher. "Let me talk, seein' I'm in wrong here."

Fletcher turned to Duane. "Pard, I'm takin' it on myself thet you meet enemies here when I swore you'd meet

"But what'd you come fer without the signal?" burst out Fletcher, in distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe

Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a rude dignity.

"Poggy, he's my pard, an' he's riled. I never told him a word thet'd make him sore. I only said Knell hadn't no

more use fer him than fer me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life. Here's my

pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? There's goin' to be hell if you don't. An' us with a big job on

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

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 coldtongued 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

"Jim, I ante up," he said, "an' if Phil doesn't raise us out with a big handwhy, he'll get called, an' your pard

Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one hearing that laugh would have

realized his intense anger equally with an assurance which made him master of the situation.

"Poggin, you're a gambler, you arethe acehigh, straightflush hand of the Big Bend," he said, with

stinging scorn. "I'll bet you my roll to a greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play."

"Phil, you're talkin' wild," growled Poggin, with both advice and menace in his tone.

"If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody else when he's not. Thet so?"

"Well, Jim's new pardthis man Dodgehe's not who he seems. Ohho! He's a hell of a lot different. But

_I__ know him. An' when I spring his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get me?

You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be lightnin'All because you'll realize you've been

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

Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce. He leaned toward Poggin, his hands,

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

Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility in an extraordinary expression of

devilish glee. He had hounded the great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.

"BUCK DUANE! Yes," he broke out, hotly. "The Nueces gunman! That twoshot, aceofspades lone wolf!

You an' Iwe've heard a thousand times of himtalked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you!

Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd fooled you both but for me. But _I_

know him. An' I know why he drifted in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldineon youon 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 fourflush? It's the madness of the

gunman, an' I know it. Well, Duane faced youcalled you! An' when I sprung his name, what ought you

have done? What would the bossanybodyhave 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 greatmeetin' 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 manmewho've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every

gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad! Here's once I show you up!"

The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking,

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 soulpiercing

Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thoughtthe breaking of Knell's musclebound rigidity.

Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell

Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a stricken and astounded man, looked

Duane returned to Fairdale and camped in the mesquite till the twentythird of the month. The few days

seemed endless. All he could think of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray Longstreth was slowly

but inexorably coming. In that waiting time he learned what love was and also duty. When the day at last

dawned he rode like one possessed down the rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through the brush,

with a sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the wind. Something dragged at him.

Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably fixed, while the other was a hurrying conglomeration of

flashes of thought, reception of sensations. He could not get calmness. By and by, almost involuntarily, he

hurried faster on. Action seemed to make his state less oppressive; it eased the weight. But the farther he went

on the harder it was to continue. Had he turned his back upon love, happiness, perhaps on life itself?

There seemed no use to go on farther until he was absolutely sure of himself. Duane received a clear warning

thought that such work as seemed haunting and driving him could never be carried out in the mood under

which he labored. He hung on to that thought. Several times he slowed up, then stopped, only to go on again.

At length, as he mounted a low ridge, Fairdale lay bright and green before him not far away, and the sight

was a conclusive check. There were mesquites on the ridge, and Duane sought the shade beneath them. It was

the noonhour, 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 longeared hounds bayed him welcome, and a

woman looked for him and met him with happy and beautiful smile. There mightthere 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

But beyond and above all other claims came Captain MacNelly's. It was then there was something cold and

deathlike in Duane's soul. For he knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was surehe 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

Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and sorein 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 oliveskinned Longstreth with his sharp

eyes, and the dark, evilfaced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister the old strange

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

Duane told them to be on hand in town with their men in case he might need them, and then with teeth locked

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 lightningswift 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

Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in his shirt sleeves, and he had come out with a gun in his

Lawson was red, bloated, thicklipped, 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.

Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was thicknecked 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.

Duane reveled in Lawson's condition. The statement might have had the force of a juggernaut. Was

"You damned selfish fool!" cried Longstreth, in deep bitter scorn. "All you think of is yourselfyour loss of

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

"To hell with you!" burst out Lawson, incoherently. He was frenzied. "I'll have her, or nobody else will!"

"You never will," returned Longstreth, stridently. "So help me God I'd rather see her the ranger's wife than

While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of hate and menace in his mien.

"Lawson, you made me what I am," continued Longstreth. "I backed youshielded you. YOU'RE

"GENTLEMEN!" Duane called in farreaching voice as he stepped out. "YOU'RE BOTH DONE!"

Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned from gray to ashen.

"What d'ye mean?" yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to obey a command, to see impending

All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his left hand to turn back a lapel of his open

Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer impotent folly, he swept a clawing

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

Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the hammer click, fall upon empty shells.

Longstreth had used up all the loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane waited,

cool and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table where his own

gun lay. But, considering the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent peering at

Duane under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side. Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who

meant to kill. There was never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like those. More than once

Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.

Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before Longstreth could leap, as he surely

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

"Longstreth, listen," cried Duane, swiftly. "The game's up. You're done. But think of your daughter! I'll spare

your lifeI'll try to get you freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailedall 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

"Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man!

"All right, Buck Duane, I give my word," he said, and deliberately walked to the chair and fell into it.

"There come the girls!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Can you help me drag Lawson inside? They mustn't see

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

"I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him! Always I've split over him!"

"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

"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

"Glad yousaid that, Longstreth," replied Duane. "And sureLawson plugged me. It's our secret."

Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so different in tone, and he saw two

white faces. Ray came to his side, She lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and

"Don't give way," he replied, huskily. "Both you girls will need your nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd

isis dead. Listen. Let me tell it quick. There's been a fight. Itit was Lawsonit was Lawson's gun that

shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm to divide my propertyreturn so far as possible

what I've stolenleave Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly, the

She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory of her eyes passing from her father

"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 wellknown 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

On the morning of the twentysixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to catch the early train. His wounds did

not seriously incapacitate him. Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not

be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had turned over the whole of his property

to Morton, who was to divide it as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party

by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and reached Bradford as he had planned.

That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val

Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of

that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and weeks and months of waiting,

had endured the long hours of the outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him

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 wagonroad 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 cleancut Blossom Kane,

the blackbearded giant Boldt, the redfaced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. There was another man strange

They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary travelers. The station was a good deal

larger than that at Bradford, and there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the train.

Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed familiar. This fellow's look, too, was

that of one who knew Duane, but was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized himMacNelly,

When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he hurried forward. A keen light flashed

from his eyes. He was glad, eager, yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from

Duane to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not look the part of an outlaw.

"Duane! Lord, I'm glad to see you," was the Captain's greeting. Then at closer look into Duane's face his

warmth fledsomething he saw there checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.

The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth's instant action, and awkwardly he

"Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We've ladies in the party. I'll come behind with them."

They set off uptown. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on the way to dinner. The girls were

mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.

Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street. There was a big sign, "Rancher's

"There's the hotel," said MacNelly. "Some of my men are there. We've scattered around."

They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane asked MacNelly to take them to a

private room. Without a word the Captain complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and,

"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,

Then Duane briefly related Longstreth's story, and, though he did not spare the rustler chief, he was generous.

"When I went after Longstreth," concluded Duane, "it was either to kill him or offer him freedom on

conditions. So I chose the latter for his daughter's sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe

he'll live up to the conditions. He's to leave Texas never to return. The name Cheseldine has been a mystery,

A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a hall, and here were men reading and

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

"This'll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won't have it on the Governor! We'll show them about the

"Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job's done. The gang's coming down the road. I saw them

"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."

"Pogginthat's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell?

"Ah!" exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and of harder aspect. "Duane, it's your

game today. I'm only a ranger under orders. We're all under your orders. We've absolute faith in you. Make

"You understand there's no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and that lot?" queried Duane.

"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 gununlessHe's got to be killed quick. They'll all have

to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in action."

"Very well, Duane; then it's a fight. That'll be easier, perhaps. The boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your

"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 bankfour 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,

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

"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 isthey 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."

"There's a wideopen 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."

"See here, Duane," began MacNelly, nervously. "You shan't take any undue risk here. You'll hide with the

MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehending light seemed to flit over his face.

"Duane, I can give you no orders today," he said, distinctly. "I'm only offering advice. Need you take any

more risks? You've done a grand job for the servicealready. You've paid me a thousand times for that

pardon. You've redeemed yourself.The Governor, the adjutantgeneralthe 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

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

"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

MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked helplessly at his curious and sympathetic rangers, and shook his

"Now you've done your worklaid the trapis this strange move of yours going to be fair to Miss

Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane vibrated to that. He looked up as if he had seen a ghost.

Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: "You can win her, Duane! Oh, you can't fool me. I was wise in a

minute. Fight with us from coverthen 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.

But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. He lunged up to his feet, and the rangers fell back. Dark,

silent, grim as he had been, still there was a transformation singularly more sinister, stranger.

"Enough. I'm done," he said, somberly. "I've planned. Do we agreeor shall I meet Poggin and his gang

MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, this time in baffled chagrin. There was deep regret in his dark

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 chancePoggin firstand then the others! He was as unalterable in that decision as if on

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 gunthrower, the gunfighter, passionate and terrible. His father's blood, that dark and fierce

strain, his mother's spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit of the surviving pioneerthese 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 bloodlust of the gunman. Long ago he

had seemed to seal in a tomb that horror of his kindthe 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 frontierthe gunfighter. 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

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 outlawryall,

like scales, seemed to fall away from him. He stood stripped bare, his soul nakedthe soul of Cain. Always

since the first brand had been forced and burned upon him he had been ruined. But now with conscience

flayed to the quick, yet utterly powerless over this tiger instinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. And at

the utter abasement the soul he despised suddenly leaped and quivered with the thought of Ray Longstreth.

Then came agony. As he could not govern all the chances of this fatal meetingas all his swift and deadly

genius must be occupied with Poggin, perhaps in vainas hardshooting 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.

"As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not. You left meall of usstunned. I

had no time to thank you. Oh, I dowith all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't

expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and here I'm selfishly using time."

"Go, thenand leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a desperate game to finish."

MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt that she had wanted to come. Her

eyes were dark, strained, beautiful, and they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.

"You're going to take some mad risk," she said. "Let me persuade you not to. You saidyou cared for

Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of thought.

She moved, she swept out her hands, and the wonder of her eyes dimmed in a flood of tears.

Swift as light Duane caught her and held her to his breast. He stood holding her tight, with the feel of her

warm, throbbing breast and the clasp of her arms as flesh and blood realities to fight a terrible fear. He felt

her, and for the moment the might of it was stronger than all the demons that possessed him. And he held her

as if she had been his soul, his strength on earth, his hope of Heaven, against his lips.

The strife of doubt all passed. He found his sight again. And there rushed over him a tide of emotion

unutterably sweet and full, strong like an intoxicating wine, deep as his nature, something glorious and

terrible as the blaze of the sun to one long in darkness. He had become an outcast, a wanderer, a gunman, a

victim of circumstances; he had lost and suffered worse than death in that loss; he had gone down the endless

bloody trail, a killer of men, a fugitive whose mind slowly and inevitably closed to all except the instinct to

survive and a black despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her swelling breast against his, in this

moment almost of resurrection, he bent under the storm of passion and joy possible only to him who had

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 halfway, returned kiss for kiss, clasp

for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell back upon his shoulder.

Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. He divined then that she had understood him, would have

denied him nothing, not even her life, in that moment. But she was overcome, and he suffered a pang of

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,

"I love you, Duane!" she said. "For my sake don't go out to meet this outlaw face to face. It's something wild

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,

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 himone long endless kissor 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

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 upall 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

He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever in memory that white face with its dark,

To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of PogginPoggin, the tawnyhaired, the

yelloweyed, 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

So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was fierce, implacable, steeled to any

outcome, quick like a panther, somber as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.

There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A clock inside pointed the hour of two.

He went through the door into the vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks

were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The cashier paled at sight of Duane.

There were menthe rangerscrouching 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

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

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 trota 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

There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp, ringing clipclop of iron hoofs. He

could see only the corner of the street. But suddenly into that shot leanlimbed dusty bay horses. There was a

Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted quickly. They followed suit. They had

the manner of ranchers about to conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the

bank door, quickening step a little. The others, close together, came behind him. Blossom Kane had a bag in

his left hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the curb, and he had already gathered up the bridles.

Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the other, a little in his rear.

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 pulledpulledat 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, bloodyfaced, grand,

All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating. There it driftedRay Longstreth's

sweet face, white, with dark, tragic eyes, fading from his sight . . . fading . . . fading . . .

Light shone before Duane's eyesthick, 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 timetime that was very long. There was

firecreeping, consuming fire. A dark cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him away.

He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about over him, with faint voices, far

away, things in a dream. He saw again, clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full of

those vague and faraway things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like a stone, with a weight ponderous as

A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragiceyed, 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

After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light came again, clearer this time, the same

earnestfaced man bent over him. It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.

"Poggin!" he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin. Ruling passioneternal instinct!

"Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces," replied MacNelly, solemnly. "What a fight he made! He killed two

of my men, wounded others. God! he was a tiger. He used up three guns before we downed him."

"Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the job's doneit's done! Why, man,

"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 lowso lowI 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

"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 girlof your future."

A railroad had been built since Duane had gone into exile. Wellston had grown. A noisy crowd surrounded

A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he rememberedschoolmates, 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

Then there was a white house, his old home. How strange, yet how real! His heart beat fast. Had so many,

They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and laid him down, and lifted his head upon pillows. The house

Some one entereda tall girl in white, with dark, wet eyes and a light upon her face. She was leading an old

lady, grayhaired, austerefaced, somber and sad. His mother! She was feeble, but she walked erect. She was

The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt by Duane's bed. His mother flung wide her arms with a

"This man! They've not brought back my boy. This man's his father! Where is my son? My sonoh, my

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

knownpeople 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

"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

twentythree bullets. But he's bigger than yougot more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the doctor

only bein' able to cut one bullet out of youthat one in your breastbone? It was a fortyone 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

"It would indeed, uncle," replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber mood returned.

But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old heroworshiping 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

One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came for him. They read it together.

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

She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a little.

"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."

"Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soonable to go out. Then thatthat hell will come back!"

"Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every town, wherever I go," he went on,

"Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde, when I came to youplead 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 thatthat thing which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never

Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not voice his passionate query.

She put tender arms round his neck. "Because you'll have me with you always," she replied. "Because always

It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came to her. Duane realized instantly that

he was in the arms of a stronger woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day.

"We'llwe'll be married and leave Texas," she said, softly, with the red blood rising rich and dark in her

"But, dearsuppose," he replied, huskily, "suppose there might bebe childrena boy. A boy with his

"I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even sohe'll be half my blood."

Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of joy quelling fear. The shining glory of

love in this woman's eyes made him weak as a child. How could she love himhow 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 beautythese 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.

"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'sDo you understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to Louisianato

my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to work. There are horses and cattlea 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."

Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not resist her a moment longer. What was

Her eyes were closing, heavylidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous, waiting lips.

With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed to him, while with dim eyes he

looked out over the line of low hills in the west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the

It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness and faced a new life, trusting this

brave and tender woman to be stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.

It would come backthat 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